Fire away....
I did not go to gym more than 1 day last week. We've been trying to reconcile 30 years of dusty, musty parts for returns. It's an arduous task and one that takes time. Time, we don't have. It's also hard to reconcile the loss of the business ane what I need to do to take care of my body.
We decided to close our business, the economy has tanked and the Landlord is entirely inflexible in even considering reducing the rent. They believe they can fill this space in a couple of months, essentially evicting us. I guess filing an unlawful detainer says it all. Much luck to them... they are richer than God, and frankly, most retail spaces in better locations are renting for 1/3 of market value. So what that the hell, we get out now, avoid massive debt, and start looking for jobs for ourselves.
Meanwhile, last week, my emotional response to this has been a compete inability to eat anything more than half a sandwich if that, per day, which makes it impossible to have energy to work out. I'm hoping to have more energy to get to the gym this week. I need to keep my body in to form. Hard to do when your body is rejecting food.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
I met Stein at the gym last night (Thursday) to photo his X-training class. Of course, he didn't show up with his camera, as he promised to do... but I had. This was his usual "gotcha" in that he wanted to do the class. Frankly, I am a little intimidated; i.e. I don't know who's in the class, what their levels are, and I'm both a little afraid I'll fail and also extremely competitive. So I spend the hour trying to get shots of the class, of Stein, of him doing what he does so well... and I'm not even an amateur photography, so it was really hard to get clear, clean photos of him doing the training part, because the only time dude stands still is when he's checking his stop watch. That's good for the class; bad for the photographer. It was, however, quite interesting to have the opportunity to watch the class, the people involved and what was going on. It was organized -- well organized-- chaos. Stein does a good job at this, and if he markets himself well enough, he could be a top-class trainer. I don't know if he knows this, but he's good enough to be training firefighters, cops, and other law enforcement officers.
Carter showed up right after the 20 minute warm-up, and I told Carter to just jump in. Since the rest of the class were on a two minute "break", Stein just told Carter to do 1 minute rope jumps and 100 jumping jacks... which would make the rest of the class break into pieces, but Stein knows Carter can just fucking hump it, and so he did ....
It was interesting to watch a bunch of people (about 14 altogether, only two men), at different levels of fitness doing a vague approximation of Crossfit. Honestly, I wasn't really inspired to join in, though as the photographer I didn't have the option of going 50/50, obviously.
The thing is, in group classes, 2 or 3 people are lean, mean and ready to work, and have no problems. Everyone else struggles with one or another exercise, and are really working hard with a positive attitude, or at least an approachable attitude.
Two people in the entire group -- both fit, trim, attractive women -- kept the steely faces of those who know they are so much beyond the rest they don't have to put on a friendly face. it's interesting to see.... these ones who "know" they look good versus the ones who are trying so hard to just get to a place where their self-esteems allow them to feel good.
The cocky pretty ones make me want to kick them in the ass; the other ones, I want to encourage and help and work with. The odd thing is, those pretty, cocky ones -- those are the ones that my rigth hook would drop dead like a fucking piece of meat. The other ones, the ones without the thin, slim, trim bodies, would fight back, because by damn they are trying way too hard to get outdone by an old-ass shit-kicker like me. I appreciate that.
Honestly, I used to be a hot chick. When I was 3o, I was something to see. And now I'm watching women half my age do half what I can do, and they are doing it. And so can I, and I too have to work hard, though I've been doing this for over a year. But I still have to remind myself that I can do it, and that I will do... and then... just DO IT.
Tomorrow (Saturday) is a crossfit day, and Carter and I are going to do a Fucked Up 47 or something like that after work. And on Sunday, I give my 23 year old son a crossfit training session. Maybe a little workout for myself as well, in his uberfashionableultragym.
I promise not to get the attitude that I'm better, holier than thou, stronger, faster, better... and that somehow that makes me a better person. It's not that I feel that way, 'cause I don't 'cause I'm just not there. But what makes me a better person is to continue to keep myself healthy and strong, and hopefully, to share what I know about getting to this fitter self with others.
Carter showed up right after the 20 minute warm-up, and I told Carter to just jump in. Since the rest of the class were on a two minute "break", Stein just told Carter to do 1 minute rope jumps and 100 jumping jacks... which would make the rest of the class break into pieces, but Stein knows Carter can just fucking hump it, and so he did ....
