Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Stand!

Stand!

In the end you'll still be you
One that's done all the things you set out to do
Stand .. There's a cross for you to bear
Things to go through if you're going anywhere
Stand .. For the things you know are right
It's the truth that the truth makes them so uptight
Stand .. All the things you want are real
You have you to complete and there is no deal
Stand. stand, stand
Stand, stand, stand
Stand ... You've been sitting much too long
There's a permanent crease in your right and wrong
Stand ... There's a midget standing tall
And the giant beside him about to fall
Stand.
stand, stand Stand.
stand, stand Stand.
They will try to make you crawl
And they know what you're saying makes sense and all
Stand ... Don't you know that you are free
Well at least in your mind if you want to be
Everybody ... Stand, stand, stand

-----------------------

Carter had a pretty savage crossfit today, 5 rounds of:
250 meter row
20 push ups
20 sit ups
20 kettle bell swings

2 minutes rest.

Times five.

You'd be surprised how hard something like this can be, but the whole idea is to push as hard as you can, and check the recovery rate. Carter was very pleased to see that his recovery rate between 4 and 5 was about the same as between 1 and 2. I am somewhat jealous that I've not been able to do Crossfit for a few weeks...

The lazy part of me is loving the "rest" I get, doing Circuits only, though "rest" is an entirely subjective verb. But I miss the brutality of Crossfit -- the knowing you've pushed as hard as you can and feeling like a Monster in the end. Carter is getting so much smaller... I'm awed by his progress and the fact that he can push so hard. I swear he works out harder than anyone else at the gym (except Eric, maybe).

My workout comes tomorrow, and today, I would have been miserable. I was tired, cranky, the heater at work is nonfunctioning, and it was 58 - 60 degrees all day long. I put a space heater behind me which warmed my legs, but spent the entire day feeling as if the ground below my feet was a drift of snow. It was cold, I was cold, and frankly, absoltutely miserable.

nestled in the comfort of my toasty warm house, heat blasting and a fleece robe and blankie, Carter and I get to talking about where we are in this journey of ours. It started with weight loss; I started working with Stein because I wanted to lose weight for our wedding. The corset fitting (44" waist. No kidding) just deflated my ego, and I did not want to get married with a fucking 44" waist. The corset took me down to 40", and though it made a difference, it did not eradicate the knowledge of my hugeness.

I'd lost about 30 pounds by the time of the wedding, going from 220 lbs to 190. I was okay with that, really -- my waist was down to 39", which was pleasing.

But time has passed, and Carter and I keep on working out, both on our own and with our trainer. We work hard, I work through a variety of silly injuries that keep me back, Carter has just encounter his first injury from box-jumps and today, Burpees.

So as he nurses his knee, and I wonder if my hamstring pull is getting me out of the complacency of Circuit and back to Crossfit, we started talking about our goals. What are we getting out of this? What is it that makes it all worthwhile? Is it the weight loss? Or What?

It ends up here: I've lost between 35 and 40 pounds, keeping in perspective the large amount of muslce mass gained. I'm down to 184. That's a lot of weight for a woman, but it's an honest 36 pound weight loss. It took me 13 years to gain 80 pounds, and one year to lose 36. This could be viewed as slow going, or as a constructive weight loss commensurate in time to the years it took to put it on.

Carter's lost quite a bit of weight, but he looks like he's lost twice the weight. He looks terrific, and I've taken to calling him Skinnybutt, because he's so much more narrow than he's been in years....

But we did get to talking, and both of us acknowledge that although the weight loss was the primary consideration at first, at this point it's the health increases that carry more weight (pun intended). Carter's running now, I'm rowing thousands of meters. Recovery from Crossfit takes only a minute or two; used to be recovery from Circuits was several minutes. Where we once on the floor in exhaustion after Crossfit, we now sit up and, though breathing heavily, we can talk through the couple minutes it takes to completely recover. Everything -- endurance, strength, and recovery has become a no-brainer. And though for me -- at least -- weight loss is almost at a stand-still, my health gets better and better. I can keep up and best 90% of the walking zombie population. I can see fat people and both empathize with but not sympathize with them.

This shite takes work, it takes focus, and it takes being willing to work hard and keep working. It takes a lot of crap that our society doesn't emphasize; what you reap, you sow.... McDonald's is going to take the very breath out of you. Walking like you've got a purpose will only serve to make you stronger. Take that first step... and then keep walking. Then jog, and then run....

