How Healthy is Your Business? A Discussion with the CEO of Metabolic, Ryan Hanley

I’m currently in Colony, New York, just outside Albany. So yeah, upstate New York—born and raised.
I’ve spent most of my life in this area, with a brief break. I went to the University of Rochester, then spent five years in D.C. working for an accounting firm. After that, I did two years in New York City working in finance.
So yeah, I’ve had kind of a meandering career path, but it’s led me to where I am now.
I wouldn’t say I have all the answers, but maybe a few nuggets—if you’re in a similar spot, it might resonate.
Anyway, yeah, I’m based in upstate New York.

Well, that’s what happens when you get married, have kids, and your wife owns a business—you tend to stay where she is. My wife’s family owns an independent insurance agency here in the Albany area. Her father has owned the firm for close to 50 years, and she’s been working her way into it over the past five or so.

That connection really anchored us to this area, which is a nice place to live. During that time, I held a few jobs, one of which was working at Murray Group Insurance Services—my wife’s agency. That’s when I really became a professional. I went from just having jobs to truly learning the craft of selling insurance—boots on the ground, door-to-door, the stereotypical white shirt and tie, pounding the pavement.

It wasn’t until I worked for my father-in-law that I really understood what it meant to be a professional in sales—not just the surface-level tactics, but real, relational, value-added selling. It was about building relationships not just for this year, but for the next 20 years.

And I’ll be honest, even though it was family, I didn’t get anything handed to me. I was just an employee like anyone else, earning what I killed. That experience really shaped me into the professional I am today.

What’s interesting about the insurance world—specifically property and casualty insurance, which is where I worked—is how different it is from life insurance. Life insurance is generally a one-time sale. Sure, you can sell more than one policy to the same person, but at its core, it’s a single-transaction business.

Property and casualty insurance, on the other hand, is all about residuals. That’s what I found fascinating. Investments are sexy. Working for Northwestern Mutual or any big investment firm looks glamorous. You’ve got your Series 6 or Series 7 license, a sleek office with a ticker tape running across the wall, and you’re talking stocks. It feels exciting.

But the truth is, that job is just as much of a grind—maybe even more so. Unless you reach a certain level of success, you’re stuck in the same daily hustle. And a lot of people just get chewed up and spit out before they ever make it.

Now, in property and casualty? There’s nothing sexy about it. I lived that life for 16 years. No one’s impressed when you tell them you’re in insurance. But—and this is important—it’s the ultimate lifestyle business.

Long before 22-year-olds were taking Instagram selfies on rented yachts with little umbrellas in their drinks, the guy two umbrellas down, actually living that life? He was the insurance agent in his 50s.

The problem is, it takes five to seven years to build a book of business big enough to live that lifestyle. And nobody wants to put in that kind of time. They’d rather read an e-book that promises to make them rich in seven days instead of putting in the seven years it actually takes.

That’s the lesson I learned working for my father-in-law. It’s not flashy. It’s not instant. But if you’re willing to commit to the grind, the payoff is real.

Yeah, the other thing you really have to learn is belief—belief in yourself and in the product you’re selling. What’s interesting about insurance is that nobody really values it unless they’ve experienced a significant loss. I’m not talking about a little fender bender where the damage is a few hundred bucks. I mean a real, life-altering event—like half your house burns down. Suddenly, you’re looking at a $200,000 rebuild. And it’s not the 1800s—your community isn’t going to come together for a barn raising. The only institution that shows up and says, “Here’s a check for $200,000, go rebuild your house,” is the insurance company.

But here’s the thing: people don’t believe that’ll ever happen to them. They don’t visualize that kind of loss. So as an insurance professional, you have to believe in the product—even when your client doesn’t. And that’s a really interesting challenge: how do you sell something you believe in wholeheartedly to someone who couldn’t care less?

If you mess up—if you don’t set up their insurance correctly—you could literally ruin someone’s life. It’s a massive responsibility, but most people don’t take it seriously. They don’t want to think about it. So what you learn in that field is how to be deeply committed to your product and its value, even when your customer doesn’t understand or appreciate it. And then—on top of that—you have to be able to sell it to them anyway.