It was interesting to watch a bunch of people (about 14 altogether, only two men), at different levels of fitness doing a vague approximation of Crossfit. Honestly, I wasn't really inspired to join in, though as the photographer I didn't have the option of going 50/50, obviously.
The thing is, in group classes, 2 or 3 people are lean, mean and ready to work, and have no problems. Everyone else struggles with one or another exercise, and are really working hard with a positive attitude, or at least an approachable attitude.
Two people in the entire group -- both fit, trim, attractive women -- kept the steely faces of those who know they are so much beyond the rest they don't have to put on a friendly face. it's interesting to see.... these ones who "know" they look good versus the ones who are trying so hard to just get to a place where their self-esteems allow them to feel good.
The cocky pretty ones make me want to kick them in the ass; the other ones, I want to encourage and help and work with. The odd thing is, those pretty, cocky ones -- those are the ones that my rigth hook would drop dead like a fucking piece of meat. The other ones, the ones without the thin, slim, trim bodies, would fight back, because by damn they are trying way too hard to get outdone by an old-ass shit-kicker like me. I appreciate that.
Honestly, I used to be a hot chick. When I was 3o, I was something to see. And now I'm watching women half my age do half what I can do, and they are doing it. And so can I, and I too have to work hard, though I've been doing this for over a year. But I still have to remind myself that I can do it, and that I will do... and then... just DO IT.
Tomorrow (Saturday) is a crossfit day, and Carter and I are going to do a Fucked Up 47 or something like that after work. And on Sunday, I give my 23 year old son a crossfit training session. Maybe a little workout for myself as well, in his uberfashionableultragym.
I promise not to get the attitude that I'm better, holier than thou, stronger, faster, better... and that somehow that makes me a better person. It's not that I feel that way, 'cause I don't 'cause I'm just not there. But what makes me a better person is to continue to keep myself healthy and strong, and hopefully, to share what I know about getting to this fitter self with others.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Magic
Well so I lose my trainer due to economic disaster, and then my back goes into some inexplicable and excruciating spasm. Why is it that I always have some weird shit that comes about for no particular reason? I'm in great shape. My body is strong. My back should be the very last thing... but there it went. I spent the day in the hospital, listening to some poor Born Again Christian Chick try to explain to the cops who hauled her in that she wasn't a danger to herself... she was just having a bad fucking day. God is her magic, or that's what I overheard as she yelled at various people into her cell phone while the cops grumbled and scoffed at her. She wasn't crazy. She was living her life. Then the goddamn cops came around and she was just having a bad day. The psychiatrist who evaluated finally gave her a clean bill and they took off the hand cuffs and let the poor lady go home.
Wow. Guess I have nothing to complain about.
My friend, Tom Frank, writes a beautiful blog called "Reverie". The beauty of Tom's blogs is what he really is all about: making people happy. He is a magician not just because he loves it (which he does), but because magic makes people happy. He works day in and day out, sometimes making money, sometimes not, simply hoping to make people happy. A few bucks wouldn't hurt, I suppose, but making people happy is really important to him.
Tom recently blogged about an old friend, Jim Cellini, who has had a stroke. He's in Germany, I believe, and I haven't seen him in over 20 years. But it still hurts to know that this great magician and busker -- this great man -- is nearing the end of his days. If not the end, certainly the end of doing what he loved doing. Cellini, though not dead and I don't mean this as an epitaph, was the source of enormous pleasure for thousands, if not tens of thousands of people all over the world. And he trained some of the most wonderful magicians I personally have ever met, and many, many others who I have never met. I've been out of the world of magic for a long time now, but I know that Jim gave his all to make people happy. And he made me happy for the time I lived near him in North Carolina. Jim Cellini was another guy who believed in me. It's a kinda long story, but he loved my singing voice, and asked me to sing Billie Holiday songs at his nightclub, Buskers. I was too shy and couldn't hang with the stress. but what a time I had standing on the stage in the empty club, microphone in hand, belting out "God Bless the Child", while Jim beamed at me and clapped enthusiastically. What a terrific, inspirational, wonderful man.