Eventually you will feel fit and ready to meet the world head on. It's a nice feeling to be here, and I'm ready to keep on with the good fight.

Oh, and while I poo-poo the weight loss in lieu of health, I have to add that I have lost 10 inches in my waist, down to 34", while my weight sticks at around 184. I have gone from a size 18 - 20 to a size 14 and I no longer purchase XXL tops; mostly I get L or XL's, depending on the fit. I'm still pretty big, but in my eye, I'm almost *tiny*. In comparison, I stand tall. I feel fit, I AM fit. That's better than just losing weight. I could've done Weight Watchers, the Zone, whatever... I chose fitness and health, not just weight loss. I think this is important.

Stand up for yourself; set yourself up. Do what you gotta do. Don't figure on losing the weight, lose the shame. Make yourself a better you... we're all in this together, and it takes work and dedication.

Stand, in the end you'll still be you.
One that's done all the things you set out to do.
You have you to complete and there is no deal...
Stand.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Good Golly Ms. Molly!

The hubster and I did some work at the gym last night, I rowed 3K at level 10, jump roped 400. Did a short circuit of core work -- 3 sets of four-point planks, a couple sets of side planks. Still feeling very sore from last week's circuit with Stein. Since we're concentrating primarily on upper body, my arms and chest are stressed. The muscles are more used to the hard-core endurance of Crossfit at this point, not weight-training, so they're complaining (in a good way).

Carter's working on running. He used to play soccer, so once was able to run forever, but that was a long time ago, and he's got his goals to achieve right now: he ran a mile, rowed 3k at level 6 (broke these up) and did a pre-Crossfit warm-up as his workout (lunges, squats, rope jumps, jumping jacks, etcetera), which is essentially an entire workout in itself. I'm proud of him for working on the running, particularly since it's one of my weakest areas. I'd like to start working on it, but I keep injuring myself in various ways every single time I try to run. Carter inspires me. He's just an animal who can't be beat down. Everyone at the gym who isn't intimidated by him comments on how hard he works. Makes me smile.

Carter and I both noted today that we no longer get shin splint pain, which we were having some trouble with a couple months ago when we started jumping and running more.

So today, we took the dogs for the 2 1/2 mile walk around Point Isabel. Stella has a slightly bum front leg, and I can't figure out what the trouble is. It happens only when she's walked for a time. She is, however, the very laziest dog I've ever encountered, and it's both amusing and frustrating. Stella Mae reminds me of me a year ago; she makes doggie type excuses, limps a little more than necessary, but only when she's right in front of me so I can see it; throws herself down in a tizzy when she's too tired to continue when she's tired... not like she can't keep going, she just doesn't want to. Geez, I was just like that too!

She needs more time out for long walks, and I don't have the time to do that which really sucks for her. I can go to the gym for my lunch break, but Stella can't. It's a shame, really, and I really owe her better than this. Jazmin, the little mutt, keeps up with the Joneses no matter what. No complaints. She's a Crossfitter. Stella's a weekend amateur softball player and if she could, she'd be swilling a beer while on our walks around Point Isable. Jazmine would be sipping on Cytomax to keep hydrated. Funny how these two dogs are so different from one another, and so human in an odd way. Both get the same level of exercise, and each responds differently to the workouts they have.

We got home and I continued painting the back bedroom. I marvel, even now, at how much easier everything is for me to do. Last year, prepping, moving furniture, crouching down to tape everything down would have been very difficult. Today it was just a chore to do, which I enjoyed while blasting some Audioslave and Drowning Pool.

The best part of today was that Molly, a really cool chick I met two years ago when she took care of Stella for me, called me. We've been promising to reconnect for two years. It's ridiculous, but we're alike in that it's so easy to email, "oh yeah, let's get together sometime...." and then it never happens. Frankly, I really liked Molly. A Lot. But she does these crazy long walk/hikes with the dogs she cares for, and I think I was a little intimidated that I couldn't keep up back
then. In fact, I know I could not have kept up and this knowledge may have been part and parcel why I never committed to getting together.