Even though I’m no longer in the insurance industry, those lessons have stayed with me. Honestly, I think they give me a competitive advantage in other industries now, because that time taught me so much about commitment, responsibility, and how to sell with conviction.

I came from a pretty small family. My parents got divorced early on. My dad never had any more kids, but my mom remarried, so I have a sister. It was always just a very small, small-town kind of setup. The town I grew up in had about 1,100 people, and it was known—oddly enough—for being the third most polluted body of water in New York State. Not exactly the kind of thing you want on a postcard, right?

Anyway, small-town life wasn’t for me. I couldn’t wait to get out. That was one of the biggest motivators for me early on, even career-wise. It wasn’t so much about chasing a specific goal—it was just about getting out and not looking back. Sure, I still visit my mom, and I like the nostalgia a bit, but I never wanted to live there again.

It was one of those towns where the joke was, “Our criminals didn’t steal here—they lived here and stole from other towns.” That kind of vibe. You were five minutes from the Massachusetts border and 45 minutes from anything else. I didn’t really have a clear plan, I just knew I wanted out. That was enough to push me forward. I think that’s why I wasn’t super laser-focused in high school—because I wasn’t aiming at something, I was just trying to escape something.

Yeah, pretty much. I didn’t go super far, but it was far enough.

Yeah, University of Rochester. It’s right downtown, along the Genesee River.

I ended up going to school and graduated with a degree in mathematics. Technically, it’s a BA in math, not a BS, so I don’t really call myself a mathematician. My college experience was pretty unique—nobody on either side of my family had ever gone to college. I was the first one. I still remember telling my mom I was going, and she was like, “Oh, great. What do we do?” There was no roadmap, no guidance, no expectations. My mom’s amazing, but it just wasn’t something we had done before.

I was a pretty solid athlete in high school and decided to cast a wide net. I basically drew a four-hour radius around my hometown and looked for every school with a Division III baseball team—because I was a baseball player—and I applied to every one of them. I didn’t care what the academic program was. I just wanted to keep playing.

I originally applied for mechanical engineering at Rochester, but that only lasted about a year. I realized quickly that it wasn’t for me, so I pivoted. I ended up writing a handwritten note to every baseball coach at those schools, basically saying who I was, what I’d done, what I was aiming for, and why I was applying to their program.

And when it came time to decide, I picked the school that offered me the most financial aid. That was it. That was my entire decision-making process. Rochester ended up being the most affordable option—even compared to state schools. It wasn’t about finding the perfect program. I just wanted out of my town, and I didn’t have the money to take on a ton of debt. College was my way out, and I had to find a way to pay for it. That’s what drove me.

Yeah, and the interesting thing is, most people don’t realize that Division III sports can still lead to scholarships. People assume they don’t because there aren’t athletic scholarships in the traditional sense. But what schools do have are academic scholarships, general scholarships, and even slush fund-style scholarships—just kind of pooled resources schools use at their discretion.

Each school allocates these differently depending on what departments they want to support or what kind of talent they want to attract. So if a school knows you’re serious and that sports are important to you—and you’re the kind of student they want—they can make it work financially.

In my case, I got a pretty substantial scholarship from this general “Scholarship Fund” at Rochester. On my financial docs, it just said “Rochester scholarship,” no description or explanation. Just two words and a dollar amount.

So if anyone’s listening who’s a good athlete but not necessarily heading for D1 or the pros, just know—there are still ways to get financial support at a D3 school. It’s absolutely possible.

Yeah, so I wish I could say I have some epic story about that time in my life, but honestly, I was just trying to survive. When I graduated, I had a decision to make: either focus on school or play baseball, drink, and chase women—and I chose the latter. Because of that, I didn’t technically graduate in May 2003. I had to go back and take two more classes at the University of Albany after walking in the ceremony.

