[INTERIOR, MALE PATTERN FITNESS CLASSROOM.  September 1st.  Pandemonium.]

TEACHER:  All right, class, if everyone would please settle down and take your seats…

STUDENT IN CIRCA 1981 GOLD’S GYM TANK TOP:  Who are you, and where’s Big Lou?

TEACHER:  Right, good question, I’ll get to that. 

Er, Miss?  In the spandex and leg warmers, would you mind taking a break from the stretching for a moment and sit down?  Thank you, thank you very much…the chalk-tray isn’t a ballet barre. 

And you, sir, in the full combat fatigues, I appreciate your desire to publicize your Fitness Boot Camp but I’m going to have to confiscate that bullhorn until the end of class.  You’ll get it back, I promise.

BOOT CAMP GUY [Through BULLHORN, deafeningly loud]:  Roger that! 

TEACHER:  Is everyone here?  I have a loose attendance record here [he shuffles through a huge SHEAF OF PAPERS], but maybe I better hold off, instead, for now; I’ll explain…

[A flying SPITBALL narrowly misses the TEACHER’S head, hits the BLACKBOARD with a smack, and sticks there.  Raucous laughter, high-fiving.]

… everything. 

[The TEACHER takes a deep breath.]

Okay.

As you probably noticed, I’m not Lou Schuler.  I’ve got more hair, for one thing.  No, Lou went on to T-Nation. He’s probably there right now, feet up on a huge, mahogany desk, comparing powerlifting maxes and sipping protein shakes with the Waterburys and Cosgroves of the world as they reminisce about their foolish younger days when they used to give out fitness advice for free.  He sends his regards, though, and assures me he’d be happy to see any and all of you over there whenever you’d like.

[The CLASS emits a COLLECTIVE, DISGRUNTLED SIGH, followed by a general shuffling of jumpropess, dumbbells, and other FITNESS EQUIPMENT as they GET UP TO LEAVE.]

GOLD’S GYM TANK TOP GUY:  Yo, where’s the T-Nation classroom?

TEACHER:  WAIT!  I’ve MET Alwyn Cosgrove a couple of times…nice guy, and the Scottish dialect is no joke, believe me.  And Chad Waterbury emailed me once, and he spelled my name more or less correctly, and that counts for something, right?

[CRICKETS chirp.  A DISTANT BELL chimes.]

Look, MPF readers, we’ve just got to face some facts here.  Lou’s outta here.  He’s left the rest of us here to wade through the muck of fitness in- and mis-information out there, and try to make sense out of it all on our own.  So this is the scene in the movie where the much-beloved company commander gets reassigned, so he sticks a set of sergeant stripes on his uppity but untested protégé, smacks him on the shoulder, and rides off into the sunset, leaving the dazed and confused kid in charge.

So why did he choose me?  Over the last few years Lou was kind enough to occasionally shoot me a link over at my own blog, Dynamic Fitness, and he probably figured that if some of you had clicked on those links and liked what you read that maybe my slight patina of familiarity might in some small way ease the sense of loss you felt now that Lou has packed up and left for more testosterone-rich waters. 

So, here I am.  I’m a working fitness coach, and I’ve exercised for about 20 years myself, mostly with weights, but I’ve picked up a black belt and a handful of triathlon medals along the way, too.  My stable of clients means I’ve got a miniature ‘lab’ in which I’ll subtly test my fitness theories on unwitting lab rats who are weirdly willing to pay me for my trouble.

So I hope that you’ll stick around. 

[The CLASS murmers as if contemplating whether to BUM RUSH him.]

GOLD’S GYM TANK TOP GUY:  You gunna shave your head in honor of Lou or what?

TEACHER:  Er…I don’t…know.  Haven’t given it much thought. 

Well, I suppose that’s it for today…we’ll pick it up tomorrow with some new thoughts…

[Hearing this, the CLASS abruptly stands and makes a beeline for the DOOR.]

My name’s Andrew—by the way. 

WELL MEANING, BOOKISH STUDENT IN OLD-FASHIONED EXERCISE COSTUME  [as EVERYONE leaves]:  Just wanted to say welcome, and I look forward to your classes.  I used to read your old blog, and you’re good, man.  Don’t mind them—they’re just disgruntled about losing their old teacher.  Good luck.

TEACHER:  Well thank you—thanks very much.  I hope I can keep up the standards around here.  [The WELL-MEANING STUDENT pats TEACHER on the back and leaves..  The CLASSROOM is suddenly silent.  As .the TEACHER turns to switch off the lights, we see he has a KICK ME SIGN taped on his back.]

TEACHER looks around his NEW CLASSROOM.

Well, that went well.  I think things are going to work out juuuust fine. 

[He leaves, closing the door behind him.  Lights out.]