And my oldest, dearest friend, Thalia, is visiting from Nicaragua, and we spent an interesting evening talking about some painful parts of our past and I cried. She makes me happy with her magic, even through the tears. She's a filmmaker and currently working with the poorest of Nicaraguan teenagers, teaching them the craft of film-making, letting them tell their own stories and helping them to find a voice in a world where they have no voice. Thalia is struggling to make ends meet, and she hustles like a pimp without a 'ho, but damn that woman is magic.
Magic is my little Buster, my grandson. He makes me smile, even though at 12 days old he doesn't do much other than look amazed at everything around him. You see, to Buster (that's my nickname for him), the entire world is magic. It's amazing to me that people don't see that about babies, and that's why we have to treat them gently and quietly and with great respect. Everything they experience is magic, and every time is the first time, for whatever it is. The smell of bacon in the morning. The sounds of singing. The loud, rude adult voices. The feeling of warm water rushing over their bodies. Everthing is magic. It's not all good. We need to remember that and treat them like tiny, new magicians, ready to take on the world and do amazing feats never before seen by that little person in that place and at that time. Oh yes, babies are both Magic and Magicians. Buster holds me in amazement and wonder.
Magic is my son, Dashiell, who calls me every day and emails me a photo or two of Buster every night. When he was just a little guy, I relied on him -- all 20, 30, 40 pounds of him -- to provide me with enough belief in magic, because he was actually there, with me, and all mine -- to let me know that no matter what we, the two of us, would survive. Because i would make that possible. And now he is 10,000 times the man I ever imagined he would be. He is my personal magic.
Magic is that I have all the tools I need to win the Zombie war because I am strong and resilient and capable. It's sad that I lost the guy who pushes me the hardest to work as hard as I can, but it's magical that I can, in fact, do all those things he kept telling me I could do. You see, Stein is magic too, because he teaches not just preaches.
And then there's my husband: He's the man who can do 40" box jumps, who works day and night to keep things afloat so that I can sit here and feel sorry for myself and write about Magic on my blog. He's the guy I believe in so much, it's like he's Peter Pan and I believe I believe I believe. Sprinkle some fairy dust on me and I'll fly like Tinker Bell. That's what Carter does for me.
Magic, in short, is all about the extraordinary things we do that impact others that makes them smile. Gives them hope for something better and makes us all realize that we all, each and in our own ordinary ways, can impart magic in other people's lives.
Thanks to all the magic in my life who give me strength and hope and optimism.
Wow. Guess I have nothing to complain about.
My friend, Tom Frank, writes a beautiful blog called "Reverie". The beauty of Tom's blogs is what he really is all about: making people happy. He is a magician not just because he loves it (which he does), but because magic makes people happy. He works day in and day out, sometimes making money, sometimes not, simply hoping to make people happy. A few bucks wouldn't hurt, I suppose, but making people happy is really important to him.
Tom recently blogged about an old friend, Jim Cellini, who has had a stroke. He's in Germany, I believe, and I haven't seen him in over 20 years. But it still hurts to know that this great magician and busker -- this great man -- is nearing the end of his days. If not the end, certainly the end of doing what he loved doing. Cellini, though not dead and I don't mean this as an epitaph, was the source of enormous pleasure for thousands, if not tens of thousands of people all over the world. And he trained some of the most wonderful magicians I personally have ever met, and many, many others who I have never met. I've been out of the world of magic for a long time now, but I know that Jim gave his all to make people happy. And he made me happy for the time I lived near him in North Carolina. Jim Cellini was another guy who believed in me. It's a kinda long story, but he loved my singing voice, and asked me to sing Billie Holiday songs at his nightclub, Buskers. I was too shy and couldn't hang with the stress. but what a time I had standing on the stage in the empty club, microphone in hand, belting out "God Bless the Child", while Jim beamed at me and clapped enthusiastically. What a terrific, inspirational, wonderful man.
And my oldest, dearest friend, Thalia, is visiting from Nicaragua, and we spent an interesting evening talking about some painful parts of our past and I cried. She makes me happy with her magic, even through the tears. She's a filmmaker and currently working with the poorest of Nicaraguan teenagers, teaching them the craft of film-making, letting them tell their own stories and helping them to find a voice in a world where they have no voice. Thalia is struggling to make ends meet, and she hustles like a pimp without a 'ho, but damn that woman is magic.