So Ms. Molly calls me tonight, after we email back and forth a bit with the usual empty promises and lo and behold, we got us a date for a hike next Monday! And I can probably at least keep up. At this point, I'm more concerned about Stella Mae than I am about me. Stella needs a good hike. And she loves Molly.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Making up for Lost Time

Me, after the Circuit yesterday with Stein:



3,000 meter row at level 10

400 rope jumps



3 sets of four-point planks

1 set each side, side planks

10 V-ups



A little ego-boost: a guy in my age-range, in great shape, was sitting around talking with other guys post-workout. He saw me do the planks and asked me about them. I gave him a little tutorial, which he then tried... mentioned his arms seemed to be taking the major brunt. I asked him if he'd already done upper body, which he said he had done... I said, well, yeah, that's when you do 3 sets of planks at 30 secs each, at least.... I left him doing the planks. He may not feel it in his abs tonight, but tomorrow. Well, tomorrow, he probably will....

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Shout-out for Stein-Erik Skaar

Tuesday, January 22nd, 2009 was my first anniversary working with Stein. What an uphill battle it's been. For both of us. I respect that he's put up with me; I respect myself for going through this year of work. It's been hard work. I read over my first blogs and see how things have changed, and those changes are amazing for me to realize. I hope Stein sees this, as he's been a great teacher, and it has been a long-ass year... for both of us.

On Wednesday of this week, January 20th, 2009 Stein took me back to Circuit Training because of a pulled hamstring. I have many physical issues, most of which I can do nothing about. The variety of injuries I've sustained over the last year (the elbow tendonitis, the pulled hamstring, a pulled quad) are vexing. I feel like I'm in very good shape, and yet my body wants to thwart me at every turn. I hate the constant reminders of my hand surgeries and the stupid foot surgery. I hate that I feel pain, and that it hurts enough that I have to say something about it. Dammit, I'm sick of my body getting the best of me. And yet, really, it isn't: In spite of the various problems, injuries and quirks, I keep doing this thing I'm doing. It must be a real pain in the ass for Stein to keep working around these issues, but you know, he does, and I'm proud of him for keeping me up to speed while paying attention. He does a great job and I respect him for taking the time to work with me. It must have been a long fucking year for Stein, working with me.

The hamstring problem has been haunting me since doing yoga with my homie, Xoxa Bell, on Christmas (caveat: do not do yoga with toddlers. They have no bones, tendons, or muscles. they simply bend). I'm a dumbass, thinking I can get all happy on a few glasses of wine and try to do yoga with a Gumby child. That's me, though, and here I am over a month later still paying the price. Oh well. the leg is getting much better, and I'll be back to Crossfit in a short while.

Fuck Yoga.

At any rate, My circuit on Tuesday was pretty hard, but not like it was the first 7 months of this journey, and I finally got to reflect on a lot of things. First off, moving to Crossfit was a great move. It's given me mental and physical endurance. It's tested my ability to persevere through sheer exhaustion. It's given me a powerful reason to finish and finish hard. It's taught me to stretch for the prettiest form I can do, the extra power, the bit of sump'n - sump'n that moves me past the mundane and into the extraordinary. And I'm a weak-sauce Crossfitter, but at least (I think) I get it. Second, it's amazing how much easier it gets the more time you put into it. The circuit training, I mean. It isn't really easy, per se, but it it significantly .... less hard. Let me not lull anyone into thinking this ever gets easy, because it doesn't. It just gets less difficult. And when it ever does get easy... well, you ramp it up so it isn't easy. This could end up a tautology, unless there's Stein who takes the endless loop and steadily increases the intensity. It's never easy. Never. It just gets better.

So when I did the Circuit on Wednesday, I realized that Crossfit has taught me to endure -- E.N.D.U.R.E. -- at any given point in the circuit that I felt like resting I harkened back to Crossfit (where I will be again when the hamstring heals, one hopes) and fight through the fatigue, the pain, or whatever the fuck else there is that, in the past, made me take that 2 minute break, that water break, that I can't do this anymore break. And Stein keeps prodding, jesting, pressing and otherwise pushing, pushing, pushing for me to do my best and keep the pace. He is relentless; he perseveres in believing in me and in never giving me obstacles that I cannot surmount. In short, he is a mentor, not just a trainer, and I owe a great debt of gratitude to him. I could have met any number of trainers at the gym, none of whom (and I've been watching them) would have, could have, set me the goals he has set, which I have met and still try to meet. He has never, ever given me a circuit or crossfit that I have "failed" because of my own weakness. He takes into account my faults, weaknesses and strengths and has always made me stretch -- but I have never failed for lack of ability. Injuries get in my way, sometimes I get in my way -- but Stein never, ever has gotten in my way.

