It is sometime around 2004. I have a ritual. Every time I shop at Costco I make a point to peruse the book section. Costco’s book section is something of a wonder. It is a limited selection crossing multiple genres – memoir, non-fiction, fiction, romance, coffee table books, and specialty books – all laid out on a table so you can see the cover of every book. The limited nature and this unique layout made for a special shopping experience.
I like to shop via inspiration, especially with books. I might feel drawn to a section of the display, a particular author or image, and begin to read a page or two. I might even pick up a book and walk with it for a bit before making a final choice.
At Costco I couldn’t get lost in shelves and shelves of a single category of book bindings, reading title after title. Everything was laid out, and I would see everything at one time. The landscape I had to explore was at the mercy of the Costco book buyer. In a world that would soon see Amazon out-inventory the likes of Borders and Waldenbooks, this limitation was a beautiful experience. It was reminiscent of walking into a local bookstore and asking, “What have you got for me today?”
That’s the conversation I would have in my head as I approached the table. I would ask, “What might be here for me, today?” As I did, I could feel the anticipation rise within me. My eyes would scan the book covers. This book featuring a hero image of the author, that book emblazoned with text – it’s title and author’s name yelling out to me. Another book inviting me closer with a tiny tagline. The selection would always be varied.
This time I found a book that would change my life – literally. The cover – featuring black and orange text, and photos of athletic types in various positions of exercise – was both attracting and curiosity-inducing. “The Whartons’ Complete Book of Fitness” was nestled amongst New York Times bestsellers, children’s books, and handful of popular box sets. It was a combined edition of three separate books by Jim and Phil Wharton describing their unique approach to flexibility, strength, and cardiovascular health. It was big.
I picked up the book and read a little from the introduction. It was straightforward, and proposed a method of flexibility training that resonated with my chronically tight tap dancer’s body. Active-Isolated Flexibility, or dynamic stretching (although Jim never liked that term), has become common place in the last 20 years, but in 2004 it was like a light bulb had just turned on for me, and I hadn’t even bought the book yet!
This was it. This was the book for me. The Costco book-buyer was now unwittingly a part of my health-and-wellness journey. I bought the book and began reading and attempting the Wharton’s prescriptions as soon as I could. I took the book in order – flexibility first, then strength, and finally cardio. Trying to bring to life a physical activity from a book is a ridiculous endeavor – I write about this in the introduction to The Tap Dance Method – but I tried. I found something that would work as a rope, and tried to mimic the positions and movements described in the book. I felt awkward and eventually gave up. I needed a person.
In the book I noticed a mention of the Wharton Clinic and a corresponding phone number. They were close! If need be, I could call, set up an appointment, have a session, and figure this out. But in pure “I don’t need that right now” fashion, I never called, choosing rather to file that information away. The book lay dormant until an impact injury sidelined me.
I’m about to teach class at Broadway Dance Center in New York City. A student asks me to demonstrate an Over-The-Top (a flying step in which the dancer literally jumps over their own leg, jumping off and landing on a single leg). I say yes, jump, land, and feel an twinge on the right side of my upper back. Something had happened. Just below my neck, on the right side of my spine, I could feel the knot, but I had a 90 minute class to teach, so I did.
The next morning I woke up and could not move my head without pain. The range of motion in my neck was severely limited. I had a legitimate injury, and I knew exactly why. This wasn’t something I would shake off, or power through. Who could help me? The Whartons. I made the call, and set up an appointment.
The Wharton Clinic was a small space in the lobby of an apartment building in the Upper West Side of New York City. There were two rooms. One had the front desk, resistance training equipment, restroom, and back office. The other had two massage tables. Everything was proprietary. The Whartons built their own tables, designed their own equipment, and created their own world into which they gently invited clients.
My first session was two hours of teaching and learning with Jim Wharton himself. I discovered how their system really worked, their theory of change, new things about my own body, and how I could deeply engage with my physical health and well-being. The Wharton system became (and still is) a core aspect of my physical practice. I apprenticed with Jim, and got credentialed to teach their system. I taught the group stretching for New York Road Runners for a few years, too. Over the course of my career I’ve continually tapped Jim and Phil for their expertise. They have worked me through several impact and repetitive stress injuries, helping me to continue doing the demanding work of tap dancing whether on the stage or in the classroom.
Through the ebbs and flows of life whenever I need a reset, I return to my rope and the Wharton routine. Whenever I’m preparing for significant work it is the Whartons’ ideas that are the foundation of my training. This is not an exaggeration.
It’s the spring of 2025 and I’m shopping at Costco. I go to peruse the book section only to discover that the section doesn’t exist. Had they moved the section? Am I missing something? I feel disoriented. I search for an employee and ask where I can find the books. Their response was to the point. “Oh, we don’t carry books anymore. We haven’t for little bit now.” Had I not been to Costco in that long? In an instant my world shifted.
An era is gone. Gone are the opportunities for any future moments perusing, discovering, and being impacted by books from Costco. In the same moment I realize I’ve lost touch with the Whartons, too. I’ll do what I can to reconnect with Jim and Phil. I’ll do what I can to continue to search for the book that is waiting somewhere for me.
There will be other books, and other friendships to be sure. But for now I think its enough for me to feel sad for the losses and joy for all the goodness that came from a single purchase of a book from Costco.