Magic is my little Buster, my grandson. He makes me smile, even though at 12 days old he doesn't do much other than look amazed at everything around him. You see, to Buster (that's my nickname for him), the entire world is magic. It's amazing to me that people don't see that about babies, and that's why we have to treat them gently and quietly and with great respect. Everything they experience is magic, and every time is the first time, for whatever it is. The smell of bacon in the morning. The sounds of singing. The loud, rude adult voices. The feeling of warm water rushing over their bodies. Everthing is magic. It's not all good. We need to remember that and treat them like tiny, new magicians, ready to take on the world and do amazing feats never before seen by that little person in that place and at that time. Oh yes, babies are both Magic and Magicians. Buster holds me in amazement and wonder.
Magic is my son, Dashiell, who calls me every day and emails me a photo or two of Buster every night. When he was just a little guy, I relied on him -- all 20, 30, 40 pounds of him -- to provide me with enough belief in magic, because he was actually there, with me, and all mine -- to let me know that no matter what we, the two of us, would survive. Because i would make that possible. And now he is 10,000 times the man I ever imagined he would be. He is my personal magic.
Magic is that I have all the tools I need to win the Zombie war because I am strong and resilient and capable. It's sad that I lost the guy who pushes me the hardest to work as hard as I can, but it's magical that I can, in fact, do all those things he kept telling me I could do. You see, Stein is magic too, because he teaches not just preaches.
And then there's my husband: He's the man who can do 40" box jumps, who works day and night to keep things afloat so that I can sit here and feel sorry for myself and write about Magic on my blog. He's the guy I believe in so much, it's like he's Peter Pan and I believe I believe I believe. Sprinkle some fairy dust on me and I'll fly like Tinker Bell. That's what Carter does for me.
Magic, in short, is all about the extraordinary things we do that impact others that makes them smile. Gives them hope for something better and makes us all realize that we all, each and in our own ordinary ways, can impart magic in other people's lives.
Thanks to all the magic in my life who give me strength and hope and optimism.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Hey Jude
You know, Stein got me back into crossfit in the most insidious way.... worked me into it by working me further and further into that zone of discomfort. The place where I couldn't breathe anymore, couldn't row anymore. Couldn't do shit anymore. And what we did wasn't even a fucking crossfit. Meanwhile, I've been waiting for a long-awaited grandchild... and everytime I worked out I was thinking...."damn, I'm about to be grandmother, but I want to bust the myth... the typical thought process around what grandmother's are."
I do something like this everytime I go to the gym.
Based upon current economic uncertainties, I had to give up my friend, my mentor, my well-loved Stein. this was an entirely unpalatable task; it's like firing my best friend and it sucks.
But is means I have to come up with my own motivation, and I've learned a lot from Stein that will help me through. But it also means I have to get myself to the gym without appointments, and without promises of a kick-ass workout. What I have to do is get myself there and then do what I know I have do to. It's not going to be easy, and it's not going to be nice... but I have to do what I know I have to do.
I have Buster to live for. And he's worth ever fucking second of my life.
I do something like this everytime I go to the gym.
Based upon current economic uncertainties, I had to give up my friend, my mentor, my well-loved Stein. this was an entirely unpalatable task; it's like firing my best friend and it sucks.
But is means I have to come up with my own motivation, and I've learned a lot from Stein that will help me through. But it also means I have to get myself to the gym without appointments, and without promises of a kick-ass workout. What I have to do is get myself there and then do what I know I have do to. It's not going to be easy, and it's not going to be nice... but I have to do what I know I have to do.
I have Buster to live for. And he's worth ever fucking second of my life.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Cry, Baby, Cry
I got to today's appointment before Carter had finished. He was doing some Power Cleans with 185 pounds. He'd already done an hour's worth of work, and there he was, basically deadlift, shrug, and clean -- up all the way. As I keep saying, the man's an animal. He tells me he did some bag punching, but wait, Carter has some serious martial arts training and I suspect that that bag did some bobbing and weaving after he laid into it. Those few power-cleans I witnessed were impressive; Carter's my guy; my husband. He is an inspiration to me. And I love him for being a better Him!
