Fitness guru embodies his business
Bodybuilding champ's 'Method' helps others achieve goals

http://www.thedurhamnews.com/front/story/181329.html
David Newton, Correspondent
At 13, Maitland Nance curled into a few barbells to pump himself up for the rigors of football at East Durham Junior High. The next year a girlfriend nudged football out of the picture, but Nance stuck with the growing collection of weights in his parents' garage.

Nance's mother, Maola, was a fixture on Durham's restaurant scene with Maola's (1939-'79). Nance worked there and had his own places, Maitland's Top Hat (1960-'64) and Nance's Seafood and Nance's Cafeteria (both 1968-'88). He would escape the grind with afternoon getaways to pump iron before the evening rush.

Nance turns 70 on Jan. 10, which is his ticket to step up training to compete for the title of Mr. Past 70 this spring or summer. (The date hasn't been set.) Why not? He has already won the national titles for Mr. Past 40, 50 and 60, as well as the Mr. Universe title for Past 60 nine years ago. He also has a shelf full of trophies and about 10 miscellaneous titles.

And what began as a teenage kick has evolved into a by-appointment-only fitness studio at 705 Ninth Street where among several tons of gleaming equipment Nance and his associates shape up jocks, bodybuilders, weight patients and whomever.

"The best feeling is when I help people improve their lives," he says of his work at Maitland's Method, which opened in early November. "I'm doing this as a professional for the first time."

But back to his yen for competitive bodybuilding, the gut-busting grunts, the sweat and the clanking of weights that has been a steady music most of Nance's life.

"It's a pride thing, I guess," he says. He admits to having an ego, a competitive nature and a willingness to outwork the competition. "Second place is first loser," he says. The work ethic instilled by his parents plays a role, too, he says.

And there are, he says, benefits from bodybuilding; "the natural high" that follows aerobic exertion and a generally positive outlook on life. "I feel 50," he says.

At 5'9" and 180 pounds, Nance wasn't handed a dramatic frame on which to drape bulging muscles. Hours of sweat earned him a 48-inch chest, 17-inch biceps, a 30-inch waist and the "balance" or symmetry that judges like.

All the grunting and lifting in the world, however, does not win bodybuilding titles. A champion bodybuilder needs a few pounds of hammy showman when he strides on stage almost naked in his posing briefs and flexes through 90 seconds of the mandatory 10 poses under searing stage lights.

Critical judges take notes. The crowd screams. And the bodybuilder pops his muscles searching for a competitive advantage. Nance insists he does not play to the crowd. But he couldn't resist a bit of theater when he won his Mr. Past 60 all-around title nine years ago.

He hobbled on stage bent over a cane. Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" came up on the sound system. "I don't need this cane," Nance shouted. He tossed the cane away and slammed through his poses to victory. "You can only get by with that once," he says.

Nance is an approachable man with swept-back, impeccably barbered thinning white hair that contrasts with his black T-shirt and sweat pants. His easy smile reveals strong teeth. His manner is slow and deliberate as he repeatedly returns to his new business venture, Maitland's Method.

His "Method" evolved from near tragedy in May 1973 when two men were robbing him at gunpoint in his restaurant, Nance's Seafood on Morreene Road. He handed the money toward one man, who fired. The bullet entered just below Nance's left clavicle, traveled through his lung and ended up in his lower back. Open-chest surgery resulted in nerve damage.

When he returned to his weights, "I had to come back slow and easy," Nance says. It took about a year to regain his physique. "I realized that technique is more important than the weight. You have to control the heavy weight properly. Don't bounce and jerk."

The "Method" resulted. Championships followed.

Today, Nance loads his clients up with weight, but they have to lift slowly and under control, which raises a gender difference about men and women in the gym.

"Women do it exactly the right way," he says. "Turn your back on men, and they start jerking and slinging" the weights.

Nance and his three associates, Keith Rissolo, Victoria O'Boyle and Stephen Payne, encourage clients to work in pairs in order to split the hourly fee and to engender intensity during the workout. Nance says he is encouraged by customer response after the first month of operation.

He would never have imagined that what began as fun in a garage 53 years ago would evolve into today's mirrors, rows of high-tech equipment and a job he enjoys.

"It was just strictly a fun thing," he says of his teen years hefting a barbell. "I just wanted to get stronger."

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