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Love Coach
First appeared in Men's Health April, 1998

Suppose you could hire a coach to help with your love life, a gnarly Gipper who would send in the play on the fourth and goal. Just imagine the difference a Berra of the bedroom would make waving you around third.

Well, if you were always better at sports than at the game of romance, you may be a top draft choice for the latest trend in relationship counseling: love coaches. These experts, with backgrounds in a variety of fields (including plain old common sense), are advising singles and couples about their love lives.

We decided to test this new approach by pairing three men with three of these professionals. One is a recent divorce` looking to build a new relationship and avoid repeating past mistakes. Another had been married for more than a decade and wants to restore some newlywed passion. The third is a Hollywood single searching for the woman of his dreams (or at least a nubile starlet). Here are their stories, told by the men themselves. Pick the guy with a situation and goal most like yours, and see what the coach has ordered. Be gentle with those practiced dummies.

• Guy: Joshua Mooney
• Situation: 34, never engaged or married, fed up with the single's scene
• Goal: An effortless, enduring marriage to a wonderful, beautiful woman, or if that isn't immediately possible, at least some good, regular sex
• Coach: Robin Gorman Newman, a self-proclaimed "personal trainer for your love life," author of How to meet a Mensch in New York and founder of the relationship consulting firm Mensch Finders

Girlfriends, relationships and the attendant hysteria have been a priority -- okay, an obsession -- of mine since age 13. But at this point in my life, dating is a chore akin to taking out the garbage. It has to be done but not right this second and I'm watching something good on cable. Chatting up scores of superficially intriguing women, extracting phone numbers, weathering dates, all for the unlikely chance that Love will bloom -- that's work.

At first I blamed the women. But eventually I realized the problem was more likely my atrophying social skills. When did dating become a young man game and when did I grow so old? Time apparently for a "romance counselor." The kind of social aid I've always avoided for the same reason I don't read ads for impotence cures -- I ain't got that problem, bud.

Robin Gorman Newman has made a career out of telling singles how to meet the mates of their dreams. She'll be my adviser as I navigate the daunting world of dating. Turns out to be mere chance that her phone number ends in 911, but it adds urgency to my dialing. This may, after all, be an actual emergency.

Newman is quick to point out that she is neither match-maker nor therapist. If you don't date because you're busy washing your hands 327 times a day, or you're still living at home because only mom can properly starch your shorts, then you need someone with a goatee and a graduate degree. Newman's approach is more practical. "When you're single, you're so busy living life you don't have time to analyze it. That's what I do."

Using a questionnaire, she first determines your inefficient dating patterns. She says that "people are creatures of habits, and breaking old socializing patterns is crucial." Her goal is to foster new dating attitudes. She is very precise about this. "There are three 'rights' you need," she explains. "The right place, the right time and the right attitude. If one of them is out of place, you're going to have a problem." Funny, that's what my grandfather used to say about ice fishing.

Filling out Newman's quiz from which she'll construct my action plan, is therapeutic. Being forced to think objectively about my habits, goals and personality already feels like progress. So…how bad is it Doc?

"There weren't any overwhelming red flags," she says. I simply need to bring the same drive and devotion to my social life that I bring to my career. I need to be careful about having my shy confidence interpreted as cocky aloofness. I need to be a bit more flexible as to the qualities I desire in my ideal mate. ("Passionate, strong, loving, career-minded, motivated and fit is a pretty tough combination, "says Newman.) And I need to stop agonizing over pickup lines and learn to simply say "Hi."

I already know most of this, but it's reassuring to hear her professional confirmation, like when you take a pesky rash to the doctor and he says, "Yep, that's a rash." You feel better instantly.

Newman is wildly optimistic however, about my hobbies, which include classical music, Jazz, theater, film, museums, literature and fine dining. It seems I could be the son Alan Alda never had because he was so busily engaged in similar namby-pamby stuff. "You're romantic," Newman gushes."All this artistic stuff is really unusual for a man." Ninety percent of women share my likes.

Newman suggests I join the young professionals' fundraising arm of the local Art Museum, become a member of a reading club and an independent film society, go to a jazz show, and even sign up for beginning acting classes. I do as I am told. All firsts for me. I insist I want no part of anything that is blatantly the "single scene" but she assures me these are all "interest-oriented" activities.

