A Feb. 16 Weekend article incorrectly described Patrick "The Sarge" Avon as the founder of the Sergeant's Program fitness boot camp. Grant Stockdale founded the Sergeant's Program in 1984; Avon has owned the program since 1989.
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Sir, Yes, Sir!
Vasiliadis admits the dropout rate is pretty low. "Most members come from referrals, from word of mouth, and as a result people stay with it longer. A heavy turnover would detract from the camaraderie we're building here."
The Sergeant's Program is strictly old-school, from its unapologetic motto -- "no music, no dancing, no crybabies, no refunds" -- to its in-your-face instructional style. And yet as its popularity has grown, it has gone through some significant changes: namely, its appeal to women.
 Doug Vasiliadis, 45, of Great Falls, leads Active Duty Fitness for Women at the YMCA in Reston, VA . (Michael Temchine - FTWP) |
"We used to be men-only. Then women started beating down our doors. We found out women want this type of training. They've now become our best customers," Avon says.
Just ask Chuck Dyson, a Sergeant's Program drill instructor who teaches a 5:45 a.m. class in Greenbelt. Like 50 percent of Sergeant instructors, Dyson, 58, was once a client. The former auto salesman dropped 50 pounds in the first 10 months of training in 1994 and never looked back. Also like Avon, Dyson is former military, a Vietnam-era vet "drafted by LBJ," who puts his Special Forces training to daily use. He enjoys getting up before sunrise to put people through their paces.
"I run them up hills forward, backwards and sideways," Dyson says, speaking like a man who clearly loves his job.
Dyson, who has been a Sergeant's instructor for 11 years, launched his Greenbelt class a year ago with six people. Today more than 100 fill his roster, and more than 75 percent of them are women.
"Women know how to step it up. They will work their butts off, especially when they start seeing results," he says.
But do they like to be yelled at while they exercise?
This is not the kind of yelling that embarrasses anyone, stresses Dyson, who has been known to say "get your cookie-eating butt over here and give me 20 push-ups" to people who don't make it to class on time.
(He also requested that this reporter give him 20 push-ups, said in a good-natured way, we admit.) "We're tough. Nobody is going to call you names, but I am going to be on you, without a doubt. And I am going to push you harder than you could ever push yourself."
Participants in Dyson's class address him as "Sarge" (and a few other names under their breath, he jokes). His goal is to deliver a tough workout five days a week, one that leaves people stronger, healthier and better for it. Under the growl and hulking muscled exterior, this Sarge's bark, he assures, is worse than his bite.
When Dyson began the Sarge program and lost 50 pounds, he felt as if he had a new lease on life. "How often do we get a chance to give back?" he asks. "Physical fitness saved my life, and, in turn, I am saving lives each and every day."
If the environment of supportive teammates, inspiring personal stories and encouraging coach weren't motivating enough to keep me coming back to boot camp, my results have been. In four months, I have lost inches, a dress size and the idea that working out is not for me. But, like many others, my boot camp experience hasn't just been about the weight I've lost, but about what I've found.
Wendi Kaufman is a freelance contributor to Weekend and can do regulation push-ups.
