Working out well: Fitness community builds muscle
While biking around Lake Merritt on a recent spring morning, Morgan Tyson saw something that made him stop: Two men at a pullup bar were laughing, lifting dumbbells and blasting 1990s hiphop from a speaker — and they had the whole place to themselves.
Tyson, 68, has never been a member of a gym, and he hadn’t lifted a weight since 2018 when he finished nearly four decades in San Quentin State Prison. He asked the men if he could join their workout.
“I told them that if my past is a problem, I could leave,” Tyson said. “But they opened their arms to me.”
That workout group of just three in April has now grown to more than 30 men and women gathering daily on a vast lawn near Lake Merritt in Oakland, creating a sense of community that many felt had disappeared after months of sheltering in place due to the coronavirus and seeing news of police brutality and racial divisiveness.
As the pandemic threatens the futures of gyms nationwide, and issues of racial injustice claim a national spotlight, the Lakeshore Park group has united people across age, race, professional backgrounds and life experiences. The regulars relish new friendships formed in an era of selfisolation. Many say they intend to swear off gyms altogether.
Brandon Bailey, a 40yearold Oakland personal trainer, started coming to the park in late March to do pullups with his friend, Ron Stewart. Tyson joined them and others quickly followed, bringing their own friends and equipment. The group now draws people from East Oakland, Berkeley and Emeryville in search of sunshine and solidarity.
“It’s a beautiful thing that started organically happening,” Bailey said. “It’s new friends, it’s no judgment. It’s what we all need right
now.”
At 10 o’clock on the dot on a recent morning, Tyson was the first to arrive, helping Bailey and Stewart unload free weights from their cars. As they began their workout, others walked up and greeted them, chatting through squats and pushups.
An hour later, Tyson was cheering on 34yearold Gabi Cole as she squatted low to the ground, two 20pound dumbbells held close to her chest.
Cole is a furloughed corporate sales representative at the fitness company Equinox. In
May, when her best friend passed away unexpectedly, she flew home to Minneapolis to grieve. Days later, George Floyd was killed by police just blocks away from her house. His death was the second memorial she attended that month.
Two weeks ago, Cole came back to Oakland, anguished and confused. Then her friend texted her about the workout group at the park.
“People may not know what each other are going through, but it’s unspoken that we’re here for each other,” Cole said. “Here, nobody wears headphones. Nobody shuts anybody out.”
Many came out to the field after losing their jobs due to the pandemic, in search of a new routine and relief from the stress of financial uncertainty. Newcomers include an unemployed pro wrestling host, an outofwork barber, an oncall nurse and a civil engineer who starts his work day at 5 a.m. to make time for the workout.
Bailey dips fluidly between the different groups, checking in and offering feedback on form. He’s happy, he said, to see the group maintain the same camaraderie as it has brought in new people.
As the day heated up, the group’s workout grew in numbers and complexity. A rowing machine emerged from the back of a car. A homemade squat rack, assembled from bolts and twobyfours, took over the center of the field. Two women did pushups in rhythm and an 8yearold girl chased a pink hula hoop not far from her mother lifting weights.
Around noon, an offduty ambulance pulled into a nearby parking lot and two EMTs emerged. They stopped to chat with Bailey and do a few pullups each before driving on.
“There’s something here for everyone,” Bailey said.
Just before 1, Oakland resident Change Mollaire, 54, put away 10pound weights and reflected on what brought him to the group. Weeks ago, after getting laid off from his sales job at Foot Locker, Mollaire had no interest in working out.
But during a walk around the lake, he glimpsed something disarming: strangers gathered in a field, talking to each other and helping each other.
“Look around: You see people here of all ages, all races, all backgrounds,” Mollaire said, gesturing at the various moving bodies. “There’s so much division in the world right now. Here, you find fellowship.”