So I wander into the night alone, armed only with the goal of being socially aggressive. I'm being unnaturally bold, but Newman is waiting for the play-by-play and she wants me to score.

At a Barnes and Noble book reading by a hot new novelist, I catch the eye of a velvet-clad blond by the Latte` machine. "So did you like the book?" I ask. "I better," she laughs throatily. "Its dedicated to me." Later, I see the author and blond together, slipping into a town car. Oh well.

At the art museum's new members night, singles abound. Positioned strategically near the entrance to a new video installation, I sip wine. Two women head my way, I say hello; they giggle and look at each other. They enter the installation, and I follow. It's oppressively dark, lit occasionally by bursts of color and strange, haunting images -- just like the gym at my first high school dance. I crack a high minded joke, but it's lost amidst explosions and moans from the soundtrack. As we drift from room to room, I'm waiting for the right moment to do something. But I take a wrong turn, lose them and I am alone in the darkness.

At a free jazz night at a French bistro, I'm working my way through a bread basket and enduring a wailing Coltrane wanabe, wondering which circle of hell this is, when a magnificent woman gives me an undeniable smile -- and heads my way! Turns out she is another journalist and has seen me before. We make insipid small talk, and then she suddenly hurries after the Coltrane-manque`. She is there to interview him.

I resolve to find the reporter the next day. Armed only with her first name, I actually do it. And I only put the phone down once before dialing. "Wow!" she says. "I'm really flattered you called. This took guts." "It did?" Oh yeah, it did. Thing is, she's involved with someone. She tells me I'm "sweet"and takes my number.

Newman is thrilled to hear this. I did exactly the right thing, she says. "Sounds like you're pursuing it in earnest, and that's great." Bolstered by all this flattery, I proceed to boldly confront the next two interesting women I meet, and get two dates. Can it really be this easy?

Relationship coaching is a self-fulfilling prophecy. It yields results in direct proportion to how hard you work. I can't cite many things Newman told me that I didn't know innately by my first prom. And yet, simply signing on with a service designed to improve my social life helped me acknowledge that there was room for improvement; so I fell easily into a proactive mindset. Plus, the chance to call someone for advice -- a woman no less -- after you've scored a date or a phone number is oddly confidence building. Newman cares. It's her job, of course, but she's sincere too -- like your cooler, more·worldly older sister in high school, who knew that if she didn't help, the family name would end.

• Guy: Brian Kaufman
• Situation: 36, divorced, didn't date for two years, recently met someone "promising"
• Goal: To make finds the right woman this time
• Coach: Janet O'Neal, professional relationship coach in Houston and author of Cracking the Love Code
  

Laugh if you must, but love found me in a New Jersey bowling alley. It was the top of the sixth frame and Rebecca, a trim Midwestern girl with chocolate brown eyes, was trouncing me with the same blue-speckled ball her parents gave her in the fifth grade. She had picked up a 7-10 split and in celebration, jumped into my arms. "I love you," she said before she knew what she had done. The question I needed to answer though, was, could I love her -- or anyone else again? And what the heck is love anyway?

Maybe you've heard the saying "When the student is ready, the teacher will arrive." For me, love coach Janet O'Neal came at the perfect time. Married in 1991, separated in 1995, divorced in 1997, I hadn't dated in two years. A self-imposed benching during which I hoped to heal my broken heart and figure out just how things had become so weird. But a guy can only sit unshaven in his boxers watching ESPN2 for so many weekends. After the divorce was final, I buckled my chinstrap, jogged gingerly back onto the field, and introduced myself to Rebecca, a member of my church. I had been eyeing her for the last year.

As the founder of one of the most successful independent dating services in the country (Friend Connection), O'Neal has assisted thousands of singles like me. She says most of those who develop successful relationships follow these six steps:

1. Conceiving: specifying what you want in a relationship.
2. Contentment: identifying your and your partner's emotional needs and how best to meet them.
3. Connecting: learning with the other person in non-sexual ways.
4. Chemistry: determining your mutual sexual turn-ons and turn-offs.
5. Conviction: realizing the other person is right for you.
6. Committment: deciding to stay with someone or pledging to take action.

No rules. No game playing. Just solid, figure-out-what-you-want-and-go-after-it techniques.

On the phone, O'Neal's tone favors a soprano, but her insight and confidence conjure Knute Rockne. Appropriately, we start with some background about my ex-wife and then she insists that I list my "top 10 personal assets." It sounds goofy, but compiling them (well·built, funny, good listener, and so on) boosts my ego.

