ANGEL

03/09/23

I have never felt at home. Only after being in Los Angeles for a decade am I surrendering and reluctantly remembering street names. I left New York to try my hand in the sun. It’s been working out.

I started working out when I moved here after I met Amy. It was January of 2013. She knew a trainer because he owned the juice bar a few doors down from The Daily Planet. I met him and we hit it off. His name was Greg. Greg Joujon-Roche. He was an A-List celebrity trainer who worked with actors for roles which required them to be in peak shape. Brad Pitt in “Fight Club” and “Troy”… Demi Moore for “G.I.Jane”… Tobey Maguire for “Spiderman” etc. I’ve met a few other trainers with resumes like his. He was different. He was an angel. He took me on for God’s sake.

Before I continue - I don’t care what other people look like. I have an armory of my own shit to constantly deal with as I was born, as you may know, without a left hand, and so the outside physicality is an issue within me, not one projected onto anyone else. I’ve had my own quest for change because I’ve had no control. Now sing with straight-faced irony, “I feel so good on the outside.”

I had met with a few trainers over the years but it was never a perfect match, partly due to my “disability.” Most were hesitant and unwilling to take me on as a client, or if they did it was only with uncertainty. Their program idea was to ignore the physical difference and do everything else the same. Greg's response to me explaining my predicament was "What? who cares!" So began our friendship. He developed an imaginative program of exercises unique to me and carried me through each one of them.

We started working out three times a week at the private Gym On Nemo in West Hollywood. It was often just Greg and I and the owner of the gym, who became a friend too, Fidel. If you ever saw anyone else training there it was someone you recognized. This went on for half of a year. I was taking an absurd amount of natural supplements he prescribed and monitoring my diet and running on the off days and texting and talking with Greg constantly. And it all worked. It was no scam. I was in the best shape of my life.

This was essential in me battling depression. Especially as it was early in my relationship with Amy and I was serious about her and did not want the black sludge tidal wave to knock me off course. We have a natural way of self-sabotaging ourselves, at best, and I wanted to do anything I could to combat my brain. Anything else I had ever tried never worked, so a physical approach seemed liked a good last resort.

We began meeting five days a week and took a break while Cold Cave went on a tour of Japan, S. Korea, China, Thailand, and Nepal. Actually, Amy’s first show in Cold Cave was in Tokyo. When we returned home, Greg and I resumed. He was back and forth between Sydney and LA, sometimes weekly, and when we didn’t meet I missed him.

Another coincidence shortly after that was that CC was asked to tour with and support NIN. I mentioned this to Greg and he mentioned that he was also Trent’s trainer. I had no idea. He loved having two clients on tour together and would send us encouraging check-in videos during the tour.

We began splitting our sessions between the gym in West Hollywood and Point Dume beach in Malibu. On the beach at 6am we would run for miles, slowly in the sand, and talk about everything. Driving from our apartment in Hollywood to Malibu at dawn on an empty Sunset Blvd. was something I never tired of. By this point his role had surpassed trainer and we were firmly in “life coach” territory. He was the first person I told that Amy was pregnant. I was so nervous and we had no idea what to do! He was the most helpful, caring, and advising person, leaving voicemails of what prenatals to get, what foods she should be eating. And then, "Okay I just talked to Dr. Crane, call him!!" "Ok you want Dr. Gordon- call him they are waiting for you!" He basically set up our pregnancy for us.

Tours came and went and when our schedules lined up over the next year we would meet and resume where we left off. I was doing well. My idea of battling depression physically was proving true. In general if I had something to focus on and movement and didn’t add other depressives like alcohol to the mix, then I could tolerate myself.

Doing push-ups on the beach in a Dead Can Dance shirt with Greg…

One morning Greg and I met at Point Dume for a run. As usual, he was beautiful and smiling and radiated hope and positivity. Everything I lacked! We ran until the beach stopped, each did a hundred push-ups, and began the run back. Greg stopped running suddenly and mentioned a strange pain. He’d then resume and stop again, instructing me to keep going and that he’d catch up. I waited for him. He began jogging again but it was hobbled. He was slightly concerned but mostly confused. It seemed like a wind pain. I didn’t think much of it. After all he was in absolute perfect shape and owned a raw juice bar.

We kept meeting and running and Greg mentioned he was having tests done to investigate this new foreign feeling that had not gone away. Per his giving constitution, he only wanted to talk about Amy and the baby.

A week or so later he revealed the test results were in and he was sick. Sicker than he thought. He had cancer, cholangiocarcinoma, and there wasn't much time left. He remained with hope but I could see fear in his eyes. He wanted to keep meeting and we did. He passed away on July 31, 2016. It was a tragedy.

He believed in me and in turn made me believe in me, pushing way beyond what I thought was possible. His presence was unparalleled. Greg was such a rock star, beautiful person. I never thought of him as just a trainer, but truly as a friend… an irreplaceable… and I miss him dearly.

Since his passing seven years ago I’ve tried to find routines that work for me. It was all sporadic and off and on. Nothing really gelled. As a rusty result of my own lack of discipline and lack of apparently needed guidance, my health and stability waned with my own inconsistent seasons.

During the spiraling pandemic I thought of him often as I loss a few other irreplaceable people in my life. I fear getting close because it has mostly ended in loss. Though the times we shared were so fulfilling that it’s made the pain that followed worth it, it’s still been difficult.

At a loss I started riding Peloton. There’s a trainer on there named Dennis Morton. He reminds me of Greg and though it’s virtual and at a distance, I feel a connection with him as we are similar in age and his love and taste in music is similar to mine. I wrote to him recently to compliment and thank him for his classes, and how I loved his stories about 7 Seconds and Depeche Mode and so on.. to my surprise he wrote back saying he’s played the Cold Cave song “Meaningful Life” in his yoga classes... a song I wrote in 2013 in-between sessions with Greg. It was circular and inspiring and has kept me moving in the right direction.

I keep ending these entries with the sentiment of “I don’t know.’ And it’s true, I really don’t. This is just an entry to write about someone I love and miss and a reminder to myself that life is beautiful and tragic and in the presence of loss we have to keep moving… that loss is inevitable and that life is precious. I’ve lived for so long as if it was not, with indifference to it all, when I should be living each moment as an ode to love and the ones we’ve loved and loss. And that’s what I’m going to do today.

More soon…