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Gunnar Peterson Is the Hardbody Whisperer
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Gunnar Peterson Is the Hardbody Whisperer
For over a decade, he has been the trainerโsculptor, reallyโbehind some of the best and most famous bodies in Hollywood. He recently added the Lakers to his rรฉsumรฉ; he still works with the Kardashians. In the era of wellness celebrities and Silicon Valley health hacks, how has Peterson managed to stay so relevant for so long?
โIf Dwayne Johnson and LL Cool J and Khloรฉ Kardashian can have more than one job, I can too,โ Gunnar Peterson told me one July afternoon as we sat in the waiting room of his posh Beverly Hills gym. Iโd asked the famous trainer how he balances his workload, and Peterson looked at me as if Iโd posed a daft questionโlike asking a tiger if it gets anxiety.
Peterson became the director of strength and endurance training for the Los Angeles Lakers this spring, which sounded like a full-time job to me. But Peterson, in his mid-50s, occupies a special role in the rarefied realm of L.A.โs personal trainers: Heโs the go-to celebrity ass-whupper. His workouts have honed some of the most fetishized body parts in Hollywood for over 25 years, from assorted Kardashian glutes to Mike Tysonโs fearsome biceps to Matthew McConaugheyโs immaculate Magic Mike abs. This means he hardly ever stops working. Sitting still made Peterson seem a little antsy, as though heโd calculated how many renowned deltoids and derrieres would sag for every minute spent gabbing with a writer instead of doing what he has been put on this round earth to do: shape famously perfect bodies.
Peterson had just come from a private training session (he still works with a stacked roster of celebrity clients; that day, heโd seen Scandalโs frequently shirt-free Scott Foley), and after our interview, he was headed to the airport for the Idea World Convention, a fitness technology summit in Las Vegas. โItโs a great conference,โ Peterson enthused. We were accompanied by a publicist from GymGO, a virtual personal-training startup that also recently hired Gunnar as its โchief training officer.โ Part of his duties: attending the Idea World Convention with GymGO.
Petersonโs gym has been at the same quasi-secret location for a decade, and he just signed a five-year extension on his lease. I recognized it upon entering from the Instagram posts of incredibly famous people, like Dwayne Johnson and Jennifer Lopez. I canโt think of another figure in the fitness world who can gather this kind of star wattage. Hell, besides studio execs, itโs difficult to imagine many other people in Hollywood, period, who can.
If youโve never seen the gym, imagine that Bumblebee from Transformers got cursed by a witch and was turned into a tastefully arranged bundle of upscale workout equipment. Everything is yellow and black and sleekly industrial. The biggest tire Iโve ever seen in my life lay on the ground, there for clients to pick up in feats of strength. RIP, Bumblebee.
Petersonโs assistant offered me some water, which turned out to be grape-flavored Propel electrolyte water. Not coincidentally, Peterson has a partnership with Propel electrolyte water, which is why the word PROPEL is written in gigantic block letters in the parking garage of his gym. Propel electrolyte water tastes as if a prankster has carefully eye-dropped a small quantity of cough syrup into normal water, so I discarded it on a coffee table next to several Shape magazines as I waited for Peterson to finish up with a client. The waiting room is an altar to Petersonโs frenzied productivity. Every spare inch of wall space is plastered with laminated and mounted press clippings from The Wall Street Journal, Fitness, and People, plus a signed Expendables poster (Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis have been clients). โThe overall aesthetic recalls one of those Italian restaurants where the walls are filled with thank you messages from famous diners,โ The Independentdeclared, correctly, in 2011. On the table next to me, a stack of books authored by PetersonโThe Workout and G-Force (which are different editions of the same book)โstood beside a package for a dietary supplement called โ14 to Lean,โ decorated with his smiling face. Next to that sat a photograph of Peterson with Tom Brady at a baseball game, inscribed with an affectionate message from the quarterback: โCup my nuts and say my name!โ
Like Brady, Peterson has television-ready anodyne good looks, and even though Brady is the professional athlete, Iโd be more intimidated to work out with Peterson, who is the concept of the Protestant work ethic incarnated as a shredded middle-aged man. He has the Nordic face of a man who would definitely survive a Robinson Crusoe situation. He would subsist on tree bark, and herring caught with nets woven from the tree bark. Heโd do pull-ups on the stranded wreckage of a plane wing, casuallyโtoo casually.
Heโs an entrepreneur with an empire built on muscle, and like wellness figureheads before and (mostly) after him, he has earned a fortune by convincing people that he holds the key to making bodies better. To that end, he has been endorsed by just about everyone in Hollywood rumored to have individually insured body parts, plus a varied roster of professional athletes, from Pete Sampras to Kevin Love.
