I’m cheap. Though I’ve come to appreciate the dramatic increase in quality I get from paying for good service — like our auto mechanics, my chiropractor, and the house cleaning service we get twice a year — I will go out of my way to learn a new skill, however inconvenient, to avoid paying for something I know I can do myself.

Example: I own all the lawn tools, yet I will put off my landscaping for weeks…and I’ll still go out in 100 degree heat during a lunch break to do it all myself when it finally gets horrid before I dare search for a provider.

But this doesn’t apply for the barbershop.

Oh, I own great clippers, a three-panel mirror, all the combs, fine scissors, and even a drape to keep hair off my clothes. I have excellent razors and pre-, peri-, and post-shave creams. I have thousands of home cuts of practice, a guide to cutting a great fade, and even a playlist I like for doing my hair right.

But I pay the $50 to see a barber when it’s available to me. I have to make an appointment a week in advance. I have to block time in my work schedule because they aren’t open late. And the cut I can do myself in 35 minutes takes about 60 at the shop.

And I’m happy to do it. What my bathroom doesn’t have is a collection of expert eyes. It doesn’t have a group full of ideas about fresh cuts. It doesn’t have the local artists’ latest wares up on the wall, or flyers about community events, or a mix of sports and cult classic movies up on a screen.

My bathroom doesn’t have other people that care about their haircut in it. It doesn’t have community.

And the same is true about my garage gym.

It’s my second-favorite place after the public library. It has my barbell, my drop pads, my squat rack, my chalk, my shoes, my fan, my speaker. I can play my music, I can train whenever I want, and I can do just about any exercise that matters in there. There are few interruptions (my kids still pop in sometimes). There are no restrictions. There is no one to share equipment with.

Yet, every time the schedule works out, I drive 40 minutes to my barbell club (or find a way to fit it in after working at the office during the week).

Recently, I found myself on the “bad” platform using the “crappy” bar and the “cheap” plates to take my lifts for the day. Across from me was a recent gym transplant, making his way out of the CrossFit world and into the weightlifting world. He had his headphones in, his camera on a stand, and his plates all loaded as I started my warmup.

I am generally perfectly content to do my own thing in a gym and he looked content to do his. But I’m stoked that we happened to strike up conversation after he struggled with a jerk — turns out, he was having the kind of day I had just finished a string of, where you feel like you’ve done everything right yet your body just refuses to take instruction.

Turns out, he had the kind of goals that I have — to hit certain standards in weightlifting, then direct attention to another sport.

Turns out, amusingly, he happened to be listening to the same album I’d had on during my drive to the club.

I don’t need community to stick to my training. I don’t need community to keep my hair trim.

But all of you on teams, regardless of your sport, know the boost that comes from someone feeling your pain and celebrating your success. He nailed the next set of jerks and I was the first one to give him a fist bump. The rest of my session was awesome after that.

That’s why I’m going to keep going to the barbell club.

And, just to bring it all around, you better believe I’ll keep taking those daps at the barber shop after a fresh cut.

Because it’s nice to be around folks that understand.