I used the rowing machine for warm up on Wednesday, 1000 meters.... Stein was talking to someone when I finished, so I just kept rowing. After 1st set, 500 meters... again, Stein was talking to someone... so I get on rowing.... after set number two, 500 meters... the same. I kept rowing. When I first started this "project" rowing was a one minute operation. I set a goal, months ago, to beat this particular obstacle. Now I row. I row, and row, and row... I don't exactly love rowing, but I enjoy rowing. If only I could do the same with the stair master or the elyptical. Hell, get me to Eiffel Tower and I'll climb those many, many stories of stairs... and I will. I like the historic view... or a reason to do so.

Finally I've gotten to the place where I'm not looking for an 'out' or the 'rest' or the alleviation of discomfort. After a year, I'm just going to keep going. No matter what it takes.

For my own records, I did shoulder presses at 45 pounds (15 rep), againt for 12, and another for 10 or 12. 45 pounds feel like the weakness for me... but I really felt the work.

Circuit training is really rewarding, not in the same way as Crossfit, but equally as rewarding. Crossfit makes you wanna holla back, yeah, while circuits make you tired and worked in a different way. Crossfit is like taking on a fat fight and killin' it, while circuit training makes you feel powerful and strong, in a more pacifist way. I like 'em both, for different reasons. It's nice to feel like you had a good fight (crossfit) and nice to push the core of your muscle strength (circuits). It's also nice to come back to where I started and see how far I've come. Short but easy analogy: Crossfit is like a boxing match, as Circuit training is like shadow boxing. Both are hard; but only one punches back.

On the first anniversary of my journey, and I didn't know I was at my anniversary (and the subsequent workout today), I really, honestly, completely, enjoyed my workout. And I was sweating so hard my 3 foot long hair was wet with sweat. That's how it should be, and how I hope to spend the rest of my (hopefully) long life...

Good times, Stein, and Thank You. I hope the road ahead becomes less painful, a little easier (not much for me, though), and lot more rewarding. It's been a rocky road, dude. You've made me a better person in many ways. I hope that somehow, in some little way, my journey has impacted yours.

Shokran (thank you).

-- Heather Eve Wood

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

You're My Shining Star



My husband, Carter, is an Animal! I sent him to the gym with my camera today so Stein could get some footage. Stein loves to put a Crossfit on top of a Crossfit. I can't do this level of work, but it's inspiring. Carter started working with Stein nine months ago. He's made great progress.

Warm-up: 400 meter run, 1,000 meter row; 100 rope jumps x 2, 25 jumping jacks x 2, Lunges 50 feet x 2. 15 push-ups, 10 kettle bell swings, 1-1/2 pood x 2.

Squat workout (pre-Crossfit):
10 bar squats
10 squats (w/ 135 lbs)
6 squats w/225 lbs
4 sets of 3 reps squats w/275 lbs.
6 squats w/ 185 lbs.
10 w/ 135 lbs.
10 jump squats w/ bar
(No breaks in last three rounds)

Crossfit:
5 deadlifts w/95 lbs
5 cleans w/ 95 lbs.
5 shoulder press w/95 lbvs
10 kipping pull-ups
15- 24" box jumps
(Repeat 3 times, for time. Total time: 9:39)

Carter, You Rock!

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Day Tripper

Got a good reason for taking the easy way out,
Got a good reason for taking the easy way out - now,
She was a day tripper, One way ticket, yeh,
It took me so long to find out,
and I found out.
She's a big teaser, she took me half the way there,
She's a big teaser, she took me half the way there - now,
She was a day tripper, One way ticket, yeh.
It took me so long to find out,
and I found out.
Tried to please her, she only played one night stands,
Tried to please her, she only played one night stands -
now, She was a day tripper, Sunday driver, yeh,
It took me so long to find out,
and I found out.
Day tripper, yeh.
____

I'm remiss in posting these days. I did the Fucked Up 47 (courtesy of Stein) 1/8/09, on my 47th birthday, which for me was:

235 rope jumps
47 sit-ups
47 push-ups (I do it men's style; not very well, but i try)
47 press pushes (with 18 pound bar)
47 ball slams
235 rope jumps

Poor Carter had my birthday to work through as well:

47 Box jumps
47 Kettle bells
47 sit-ups
47 push ups
47 shoulder presses
47 squats
470 rope jumps


Two days later (Saturday) Carter and I redid the Fucked Up 47. Carter really kicked ass; I think I was slow. I added another set of each exercise by 10 each, and matched Carter's rope jumps (he did 470, I finished 100 of my own, and did his 470 to boot). Yea for me!