I wanted to know what he seems to knowโhow to get a better bodyโbut Iโm also wary of what heโs selling: the promise of a better body. Before meeting him, I wondered if Peterson would be a veiny Deepak Chopra, or maybe an aggro Tracy Anderson. I couldnโt quite figure out his gimmick, why he had risen from a self-promoting fitness buff to one of the longest-lasting and most trusted trainers in the industry. Over the past decade, a cultural fixation on wellness has elevated all sorts of figureheads, from GOOP-approved trainer Tracy Anderson, who has advised women to lift light weights and recommends two-hour daily workouts, to Silicon Valley investor Dave Asprey, who recommends โhackingโ biology by following a diet involving butter-infused coffee. Petersonโs brand of fitness evangelism lacks an obvious hook, and yet he has risen toโand maintainedโan uncommonly prestigious position in an increasingly crowded field.
Although he is now obsessed with efficiency and diligence, Peterson began his personal training career in haphazard fashion. He lived a jock-proximate life at Duke University but did not play varsity sports, and early on he decided to focus on where he could excel among his fraternity brothers and athlete pals. โIt was kind of obvious that I wasnโt gonna be the strongest guy,โ Peterson told me, โso my thought was, at least I should have the best form.โ
He graduated in 1985 with degrees in physical fitness, psychology, and nutrition, and hung out in gyms in North Carolina as he tried to figure out his next step. His willingness to help fellow wannabe hardbodies morphed into a business opportunity. โA guy asked me if he could train with me, and I said sure,โ Peterson said. โAnd then he asked what I charged.โ He was not one of the gymโs personal trainers, but he agreed to the scheme anyway. โI started training him, and sort of cat-and-mousing the gym,โ Peterson explained, easing back on his couch.
He didnโt stay a rogue trainer for long, taking his combination of shrewd opportunism and work-hewn knowledge out west. Peterson moved to Los Angeles in 1987, in the heydey of spandexed aerobercise. When Peterson started out, Richard Simmons had only recently gained traction with his โSweatinโ to the Oldiesโ VHS tapes, and the word โglutenโ didnโt appear in casual conversation. He taught spinning for seven years as he built up a personal-training client base, including a not-yet-famous Kris Jenner. His propensity for attracting famous clients impressed a then-teenaged Khloรฉ Kardashian, who used to accompany her mother to her daily workouts.
โI would always see these high-profile people come into the gym, like Cameron Diaz and Puff Daddy come in,โ Kardashian told me, โand I thought it was really cool.โ
Although it took years of building his reputation to acquire high-profile clients, Peterson was familiar with the ultra-wealthy; his ex-wife, Janet Crown, is from a monied family (her billionaire father owns stakes in the Chicago Bulls and the New York Yankees) while his brother, Tor Peterson, is a billionaire commodities trader. โPeterson, in other words, is just what celebrities wantโsomeone to talk to who could not care less about talking to them. Thatโs his brand: the celebrity trainer who does not care about celebrities,โ a 2011 Bloomberg piece argued, citing Petersonโs ease with the 1 percent as his foothold in the industry.
Iโm sure it is easier for celebrities to shoot the shit with someone from their financial bracket, but I doubt Petersonโs familyโs history with the Forbes 400 would matter much if he didnโt coax results from his scrutinized clients. Petersonโs star has risen in a trajectory reminiscent of the reality television family that works out ardently with him. Like the Kardashians, Peterson has endorsed and participated in a wide and eclectic array of partnerships and media plays in search of exposure and extra dough, even appearing on The Nanny. He has 18 fitness DVDs, which lead people through a โCore Secretsโ workout, and he has had partnerships with Under Armour, LG, Gatoradeโs Propel, Clif Bars, and Adidas. His most, uh, unusual gig: working as a spokesperson for the โPetFit Challengeโ promoting workouts for dogs and cats. I am extremely sad to report that the videos of Petersonโs workouts for dogs appear to have been wiped from the internet, although descriptions from media reports still, mercifully, linger online: โThe videos are slightly reminiscent of those goofy high school health education films, complete with a stiff introduction by Dr. Chad Dodd, synthesized beats and a few unintentional laugh-out-loud moments,โ SFGate wrote at the time. Peterson also contributedpet fitness tips to Prevention magazine, where he encouraged creating โdogstacle courses.โ
Peterson groomed himself into a media mainstay, writing a column for Muscle & Fitness magazine and serving as a contributing editor for Glamour, as well as writing for Clean Eating. He has become a staple guest whenever a nightly news program or talk show needs an exercise expert, an unflappable, good-natured sound-bite machine in a polo. Heโll even talk to TMZ, as long as he stays on message. โItโs all about getting the work done,โ he promised the online tabloid about the Lakers.
As he has gained a reputation as an โenter-trainer,โ Peterson has doubled down on his actual training hours and has mostly abandoned his cheesier partnerships. With increased visibility, he has pulled back on the salesman aspect of the job in favor of the job aspect of the job. In this key way, he differs from earlier celebrity trainers like Jillian Michaels, who has become a television personality first and a trainer second.