So during that time, I was waiting tables, painting houses—just picking up whatever jobs I could. Once I officially graduated in December 2003, I packed everything into the back of my pickup truck, quit all three of my jobs that Friday morning, and drove down to Washington, D.C., where a bunch of my old baseball teammates were living.

We turned the living room of our apartment into a makeshift bedroom. A couple weeks later, I found a job at a finance company. It was awful. Picture this: you show up at 8:30 a.m., open a spreadsheet in your cubicle, do mindless work for eight hours, and at 5 p.m., the whole office collectively shuts their laptops and walks out. It felt like a government job with zero purpose. That was my first “real” job.

I didn’t last long. I ended up moving over to RSM McGladrey, which at the time was the fifth-largest accounting firm in the U.S. It was a solid company. I didn’t love the work—it was still a lot of spreadsheets—but it had a consulting angle that made it more engaging. I worked on some larger projects, and it was a good learning experience. I stayed for four years, but I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to do long-term.

Now, this is where life and work start to intertwine. During that time, I reconnected with my now-wife. She was living in Boston, I was in D.C., and we actually knew each other from college—just acquaintances back then. We bumped into each other at the local mall while home in Albany, reconnected, started dating long-distance, and eventually she gave me an ultimatum: “I’m moving to New York City. You’re either coming with me, or we’re done.”

So I quit my job at RSM, found an apartment in New York City, threw all my stuff in there, and started pounding the pavement looking for work. I ended up landing a role with American Express doing general finance, where I worked for about two years before we eventually moved back to Albany.

You know, that’s a really interesting perspective—and I think it’s kind of funny you’d give your son the “do it in four years” advice. I’ve been going back and forth on that same topic myself. Honestly, I’ve become pretty disillusioned with the standard American liberal arts education. I’m not sure it’s necessary for most people.

Now, if you’re going into the STEM or STEAM fields—science, technology, engineering, arts (debatable, I know), and mathematics—then yeah, college makes sense. There’s a structured path and clear foundational knowledge that’s needed. But outside of that? I don’t think you need a degree to succeed. Read a handful of great books, get some practical experience, and you’re probably in a better spot than someone who just shelled out six figures for a diploma.

I get it—there are careers where the paper matters. If your goal is to work on Wall Street or in corporate leadership, you’re probably looking at a master’s degree or MBA, maybe more. But for most people, especially those wired toward building something of their own, I think we overvalue college and undervalue experience.

What really gets me is that nobody ever taught me about entrepreneurship. It wasn’t even a concept presented to me as a legitimate path when I was younger. I was just talking to Brian Fanzo on my podcast the other day—do you know him? If not, you should definitely have him on. Great guy. Anyway, we were sharing our stories, and I told him how I felt like entrepreneurship was something I was naturally drawn to as a kid. We were always broke. Not poor necessarily, but broke. We never had extra.

At 10 years old, I’d wake up at 4 a.m. on Thursdays, walk the neighborhood collecting bottles out of recycling bins, and make around $30 a week. I shoveled snow, flipped baseball cards—basically all the Gary Vee stuff before it became a LinkedIn cliché. And I loved it. But somewhere along the way, I got sold the dream: Go to college, get a job at a big company, climb the ladder. So that’s what I did. I bought into it.

And for about a decade, I forgot I was an entrepreneur. I stopped believing in that version of myself. I played the corporate game—American Express, RSM McGladrey, all those logos—and honestly, it never moved the needle for me. It wasn’t until I finally stepped away from what we traditionally think of as a “career” that I found my career. I rediscovered what lights me up.

Now, as a dad with a five-year-old and a three-year-old, I find myself questioning what advice I’ll give them. My wife and I talk about this a lot. If college is going to cost $60,000 a year—and that’s what the University of Rochester is up to now—it’s hard to justify. I mean, it was $25,000 when I went. I can’t imagine telling my kids, “Yeah, go take on a quarter of a million dollars in debt for this.” I really struggle with that. I’m not saying I have the answer, but I know it’s not as simple as “go to school and you’ll be fine.”

