READY, SET, RIEKES: Students stretch their hands up to the sky in one of the athletic programs offered at the center. questions on how they intend to accomplish their goals. On any given afternoon, the center’s extensive athletic facilities are sure to be filled with masses of students for after school workouts. The center’s dedication to athletes has produced alumni such as former San Francisco 49ers football player Jeff Ulbrich and Stanford University basketball coach Kate Paye. “People here can work out under different programs,” Moshammer says. “We have the CORE programs, so you get a folder and a trainer will take you through the first three workouts when you come and after that time you can decide when you want to come in by yourself and work out.” Riekes, who initially aspired to be a professional football player, knows a lot about fitness. After being sidelined with a back injury, he decided that he wanted to help others attain their dreams. The center, which Riekes initially con-
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ceived in 1974, consisted of little more than private lessons on athletic fitness, hosted in his own backyard. But it soon blossomed into a multi-focus organization that required its own space, so Riekes moved it to its current location in a Menlo Park warehouse in order to pursue his vision. At every possible moment, Riekes incorporates his own distinctive philosophy, which can seem unorthodox and at times, even silly. “Say somebody’s in the hospital and we hear that they’re struggling,” Riekes says. “I’ll send someone and she’s going to give him a gift packet that has this [a fart machine]. And this is going to make him laugh.” Riekes highlights this approach for its lack of pity. He doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for anyone else, or feel burdensome. In fact, he says he only wants members who can dedicate themselves to making everyone feel valued. “The only admissions requirement is
that you make everyone feel important and comfortable,” Riekes says. “It’s not a private club and there’s no exclusivity; it’s a place of non-judgment.” Riekes’ fundamental message is one of teaching and acceptance. A veteran with only one arm can learn mouthpiece archery, in which the string is pulled back with the mouth rather than the other arm, and eventually then teach it to someone else, discovering, as Riekes says, a skill that “brings them joy” and then teaching others “that same skill and joy.” As the dinner hour approaches, the basketball players leave, but the sounds of “Up, down!” and clashing weights continue to fill the halls, along with chords signalling the start of guitar practice. For Jonah Moshammer, Remi & Chloe and all of the other thousands of members of the Riekes Center, this is what it’s all about. “It’s a place for whatever your dreams are,” Riekes says. “You should be free to explore.” v