When the folk artists of India Noah Richardson isn’t writing songs or performing for growing crowds across the country, there’s a good chance you’ll find him in an unlikely place: Planet Fitness.
It may not sound appealing, but Richardson isn’t after flashy workouts. He follows up consistently.
As his music career takes off, the Philadelphia native discovers that success on stage isn’t all that different from success in the gym. Both require patience, discipline, and a willingness to show up long before results are achieved.
This perspective comes honestly. Richardson grew up around bodybuilding culture thanks to his father and uncle who introduced him to it sports legends at an early age.
“I was really big on Dorian Yates,” says Richardson. Muscles and fitness. “My uncle and dad were big into bodybuilding in the 80s. My uncle was telling me about Dorian Yates and his workout plan and I wanted to try something different.”
Richardson eventually followed suit Yeats’s legendary philosophy “Blood and Guts”.an intense training style centered around pushing sets to failure.
“I really liked the learning-to-fail aspect of it,” he says. “I thought it was good to push myself. And I haven’t been in the gym that long. I love being in the gym, but I have work to do. It was good to work really hard and then get out.”
Planet Fitness is the unsung hero of the Tour of Life
Unlike professional athletes who travel with trainers, chefs and rehabilitation specialists, most independent musicians have to figure things out as they go. For Noah Richardson, that often means relying on the familiar purple and yellow logo.
“Planet Fitness is old-fashioned,” says Richardson. “Everything is there. I can get the job done and do whatever I need to do.”
While social media is often praised luxurious gyms and sophisticated exercise routinesRichardson’s reality is much more practical. Between long wagon rides, overnight hauls, sleeping on boards, and driving hundreds of miles between shows, consistency is more important than finding the perfect learning environment.
That’s why Planet Fitness has become one of his most trusted travel stops.
“Especially if you’re roughing it and sleeping on couches and stuff,” he said. “You can shower. You can do anything.”
A gym is more than just a place to lift weights. On the road, it provides a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of tourists. The exercise can reset both his body and mind before another day of driving, sound checks and performances.
Hockey created the Noah Richardson Competitive Foundation
Long before music became his full focus, Richardson was a hockey kid.
Raised in the Philadelphia area, he spent much of his childhood on the ice, eventually becoming involved with the hockey foundation founded by the late owner of the Flyers. Ed Snyder. While traveling now limits his time on the field, hockey influences the way he approaches life and music.
“I think both sports and weightlifting taught me that things don’t happen overnight,” Richardson says. “With hard work, you’ll get there.”
This lesson continues to guide him as an independent artist, creating one song and one performance at a time.
“Learning to skate, learning all those skills, I’m going to apply that same work ethic here,” he said. “I’m learning skills in the studio, I’m learning tracking, I’m learning everything. Practicing and getting into your arena every day is definitely something I’ve been able to handle.”
Growing up in the presence of death taught Noah Richardson how to live
Most musicians can trace their outlook on life back to a formative experience. For Noah Richardson, it happened inside a funeral home.
Long before he was touring the country and building audiences through vulnerable indie-folk songs, Richardson grew up around the family funeral business in Philadelphia. While most kids spend their weekends at sporting events or birthday parties, he witnessed moments that most people don’t experience until later in life.
And according to Richardson, it gave him first-hand access to the best and strangest parts of human nature.
“I’ve seen a lot of crazy things,” he says with a laugh. A lot of crazy stuff, we might add.
Over the years, he’s seen grieving family members argue, seen funerals turn into celebrations, and witnessed enough strange requests to fill an album of stories.
“People say, ‘I want to be buried with a pack of cigarettes.’ I want to be buried with a six-pack of Miller Lite,” Richardson recalls. “And we’re like, ‘Sure, we can do that.’
Being raised in Philadelphia just added another layer to the experience.
During the Eagles’ historic Super Bowl run, Richardson recalls services where mourners showed up in Eagles gear and celebrated their loved ones with songs usually reserved for Lincoln Financial Field.
“At the funeral everyone wore Eagles shirts and played Eagles songs,” he said. “I said it was amazing.”
Then there were moments that could only happen in Philadelphia.
“I’ve seen several people try to run and jump into the grave,” he says, laughing.
As strange as some of these memories sound, growing up around loss gave Richardson a perspective that few people develop at a young age.
He understood that every human being has a story. Life rarely goes according to plan. And that people ultimately want to remember exactly who they are. Problems, flaws, passions and everything.
These lessons still influence his songwriting today.
The honesty that defines Richardson’s music comes from spending years watching people at their most vulnerable, emotional, and often human.
This is why he is not overly concerned with charts, trends or comparisons. Because after seeing what really matters to people at the end of their lives, he realized that many people spend decades trying to understand them:
Show. Work hard. Love your people. And maybe don’t take yourself too seriously.
The rest tend to sort themselves out.
Therapy changed more than his mental health
Richardson’s music resonated with listeners because of its emotional honesty, but he admits that his relationship with songwriting has evolved as he’s become more invested in his own mental health.
“For a long time, writing was absolutely my outlet,” he says. “Then I started going to therapy and looking for specialists.”
The change created unexpected problems.
“I thought to myself, ‘Man, going to therapy didn’t make me a worse singer, but I wasn’t able to fully pour everything into the songs anymore,'” he says. “I learned healthier ways to deal with some of the things I was dealing with.”
Today, Richardson sees songwriting and therapy as more than competing forces.
“My favorite writing sessions start almost like therapy sessions,” she says. “Everyone talks about what’s going on in their lives, and that affects what you create.”
That willingness to process emotions clearly extends to life on the road, where Richardson credits his teammates for helping him deal with the challenges that come with touring.
“Life still goes on when you’re on tour,” he says. “Family stuff, personal stuff, whatever. I’m lucky to have good people around me who are good listeners.”
Sleep is impossible
Ask Richardson what has changed most with age, and the answer comes quickly.
sleep
“Oh my God, sleep is everything,” he says.
At the age of 27, he realized that recovery was more important than it had been in his 20s.
“I used to be able to stay up until three in the morning and be fine,” he says. “Not now.”
This perception has become especially important to protect his voice. Richardson compares vocal health to strength training. Both require proper technique, recovery and consistency.
“It took me a long time to learn proper vocal technique,” he says. “Like lifting, there are many mechanisms involved.”
After performances, he often limits his conversation with his colleagues to restore his voice. A difficult task for someone who clearly enjoys the camaraderie of life on the road.
Fuel up between shows
Nutrition remains a work in progress. Richardson laughs when discussing the realities of post-show eating habits.
“You don’t eat all day and you’re hungry after the show,” she says. “This is where the $40 Taco Bell order comes into play.”
To keep him protein intake During the journey, he developed an amazing practical strategy.
“42 grams of Core Power, a Barebells protein and one of those lunch meat packs from the gas station,” he says. “That’s like 75 grams of protein.”
It’s not a meal plan that would impress a bodybuilding coach, but it’s a system that works when you travel hundreds of miles between gyms. For Richardson, that’s what health ultimately comes down to: doing the best you can with what’s available.
Whether he’s training like Dorian Yates, finding planetary fitness between tour stops, or learning to balance therapy, creativity, and recovery, Richardson approaches development the same way he approaches music.
One day at a time.
And like his fellow bodybuilders who love him, he believes that fitness ultimately takes care of others.