Yeah, no, I’m with you. As much as I tell my son, “You gotta get it done in four years,” I’m being totally facetious. I’ve literally told him, “Take as long as you want—as long as you stay focused on what matters to you.” Things are just different now. The amount of free resources online is incredible. I’ve talked about this on my podcast before—college isn’t a necessity anymore.

I’ve even thought about going back to get my master’s. Not because I need it, but just to say I have it. I graduated in 2003, and I use maybe 0.01% of what I learned in school—and even that might be generous. I remember they offered one entrepreneurship class, and I had already been running businesses before I ever set foot in that classroom. The people in that class were like, “I want to own a restaurant so I can golf with my friends,” and I was like… man, that’s not how this works.

The whole system is designed to prepare you to work for someone. That’s what college does well—pushes you toward working at Enterprise Rent-A-Car or American Express or insert-big-brand-name-here. And that’s fine for some people! For some, that’s their natural path. But for me, I knew I wanted to run my own thing. I’d already had businesses before college.

Funny you mentioned collecting cans—I had a similar moment when I was five. We were camping in Oregon (I’m in California now), and I saw this guy getting money for cans. I asked my mom, “What’s going on?” She goes, “Oh, you can turn cans in for cash.” And I was like, What?! My little five-year-old brain exploded. I spent the rest of the trip digging through every trash can I could find, collecting cans, cracking them, and cashing them in. I walked out with three bucks and felt like I had just discovered a cheat code for life. My mom’s a nurse, so she was like, “Wear gloves, please,” but I was already knee-deep in it like a raccoon fighting for territory.

That was the start of it. I had lemonade stands. I washed cars. I was always hustling as a kid. And honestly? That mindset has never left. Even now, if I see a kid selling lemonade, I don’t care what they’re selling or how overpriced it is—I’m buying. I want to support that spirit. I want kids to know there are other ways to make money, and they don’t all have to come through a degree.

Sure, a college education can help you make more money, and if my son chooses to go that route, I’ll be proud. If he finishes in four years, awesome. But I’ve told him—take 10 if you need to. Just stay focused on what you want. College isn’t the end-all, be-all. I know so many people who’ve absolutely crushed it without ever stepping foot on a campus.

That old-school mentality of “You have to finish college to succeed”? Yeah, I think we’re finally realizing it’s just not true anymore.

Yeah, so I got to Metabolic a little bit serendipitously. If we’re picking up from where we left off, I had spent about eight years as a boots-on-the-ground producer, and during that time I really started to dive deep into the marketing side of the business. I had the sales side down, and the next step for me was figuring out how to scale inbound opportunities.

You mentioned earlier that most of your opportunities are inbound—and that’s where I was headed, too. I ended up flipping our insurance agency’s model from the traditional outbound approach to one that was predominantly inbound. That shift started to get some attention, and I began to build a name for myself in the national insurance scene as someone who could make that kind of transition work.

Eventually, I wanted to test those skills on a bigger stage. Running inbound marketing for a 14-person independent agency in upstate New York was cool—but I was curious to see how far I could take it. That curiosity led me to a consulting role where I became an insurance technologist and had the chance to build my own brand under a sister brand to an existing platform called Agency Nation. I stepped in as the Chief Marketing Officer for that company.

We built something really meaningful there. In four years, we grew the brand’s audience from zero to over 500,000 unique website visitors—all within the insurance space. We also launched a major industry conference that drew 850 attendees and actually turned a profit. It was a huge accomplishment, and I’m incredibly proud of what we did there.

Eventually, though, I started to think more deeply about something I find really interesting—and it’s something I talk to a lot of people about…

At the time, I was serving as Chief Marketing Officer, but in practice, I was running my unit like a CEO. Looking back, maybe I overstepped my bounds a bit—and I’ve learned a lot from that experience—but ultimately, my vision and the CEO’s started to diverge. That’s something that happens, and I’ll own my part in it.

After that, I joined another insurance tech company, which ended up not being a great fit. But throughout that time, I had been working with Metabolic as a client. It’s a local gym here in the Albany area, founded by Matt Phelps—who’s now my business partner. He usually sits right next to me (though he’s not here right now).