Carter and I made up our own workout a week prior; the Kermit (all legs. Ribbit.)

Box Jumps 10 for me/15 for C.
Wall Balls 10 for me/15 for C.
Kettlebells (10 for me/15 for C.

For time, reps times 4.

Kinda weak sauce, but we were beat without Stein to kick us up a few notches. We started with our usual warm-up, squats, rowing, rope jumps, jumping jacks and Sampson stretches.

Okay workout, and we were glad we did it.

I've been sick the last week and missed out on Tuesday's ass-kicking with Stein. But hey, today (1.15.09) I made it in on my own for 500 rope jumps and a 3,500K row at level 6. Not too bad for a former fat chick with irritable bowel syndrome.

But here's the thing: I'm thinking about how hard it has been to get here. I still make excuses to skip my workouts sometimes, whether it's with my trainer or on my own. The days I'm sick, it's such a "great" excuse ... except I get so damned antsy, trying to stay in my barbiturate blur (like the last two days), with blurry speech, and blurry vision, and feeling dizzy ... and still getting up off the sofa for a few squats because I can't stand sitting still one more fucking minute. Or showing my mom a few more senior moves she can do to build her strength and endurance.

I can't reiterate enough how damned good it feels to be able to squat. It's a simple movement, a natural one, and yet one year ago almost today, I couldn't squat to save my life. Most Americans can't squat. Go to Japan, you'll see what I mean. How about this? When was the last time you squated down to the lowermost portions of your kitchen cabinet to find something elusive and did it without holding onto the countertop? Be honest. Most people can't do this with ease; but I can. Easily. Without holding the countertop to get down, or to get back up. Try it. Rest down on your heels and squat down like you're going to touch your ass to the floor -- not on your toes like you're taking a shit. Get down there on your entire foot and hold it there... Can you do it? If you can, bless you. If you can't, start practicing.

Okay, I could kind of get down there in a half-squat, but getting up was effing hard. Today, I squat down completely, almost everyday, sometimes several times a day. It's a movement that I do because I don't have to make excuses for it and get myself down there to find kitchen equipment, clean things, pick things up, look for things under the bed. You name it, some semblance of a squat is what it takes. And now I can do it without thought. Aside from strength and weight loss, being able to do an easy squat may be the best payoff I've gotten. A simple movement, a natural one, and now I don't think of it much. I just do it.

As I look back on the last year, I remember the shame. I was so fat, I couldn't really move around the fat on my body. My stomach fat was in the way of sit-ups as well as other abdominal movements. It was hard to move my fat arms around. Doing certain arm stretches were particularly difficult. I have a very long waist, which makes it seem (at least to me) that my arms and legs are short. This, along with the fat, made for the most embarrassment. I just couldn't stretch certain ways with much ease. As I've lost fat, ease of movement has increased -- I still have issues with the long waist, simply because there's a few inches (two - three inches more than "normal" by edict of my corset maker) that increases the difference between my ability to do things that normal-waisted people can do. But losing the fat made it so much easier... My God, I don't have to make excuses anymore. And I've been making excuses for 11 months. As of December, 2008, I stopped making excuses. I am my worst excuse. I have been a Day Tripper.

It feels good to be a Day Tripper; you do your workout, you go home, you eat what you want, you bask in the glory of what you did at the gym, and you dread the next day you have to deal with the exertion, pain and frankly, the being laid naked by your limitations. You figure you'll do better next week, and vow that you'll keep your gym appointments. But you find every excuse not to. Oh, baby, I've been there, and it's been my trainer that's kept me in line... because I let him. I could easily find a way around him, but I usually don't. Unless I'm really ill, he calls me on my shit and I go. And I endure. And I work. And I hurt. and I come out, in the end, better in all realms of my body. Holistically, I am a better person. A year after I started this program, I have come out almost at the other end. I am proud of me; secure in my body, happy with who I am... but I'm not done with it yet.

It's taken me a year, folks, but today... on this day, on January 15, 2009 I deign myself a Life Tripper. Not a Day Tripper.