โGunnar is an OG. Heโs not necessarily a trendsetter, but that can be a good thing,โ Self special projects director Amy Eisinger told me by email. Eisinger is a personal trainer herself, and sees Petersonโs practicality and avoidance of fads to be one of the secrets to his longevity. โHeโs been at this since before โwellnessโ was ever a buzzword. His focus on functional fitness and foundational training has allowed him to be an innovator without falling victim to fitness fads. Heโs not out there pedaling strange gear on infomercials, heโs using weights, resistance bands, and peopleโs own bodyweight in original and inventive ways because thatโs what works.โ
While Peterson is certainly invested in the concept of health, he tends to shy away from the pitfalls of the โwellnessโ industry that have emerged around him.
According to the Global Wellness Institute, the โglobal wellness industryโ pulled in more than $3.7 trillion in revenue in 2015 (its most recent tally). This market includes a glut of celebrity moguls, including Gwyneth Paltrowโs GOOP, Alex Jonesโs Infowars (a supplements business disguised as a conspiracy scare factory), and Jessica Albaโs Honest Company. It also includes fitness pursuits like the Instagram-centric empire of Australian โbikini bodyโ entrepreneur Kayla Itsines. Upstarts like Leanne Ratcliffe, a.k.a. โFreelee the Banana Girl,โ have gained notoriety and surprisingly wide reach, often by espousing extreme ideas. Ratcliffeโs YouTube videos have been viewed over 265,703,500 times altogether (at the time of this writing), and she advocates a โfruitarianโ diet, focused on eating bananas. Big names are also still jumping into the field, for example Arianna Huffington, who launched a wellness startup called Thrive Global. While Huffington has no forceful banana opinions, her foray is also on the quirky side; Thrive Global sells products like a $100 13-inch-long solid-wood bed for smartphones, complete with miniature satin sheets.
For a โHollywood fitness guru,โ Petersonโs training advice is, in 2017, refreshingly reasonable. He doesnโt recommend any specific gym memberships or restrictive diets. He doesnโt promise quick fixes or unrealistic results. Reading his book, The Workout, is like talking to your most level-headed friend who goes to the gym. Sample advice: โYou need to give every workout your best effort, but realize that not every workout is going to be your personal best.โ He preaches consistent exercise above all else, focusing on old-school movements like squats and push-ups.
Peterson is also much more equivocal about the supplements industry than some of his peers. Although he had sold his own supplement, the Gunnar Peterson System โ14 to Leanโ kit, Peterson was openly skeptical about supplements when I asked him about the industry. โI would go to a nutritionist,โ he said, โso youโre not wasting your time and money buying stuff you donโt need or maybe your body doesnโt process properly, or maybe it wasnโt made from a quality level that even works for you.โ
While he closely follows new workout tech, Petersonโs primary interest in introducing new machines and gadgets is to keep people engaged and having fun in their workouts, rather than trying to inculcate them into a fad. โYou own a restaurant, youโve gotta buy new plates and glasses. Thatโs just how it works,โ he told me. He is equally matter-of-fact about his shift into fixing the Lakers. โTheyโre not at their best right now, but theyโre building something,โ he said, with genuine enthusiasm.
His gimmick, as far as I can tell, is that he works incessantly and is good at his job(s) and develops a goofily bro-y rapport with his clients. โGunnar is a riot,โ Khloรฉ told me. The guru stuff is just window dressing, a way to entice people to sweat with him. This man wakes up at the crack of dawn and appears earnestly overjoyed about hurling medicine balls at walls. Heโs forthright about expecting clients to show up and put in effort, and while heโs as effusive as any of his contemporaries about the benefits of a healthy body, his focus remains on exercise and sensible eating rather than complete lifestyle overhauls involving herbal dusts or charcoal juices.
The most excited Peterson became when I talked to him was when I asked him to show me Hoop Hands, a basketball training device he invented years ago. Itโs essentially a basketball with an eye-hook attachment to turn it into a resistance ball for shooting and passing drills. Iโd read about Petersonโs foray into fitness technology invention, and wondered if it was part of his earlier media-and-endorsement blitzes or whether it was something he actually thought people would use.
โI didnโt want to be the guy who goes, oh, well, I came up with a cool idea but never really did anything,โ he said, noting that even though heโs never sold any Hoop Hands, heโs given them out to college coaches and used them with his kids over the years. But just because he hadnโt manufactured it didnโt mean heโd given up on itโhe had already brought one down to the Lakersโ gym.
Like everything else about Peterson, I suspected Hoop Hands would be mostly glossy hokum, and then it turned out to be endearingly practical and focused on performance. He was, as it turned out, entirely fit for the job.