When I first joined, Metabolic had about 120 members. I was one of maybe five guys in the mix, working out alongside a strong group of women. The style of training caught my attention right away—it was different. A lot of bodyweight strength training, high intensity, very intentional. If you’re curious, the technical name is “metabolic resistance training”—strength at a pace. Every movement involves load, done in rapid succession, so your heart rate stays elevated while you build strength. It’s a highly efficient way to train, with less wear and tear on your body compared to Olympic lifting or long-distance cardio. Safe, functional, consistent.

Now, I’m not a trainer—I don’t have a background in fitness—but I can tell you, this approach absolutely works. Over time, I lost 35 pounds and kept it off. I went from feeling like a worn-down 45-year-old at 35, to feeling 25 again—and I still feel that way today.

During that time, I became friends with Matt, the founder. I believed in what he was building, so I started offering some marketing help. I didn’t do it for equity or even with the intention of joining—I just liked the guy and thought his business had potential. That’s where the idea of abundance comes in. I know it can sound cliché, but I try to operate from an abundance mindset every day—give more than you take.

Over time, Matt got to know me not just as a member, but as a business professional. He grew the business from about 150 members to nearly 3,000. He expanded to six locations. Eventually, he came to me and said, “I’m a gym guy, not a business guy. I need a partner to help take this national.”

So, about eight months ago, I officially joined as his partner. Since then, it’s been full throttle. We’re planning to double the size of the business by March—adding six new locations—and then another six by September. That cadence—six every March and September—is the goal going forward. All of our locations are corporately owned. We’re not franchising. We’re building a tightly controlled, human-centric brand.

From a marketing perspective, this is where it gets interesting. You’re in California, so you probably know OrangeTheory and F45—two big players in the boutique fitness space. That’s the category we fall into, though our approach is different.

Where those brands are moving toward more technology—screens, gamification, heart-rate monitors—we’re going the other direction. We’re doubling down on our people. Our trainers are the product. No flashing lights, no big screens, no automated workouts. Just world-class coaching, delivered in a community setting, but personalized to each individual.

That’s what hooked me. I believed in it so much that I left an industry I’d been in for over 15 years. And it’s been an incredible ride.

Yeah, HIT’s a four-letter word around here, but I totally get what you’re saying—it’s definitely the closest comparison unless you’ve actually experienced Metabolic training. I’m just giving you a hard time. It’s all good.

You know, what I’ve found is this: I used to be a professional speaker for a long time. I did as many as 45 keynotes in a year—not as many as the guys at the very top of the industry, but I was probably a tier or two below that. And I gave all of that up because I realized something. What I truly love is helping people feel better about themselves—helping them feel more comfortable in their own skin, however that shows up for them.

And I struggle a little with how to describe that without sounding like I’m just diving headfirst into the self-help world. There’s nothing wrong with that world—selling books, writing e-courses—I think it’s great work. I love that work. But for me, I felt like I hadn’t earned the right to be in that space fully, not yet. I wanted to do something more substantial. I didn’t feel like I had done enough “real-world” work to give advice that carried true weight.

Even when I was in insurance, my work gradually moved away from the tactical stuff. It became more about how to help people feel good about what they were doing—because when they felt good, everything else improved. Sales presentations got better, managing people got easier, dealing with tough client conversations became more effective. My focus really shifted to making insurance feel cool, and we don’t even have to get into what that looked like.

And at some point, I realized—wow, this has all been about confidence, strength, mindset. I just didn’t have the language for it back then. But when I took on this new role, it finally clicked. I could take that psychological side I’ve always loved and pair it with the physical—fitness, nutrition, community—and build something real. Tangible. Transformational.

I’ve also been lucky. My co-founder and I work incredibly well together. He gives me the space to be myself, to speak publicly about things that matter to me. And he knows that in return, I’m going to show up for this business and push it forward with everything I’ve got. That mutual trust and flexibility—that’s rare. I don’t think many founders would give someone who wasn’t there from the start that kind of freedom. And because of that, I try to give him 125% every day.