Stop making excuses. Stop delaying. Stop saying you can't. Stop being embarrassed; own your shame and swear to yourself you will make yourself better. There is no shame in starting at the bottom, because the only direction you have is Up. The only shame is when you make excuses and you don't get out There -- wherever That is.

So get There, not to "That". Lose your shame. Use your body. Stop being a Day Tripper. There is no easy way out....

Peace.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Within You Without You

We were talking - about the space between us all
And the people - who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion
Never glimpse the truth - then it's far too late - when they pass away.
We were talking - about the love we all could share - when we find it
To try our best to hold it there - with our love
With our love - we could save the world - if they only knew.
Try to realize it's all within yourself
No-one else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small,
And life flows on within you and without you.
We were talking - about the love that's gone so cold and the people,
Who gain the world and lose their soul -
They don't know - they can't see - are you one of them?
When you've seen beyond yourself -
Then you may find peace of mind, is waiting there -
And the time will come when you see we're all one,
And life flows on within you and without you.


Today's Crossfit:


Donald (my Dad)

run 400 meters (or thereabouts)
40 push-ups
50 sit-ups
60 squats

Do these in any order, in any number of increments for time, until finished. Time today: around 10 minutes (probably would have been about 10:20 if I'd finished the run... read on about that).

Warm up: Rowed 2000 meters, walking lunges, 200 rope jumps, 100 jumping jacks. Samson Stretches -- good ones. Arm rolls. My head was really working with my body today. I thought about what I wrote yesterday, really knowing how well my body works for me and I should damned well respect it and use it! The rowing went quickly -- Stein kept talking to me, which keeps my mind off the task at hand most of the time, and I told him about last night's blog. I didn't mention I was dedicating today's workout to Dad.

To the crossfit: Stein laid out what he expected and I took that in, thought, "Yeah, okay ... I'm ready." I got to running, behind Paradise food, past the garbage bins (makes you want to run faster), had to walk a bit, but finished at a good jog. Not bad for the fat chick who couldn't roll her away at more than a quick walking clip a few months ago.

Got back to the gym and got right into the push-ups and managed 2o start... then to sit-ups, which I have a bit of a struggle with after 10; managed to get to 25, making a lot of noise at the end to get through it. The squats were cool, I knocked out 30 of them without too much stress. Gotta admit I was favoring that left leg issue I had, so I wasn't coming down as far as I should.

Next set started to push my limits, got through 20 more push-ups, the rest of the sit-ups and rest of the squats -- this time getting down into some nice deep squats. Pretty ones, at the end.

Done with that, I had the last leg: the run. I was on this one, after all, this was for my Daddy, though I was very beat -- and about 3/4 of the way down the first stretch, I stepped forward on the left leg and felt a horrendous SNAP at the rear of my thigh -- just like the POP I heard/felt on Christmas. An Amazing pain just stunned me, and I froze. Hit with an "Oh Shit" moment, and then thought very briefly that it was ironic that I was working out for my Dad,and my Leg is what stopped me cold. Honestly, it was ironically funny. Coming back to my sense, I realized I wasn't laying on the ground and yes, I could put some weight on the left leg. I've always been a whiner, but damn I'll be the last one to call an ambulance unless my entrails are falling out. They weren't, so I called out to Stein that I really fucked something up, and hobbled back.

Now I don't see this as a failure at all. My leg needs some tending to, and I'm a little concerned about the hip joint itself, though I think (I hope) it's muscular. The ice I'm sitting one feels very nice...

And though I'd been vascillating about whether to do a workout on my birthday, and this would be a GREAT excuse not to, it was this very instance that determined me to get my ass in there and do it. Besides, I want to have martini's and oysters that night, so I best get in and bust butt. Stein suggests we do some Circuit Training, maybe leave the left leg at rest for awhile. Maybe he's right....

As I said yesterday, today's workout was for dad; and I did it, though I did have to fight off some tears, sometime during the last five sit-ups, listening to AudioSlave, and I just felt the tears start coming down, then sucked them back up and told myself to stop the bullshit and just do it. For dad. For me. This helped. Really, I'm not that much of a sucker, but thinking about my dad trying to do what I did today... what I do every time I work out... and I should just smile, because he'd love that I can do it. He'd love that I get in there and do this shite. He'd love me for being the savage my son says I am. And for the admiration my husband Carter gives me for doing it. And for just fucking doing it!!!