Next, O'Neal challenges me to write a personal mission statement, including the type of women I most want to attract. I scribble 10 things in all, including "I want a woman who enjoys a physical challenge, is fit, joyful, playful, Christian and loves Rocky movies." The list describes someone I know, but who? Suddenly it's clear: Rebecca. (She does a great Adrian.) After just 20 minutes of focused reflection I've got more clarity about whom I'd like to date than ever.

The next few weeks bring a series of wonderful-and strange moments between Rebecca and me. During evening church service, my eyes meet hers and for a second I feel like I'm standing next to my new wife. Halfway through a meal at my favorite restaurant, her five year old son has to go to the bathroom, so I escort him, which is a new experience for me and as we're driving home with the little guy asleep in back, I reach for his mom's hand for the first time. It slips into mine like a well-oiled fielder's mitt. Simultaneously, I notice an odd, nonlocalized feeling I can describe as a "tingly sensation." I'm not sure what it is, but I like it.

Memo to self: "Ask someone about tingly sensation."

The night of that bowling date, we're sitting on a couch at Rebecca's house. The air is electric, fed by our percolating hormones. I seize the moment with a question: "What's going on here?"

"Well, Brian. I love you."

The L-word? Twice in one day? Since running from the room isn't an option, I stutter out a platitude. "Love is a big step you know." Wisely, she doesn't press to hear the same from me. The moment passes. Driving home, I'm thinking, "Why didn't I say it? Why haven't I kissed her yet? What's wrong with me?"

O'Neal has some answers. "Like most guys, your intellect rules your intuition," she explains. "You need to figure out what you're feeling." I mention that Rebecca will be helping me look for an apartment this weekend, and that we'll also be spending Thanksgiving together. O'Neal says both should be excellent opportunities to see each other under stress, which is telling for any potential couple. "But your assignment," she emphasizes, "is to notice how you feel."

While apartment hunting I want to ask Rebecca more questions. "So if you were stranded on a desert island and could only bring one thing, what would it be?" Stuff like that. Instead, I struggle to follow O'Neal's order. Here's what I'm feeling: warmth, friendship, safety, chemistry, fun. We're staring into each other's eyes when my emotions crystallize.

"I feel like I've been on a long trip -- stopping in places that have made me tired and uncomfortable," I say to her. "But this -- this feels like home."

During my morning commute, the deep brown leaves that remain on the trees remind me of her eyes and hair: When I get to the office, I mention the tingly sensation to a coworker who is always up-to-date on health research.

"Nonlocalized?" she asks.

"Uh-huh."

"Comes and goes?"

"Yup!"

"You either have malaria," she says, "or you're in love."

The next time O'Neal and I talk, I press her to detail the "symptoms" of love. "That tingly sensation is one," she replies. "Some people also get clumsy. Everything about the other person becomes fascinating. You become more confident. You're euphoric.... Enioy it!" But she also warns, "These are dangerous times. Relationships don't fail because people aren't in love, they fail because people aren't compatible."

A few days later, I'm exiting a supermarket at 9 A.M. clad in a sports jacket and khakis. It's Thanksgiving, and in the park across the street some guys in sweats are playing football. Envy washes over me. Driving to Rebecca's house, I visualize playing ball with them. But when I'm greeted like a conquering hero by Rebecca and her son, suddenly a day with the boys loses its appeal.

We cook. We play board games. We serve. We give thanks. We eat and we laugh. The food is better than we had hoped, and sometime after dinner I tell her that I love her -- something I suspect she knew all along. As I write this now, Rebecca and I have been dating for three months. O'Neal has pledged to see us through, if·we're willing. And no matter what, I think I've grown by having both in my life.

• Guy: Joe Kita
• Situation: 38, married for 13 years, two kids (12 and 9)
• Goal: To keep passion alive and buttress the relationship for parenting teens
• Coach: Ed Shea, a licensed clinical social worker with 25 years of experience as a Chicago-area marriage counselor and relationship coach
  

Women are like beer. Those first sips are full of luscious flavor, but as your tastebuds gradually adjust, each successive mouthful becomes more ordinary. Eventually, the head fades, things go flat and the can dimples.