Yeah, so I’m going to start by addressing your balance comment, and I promise I’ll backdoor into the idea of a healthy organization.

Here’s my thought on balance: I don’t know that consistent balance should be our goal. I think balance is something we find when we zoom out. The problem is we usually think about it in too short a timeframe—like in a single day. We’ll say, “Well, I didn’t read today, so I’m out of balance.” But maybe the better question is, how many times did you read this month? Or this quarter? Or how often did you take those walks, have those deep conversations, or spend time with family over the course of a year?

I think too often we get stuck thinking balance means daily equilibrium. But the reality is that life happens in seasons. There were six-month stretches in my life where I was so wildly out of balance it would be hard to believe. But then the next six months looked completely different, and if you looked at the whole year in aggregate, things evened out. So I just think we need to give ourselves more grace and think about balance over the long haul—not in 24-hour chunks.

Okay, now pivoting to the idea of a healthy organization.

My belief structure here has a bit of a dichotomy. I’m a firm believer in hierarchies. I know that’s not popular in some circles, but I think you need a hierarchy to get things done. You need a clear structure. There needs to be clarity on how ideas flow, who is responsible for what, and where execution sits. Without that, things fall through the cracks. You can’t scale a business if everything is a consensus every time.

That said, while I believe in the importance of a structured hierarchy, I don’t think people should be treated as if they’re in one. The intern’s idea might be just as valuable—maybe more valuable—than the CEO’s. The best organizations create space for those ideas to move up, across, and in every direction.

So a healthy organization, in my opinion, has both structure and flow. It’s not flat—it’s not just everyone doing whatever they want—but it’s also not rigid to the point where creativity is stifled. There’s respect across every level. There’s clarity around roles and responsibilities. And just as importantly, there’s a culture of open, honest, human communication.

Because no matter how strong your systems are, things are going to go sideways. Someone’s going to have a bad day. Someone’s going to say something out of turn. People will make mistakes. That’s life. And that’s why communication—real, direct, nuanced communication—is so important.

To me, culture isn’t ping pong tables and kombucha on tap. Culture is whether people feel heard, whether they’re respected, whether they can ask for things like extra maternity leave or flexible hours—and whether leadership listens and engages with those requests thoughtfully.

So yeah, maybe not a super concise answer, but that’s how I think about it. Structure, respect, communication, and the willingness to be human with each other—that’s the foundation of a healthy organization.

Yeah, so content marketing was the vehicle I used to grow my insurance practice—my personal book of business. I was operating on about a $150-a-month budget, and I was driving anywhere between 90 and 120 inbound leads into my business. I was writing about 50% of those, which meant I was making a ton of money. The conversion rate was ridiculous. Every aspect of content marketing—tactical, strategic, and philosophical—was exactly how I did it. I was a firm believer in all of it, and those tools were the foundation for my growth.

I shared my story, stayed tactically relevant, and really leaned into it. Along the way, I realized there were so many people in the insurance industry who were looking for something like that—something they didn’t have yet. So I started sharing my tactics, and that’s how my speaking career began. I was really a content marketing and communication speaker, even though brevity has never been one of my communication strengths.

As I built an audience, people started asking for more of my time, so I decided to put everything into a book. That said, I didn’t want to go through the hassle of a traditional publisher at the time, so I crowdfunded it. I raised just over $11,000 in 21 days. That money went toward producing the physical copies for the backers and covering things like professional editing, cover design, and layout—everything it takes to make a real, high-quality self-published book.

I released the book in February of 2014, so it’s been out for a while now. Most of the ideas still hold up, although there’s some stuff in there that doesn’t, like my section on Google Plus—which was still a thing back then.

Crowdfunding was an amazing experience. I raised about $8,000 in the first three days, and from there I coasted a bit, since I was already close to my $10k goal. It really showed me the power of building a community and what that kind of support can do for a business.