Irony: the last length of running, when I repulled my hip and came to abrupt stop, I was actually kind of amused; the one thing I was so determined to do in his honor, and my leg goes out on me.



I'm feeling so much better today, in spite of the gimpy leg. It's always something with me. Even Stein doesn't blink anymore, he says it's weird the things that go wrong with me, but we'll just work around it on Thursday, which happens to be my 47th birthday.



Personal Best:

Shoulder press, previous 65 weight tops, today 75 pounds. Adam, the nice young guy who also does crossfit applauded my effort. That made me feel good. Stein had to really push me to get it up, but get it up I did. And it didn't require Viagra. So there.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away

I've had a hard week. The time off work hasn't been exactly as planned. It's cold out for Northern California -- cold enough that being outside isn't an option I'm wanting to take. It's mostly too cold for rain, but not cold enough for snow, not that we really get snow anyway. My joints ache from a variety of injuries. On the days I planned to get outside and do an impromptu crossfit it was either raining or just way too cold. When it's cold like this, I'm aware of the motorcycle accident that injured my knee in 1996, and the 20 foot jump into a tennis court running from the cops that broke my foot in 1977. The fractured vertebrae in my back from 1988 are giving me little reminders -- stiffness, mostly. The long-ago broken wrists (both of them, 1979 and 1994) are just hurting. Please, somebody, call the Waaambulance.

All in all, though, I've been feeling emotionally down with classic signs of depression; sleeping until 11 a.m. or noon. Unmotivated to do much of anything. Uninspired to get any projects done. Body aching and stiff. Feeling sorrowful and down.

My mother came over and lured me out of the house for lunch. I ate mashed potatoes and enjoyed them without much guilt. Well I only ate half the order with my dore-style calamari (butter on the side, left uneaten), and though I've gained back a couple pounds in the last week, I wanted the mashed potatoes. They were really good, and I'm glad I allowed some of that sin. They were, in a word I hate to use regarding food, comforting.

Afterward, driving around in the cold, I decided to go to my favorite cemetary in El Cerrito -- the Seaview Cemetary. When I was in the 5th grade, we lived across the street from this cemetary, and the open lots across the street with a broken cyclone fence allowed easy access. Maybe this is wierd, but I used to sneak out in the middle of night and visit the place, reading the gravestones and listening to the quiet only the dead provide. Yes, Dead Quiet. It was an unlikely place for a kid my age to want to be, but I did. Perhaps I was making some kind of commune with my dead dad, who is not buried there, in this place of the dead. Maybe the solitude of a thousand gravestones dating back to the late 19th century gave a sense of being inside history in a way. A plot of stones mark many children who died around 1918 - 1920. Most of the stones are decorated with lambs, the symbol of lost children. I wonder how the great flu epidemic of 1918 effected the Bay Area, and maybe the cemetary reveals some glimmer of that part of history.

In 1965, my dad and his guitar got on a greyhound bus bound for Southern California. My mother and he were going through a divorce. He sat in a window seat, holding his guitar. A pick-up truck veered in front of the bus on Highway 1, and to avoid the truck, the bus driver swerved. Dad flew out of the window and over a cliff, landing far below the highway. The bus followed, landing on top of him. He was in the hospital for many months, and back then, they didn't let little kids visit. He was alive, but not much so. He left the hospital in a wheelchair, unable to feel or move or otherwise control his body from about the belly button down. He was only 26 years old. He didn't hold hatred for the driver of the pick-up truck. The driver was a weary farm worker who had fallen asleep behind the wheel. But my father was never able to walk or run again. He could not play the guitar again, instead worked on finger-picking on a banjo.

In 1972, when I was ten, my dad died in a rather inexplicable way. He went out to the desert by himself and died there within 24 hours of his arrival. His body was found a week later, badly decomposed. His wheelchair sat within easy reach of his body, which was laying on a sleeping bag. The police found a big jug of wine, some tabs of acid (which they did not identify as such), a bunch of beef jerky, some crackers. Many bottles of water, none of it touched. My dad was a paraplegic, and the speculation was that his system was unable to moderate the heat of the desert for neurologic reasons and he simply succumbed to heatstroke. The autopsy description noted the deep, huge scars from surgeries to his spine. His body was broken pretty badly from the accident that disabled him, but he felt and acted like he was invincible, or at least was determined to give the middle finger to fate. Anyway, he never came back home. His ashes were scattered somewhere, I don't know where. No one asked me what I wanted to do with my dad's body. His being was taken from me and destroyed. I had no choice.