Now I'm not saying that my bride of 13 years has become a quart of Pabst. No, she's still Blue Ribbon to me. But with two kids and two careers, we're just too busy to be as intoxicated with each other as we once were. We both realize it. We both bemoan it. But we've never really talked about it. And that's why we've agreed to this two-month experiment with Ed Shea, a new breed of relationship coach who prefers to do his counseling over the telephone instead of across a polished maple desk.

Which is good. After all, as men, we have our pride. The only guy I ever felt comfortable confessing to was old Father Callo, and that's because he had narcolepsy. With this arrangement, I can still hide, although more physically than emotionally. By being a long-distance referee, sort of the soft-spoken voice of a wise conscience, Shea says he's better able to get couples to open up (men especially) and really listen to each other.

"My job as a coach is to help you strengthen your communication muscles," he explains. "The exercises I prescribe will feel awkward at first. But you'll become more coordinated."

Our customized eight-week training program entailed 15 three-way telephone conversations with Shea, kind of a menage a` AT& T. If we had been paying for his services, our 10-hour bill (not including phone charges) would have come to $l,000. But before you balk, let me dangle one tantalizing outcome before you. Gentlemen, during this time, my wife and I had the best sex of our married lives -- and with each other, no less!

Do not be surprised if that grand suddenly seems like a paltry sum. What Shea had us do was remarkably simple in retrospect, but it is the very overlooked basis of marriage itself. As promised, he taught us how to be more effective communicators. While there isn't space here to detail all the nuances of this process, I can share enough highlights to get you started.

Tell her you appreciate her. Every one of our sessions began with a five-minute warm-up in which I would tell my wife what I appreciated about her. Then, she would do the same for me. Such pats on the back could range from the profound to the incidental, but their effect was always the same: It made us feel good, confident and loved. Plus, it put us in a positive mood for the discussion that followed.

You don't need a relationship coach to try this. Do it while you're lying in bed with your partner this evening, and see if it doesn't naturally lead to a goodnight hug (or something more). In these hectic times, the words 'I appreciate you" have become even more special than the often trite and expected "I love you."

Feel for soft spots. One of the ways Shea uncovers weak spots in a marriage is by having his clients complete a questionnaire. The one on page 135 is a condensed version of what my wife and I answered at the beginning. Try completing it with your partner, answering honestly according to the specified scale.

Repeat what she says. 'When most people are in a discussion or are having an argument, they aren't listening, they're reloading," says Shea. "They shoot and reload, shoot and reload." To break this bad habit and keep battles from escalating, Shea teaches a technique called mirroring. It involves repeating, or "reflecting," everything your partner has said after she's finished speaking. The trick, though, is to be a 'flat mirror' -- never interrupting and always using her exact words instead of summarizing in yours. You have to listen closely in order to do this -- hence, the value. Ultimately, this process will make her feel heard, valued and understood, which is more progress than you've probably made discussing anything in quite some time.

Negotiate a solution. You can't demand change from your partner. That just results in stalemate, war, and most hurtful of all, no nookie. What's required to overcome a bothersome behavior or situation is tactful negotiation. Here's the bargaining language Shea recommends.

Simply fill in the blanks.

When this happens I feel _____.

I react _____.

I'm afraid of _____.

I hurt so much when _____.

It reminds me of _____ from my childhood.

If _____ could happen, this wound would be healed.

Although this exercise also felt awkward at first, it did help us address and even correct problems that would have otherwise been ignored, perhaps to the future detriment of our marriage. For instance, to give me fair warning of any impending PMS, my wife agreed to write on our refrigerator calendar those days when I should be most cautious. The result has been a longer fuse on my part -- because I now understand what's driving her behaviour -- and remarkably fewer arguments.

"What you're striving for," says Shea, "Is a conscious marriage in which you think before you react."

But enough about that. What you're really interested in, no doubt, is what caused the sudden spike in our sex life. I wish there were a more revolutionary explanation other than that for the first time in a long time we stopped talking about our workdays, the news and the kids, and started discussing each other. I guess we were excited by meeting a new person, just like when we were dating, only this new person was the one we had been sleeping with for 13 years. This connection, this newfound intimacy, naturally enhanced our love life.

"It's a simple process that can have profound effects," concludes Shea. "It's a way to take your relationship from the functional to the exceptional, from the ordinary to the extraordinary."

I agree so much, I just might buy another round.