I’ve sold over 2,500 copies of the book since then. At the time, I also had a full-time job as a CMO, and the company wasn’t particularly excited about me promoting the book too heavily, so I had to push it mostly in my spare time. That created a bit of tension, but I made it work.

All in all, it was an incredible experience. If I wrote another book today, I don’t know that I’d self-publish again—at least not the first time around. I still believe in self-publishing, but having done it once, I’d probably try the traditional route just to have that experience too. That said, I’d likely go back to self-publishing afterward. I think it’s a great path, but you really have to do it right. You’re held to a higher standard, which is tough. Even if your self-published book looks just as good as a traditionally published one, it has to be better in order to get real traction. I think that’s unfair, but it’s the reality. Hopefully that continues to change. Either way, it was an awesome experience.

So when you sent me this question, I thought about this a lot. I’ll tell you, mine is probably not that interesting. I would love to be able to read faster. Like, I truly believe that power comes from knowledge. And, you know, like, it would be cool to say, I’d love to be able to fly, but then the first time I catch a bird strike, I’m gonna be super pissed. So I don’t know that I’d want that. I just—if I could read like 10x faster than I can, and I can just plow through books—like right now, I’m trying to get through Robert Greene’s Mastery, and it’s just like, oh man, it’s so good, but it’s like, 10-point font on pages this big. It’s a beast to get through. If I could read faster, that would be a tremendous superpower.

I can’t. I wish that I could take in the information through Audible the same way I can if I read, and I just can’t. I’m like, I destroy books. I dog-ear them, I put tags in them, I underline them, I write notes. So like, I gave my copy of Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life, which I think is the best book—I think it was written in 2018 when he published it. It’s absolutely a tremendous life-changing book for me personally. And I gave that to somebody, and he was like, “This book’s not fun,” like, “I see. You know, I can’t come to any of my own conclusions,” because you’ve literally written into it like a textbook. Because to me, that’s what they are—like, well-written books are textbooks. They’re textbooks for your life. There I go back and I reference, like, you know, I just, I reference a lot of books. I have a whole bookshelf. I reference books constantly. Like, it’s not just for vanity. Maybe some of them are for vanity. I’m actually starting to think Robert Greene’s Mastery is for vanity because it’s just so dense. I don’t know how I’m ever gonna get through it, but you know, I truly find them to be textbooks for my life. I constantly reference my favorite authors. I’m rereading. I’ve reread. I reread last month. I reread The Subtle Art of Not Giving an F by Mark Manson, or whatever. Mark, Mark Manson, whatever. It doesn’t matter. But, uh, that last month—this month—I’m rereading Purple Cow by Seth Godin, right? Like, he can plow through that book in a couple days, like it’s no problem. But the idea is, like, I just want to refresh the ideas because the core philosophies—I actually reread Seth Godin’s The Dip six months ago because I felt that coming on. I was worried about that in our business right here, that we didn’t want us to plateau, and I wanted to think through that so that that’s a textbook for my marketing life, right? I go in, bam. I plow through it. I look for my highlights. So it’s not like I’m reading the whole book, word for word. I’m kind of getting to the core principles that I pulled out earlier. It allows me to completely refresh my brain, and bam, now I feel like I just read it for the first time again, and I’m putting the information into you.

Oh dude, do it. Let me know what you think. That was a life-changing book for me.

If you go to—if you’re interested in the fitness side of my life and everything I’m doing there—go to trainmetabolic.com. You can learn all about us. Unfortunately, unless you’re in upstate New York, it would be hard for you to find one of our gyms today. Hopefully, that will not be true in a few years.

If you’re interested in just my work or me individually, go to RyanHanley.com and you can find just about anything there. I’m also the—probably the best social network is either Twitter or Instagram. RyanHanley_calm on Twitter and Ryan_Hanley on Instagram. None of my handles are the same. I’m like the worst brander ever. But yeah, you can find me on all the socials and I’m happy to answer questions or just connect—or just, you know, I love to chat about this stuff. So it’s been my pleasure to be on here.

Thanks so much.