Tomorrow I'll go to the gym, and be grateful that my body works, even though it hurts. I don't know how much Dad must have residually suffered from the accident. I remember that I insisted, vehemently, at one point that I wanted to see him walk. With the aid of his best friend and two crutches, he raised himself from his wheelchair and he walked for me. It was heartbreaking, and even though I was very young, I knew how much effort it took for him to do that for me. He would have walked on water for me if could. I take for granted that my body works, and I whine about the pains I feel, and how hard my workouts are.

If only he hadn't taken that fateful trip. Maybe he'd be here to be so proud of me for doing what I've done in my life, for going to the gym and using the functional body I have to use, the body I've neglected and taken for granted for so long. I'd want him to see me use my body the way I am able to now. It's taken so much work, but so much less in comparison to a man who could not walk but actually do so for his little girl.

Today at the cemetary, I remembered something. Today is Dad's birthday. He would have been 69 years old.

Happy Birthday, Daddy. Tomorrow I'll work out for you.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

F*** Me Pumps

Back in the day when I was a size 9 dress and feeling pretty fucking sassy, I wore combat boots. Hardcore Doc Martin or Sears' Brand boots. Steel toes.

Way back in the day, when I was much younger and much sexier, I wore heels -- the higher the better. Four inch heels were loafers in my book -- gimme some 5 or 6 inchers. I tell you I was Betty Page in a much less exciting body. Funny, isn't it that every guy worth his salt in my book thought those combat boots were much hotter than the heels. That's one of the reasons I married Carter; He thinks Combat Boots are much, much hotter than high heels. Score +100 for Carter.

So I got to thinking tonight about what makes me hold back from doing exercise every day of the week. This is coming from a chick who used to work out five days a week, Nautilus trainer circuit training with 45 minutes on a lifecycle and then an hour muscle building on the Nautilus machines. I couldn't tell you what the hell I was doing in there at Gold's Gym, but I surely was working hard enough to have a nice looking six pack and some serious muscles.

What I didn't have was what I have now. (Endurance, strength, stamina) And Anxiety. I am anxious about my workouts (the ones that give me the Endurance, strength and stamina). I am anxious that I have met the limitations of my body and will not be able to overcome my fears (though I love the endurance, strength and stamina). I am anxious that one or another of my physical problems will get in the way. On a daily basis, regardless of whether I work with Stein or not, I am afraid that my surgically reconstructed foot, the distressed tendons in my hands, or the strange right-sided stress in my lower back is going to come back to fuck with me. Often, these pains do, and more often than not, I do not complain. I work through as much of the pain as I can, and power through it. The sad thing is that most days, I am in pain -- pain I can do nothing to lessen. More often than not, I come out of my workouts proud, strong, capable ... and in a lot of pain.

I remember back when I wore those F*** Me Pumps, and damn it all, I could walk, run, jump, and stand all day long in those damn heels. At the end of the day, My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My lower back hurt. All in all, I wore those Goddamned heels just to look good and I hurt like a motherfucker for wearing them all day long. When I was an "exotic dancer" (read that: stripper), I wore heels that cost $400 a pair, were so beautiful they should have been worshipped, and I wore them in an amazing amount of discomfort -- not immediately, mind you, but in retrospect. My feet hurt. 30 years later I had surgery to correct the problem.

So I'm looking at my apprehension at the workouts I'm supposed to do now... the Crossfits in particular... and wondering what happened to the attitude that went along with the F*** Me Pumps. The 'Tude that made all the discomfort and pain and otherwise awkward dysfunction worth it. I'm wondering, too, how (in the name of footwear), I managed to rollerskate all over the City of Berkeley -- up and down hills -- and didn't feel a bit worse for the wear. I'm wondering how I got USED to doing things that made me feel like I'd been through the proverbial wringer and continued to do it...

In short, I wonder how to get to the place where going to the gym is the same as wearing the F*** Me Pumps. No questions asked. Maybe going to the gym is my New Year's resolution, but the resolution has to find me in order for me to accept it. I'll keep on it, with the support of my husband, Carter, and the encouragement of my trainer, Stein.