My workout with Stein today was the last Circuit training I get, as we're back to Crossfit next week. The hamstring is better enough to get back to the Crossfit task, which I'm actually missing. Here's my little dirty dilemma; I'm an inherent lazy-ass and Crossfit doesn't allow lazy. Circuits don't either, but it's much easier to take that extra bit of time-out, because Circuits are timed, and generally include only 3 exercises/3 sets, during which you get plenty of adequate rest to recuperate. Rest, I might add, that I don't need.... Crossfitter's have a lot of quick recovery time, and I took advantage (ashamed to say) with the 15% incline three minute treadmill walks (easy peasy shite, really) I've been granted the last few weeks. Welp, that's over and done with.
In circuits, the emphasis on strength is fun for me, I enjoy hoisting as much weight as possible, and because I'm a lot stronger than most women, and that's according to Stein who says I'm stronger than any of his other female clients, it gives me some internal props that my self-esteem needs. Today I did 60-pound bench presses, also did 210 lb. leg presses (on the machine). Both a bit of work, and thoroughly enjoyable. Fifteen sit-ups times 3 in the circuit (I have some trouble with sit-ups, though my core is hard as a board). Three sets of one minute four-point planks, a bit of a challenge, but I can do all that, 30/35 -pound bar curls, and some other stuff that Stein insisted I do like a Crossfit -- take minimal rest, which I did.. but... It was nice to get that bit of endurance/cardio going, a nice burn in the large muscles, and a bit of hard-breathing. But... it ain't no kinda crossfit.
Where the hell am I going with this?
Stein and I had a conversation about your mind -- where your mind stops you/how it keeps you going. He did a hard-core Crossfit the other day; a 10,9,8,7, etc. routine with three draining exercises (burpees, dead-lifts, kettlebell swings, box-jumps or something like that). It's a grueling work-out, and he said he got stuck about half way through and had to get his head wrapped around the knowing he actually could get through it and how good it feels, and honest, it does. And he did.
I've always felt like my head gets all in the way of my doing the best I can, and it's true. I often come into the training sessions knowing how hard it's going to be, and questioning whether I'll be able to do it. Far too often, I have serious anxiety before I even get there, because I'm just over-thinking the whole thing. I've never actually "failed", which is really only possible by quitting. And I've never quit.
But when I started to think about it, I've had a life history of not even starting, let alone quitting. When I was 7 and 8 years old, my stepmother took me to the 400 acre tract of land she co-owns. In the early years, the only way to get to the camp site was to hike, nearly 100% uphill. I spent the entire hike, each and every time, huffing, puffing, complaining, whining and crying about it. The adults would take my heavy sleeping bag, leaving me with my backpack, and as far as I know, the other kids on the hike would just do it and get through it. I made specatular spectacles of myself, which likely I am still remembered, even 40 years later. Funny thing is that at 47 years of age, I can hike a 15% incline (a very steep incline) steadily for quite a long time. Surely, those hikes weren't at 15%, and yet I acted like they were killing me.
I was also the kid that could not, for any reason or at any time, run the entire track for P.E. That's 1/4 mile, people, not a mile. I couldn't complete a real push up. Or a pull-up. I couldn't finish the Presidential Phys. Ed. challenge, and I have never, ever, in my entire life (until now) been able to do it. Now that I want to do it, I keep injuring myself. When I was a kid, I just gave up. I failed. I failed because I wouldn't push myself past my comfort level; nowadays, the comfort level is whatever I set my own abilities at. I can do alot more than when I was in the 5th, 6th, 7th grade. Today I can push-up, pull-up, run, jump and otherwise test the Average. I'm not Average. I'm beyond that. Back in the day, my mind left me with a Below Average ability. At theh age of 47 years old, I am better than I was at 7. Sad but true. At least I figured it out. I figure so many others' never do... guess that's pretty fucked for them, and I got little sympathy. But that's another blog.
As a teen, I roller-skated everywhere. I mean everywhere. Uphill, downhill ... in traffic, on the steepest of steep hills in Berkeley. I did a huge wipe-out down Marin Avenue -- a 25% grade at least -- and skidded two whole blocks on my right side. the end result was a black bruise on my right thigh with the imprint of a wrench on my thigh, complete with the Craftsman brand imprint. I plan on tattooing this on my leg sometime in the near future. and I never complained, not once, about the work to get up the hill, nor the spectacular skid down the hill. I was charged in those days and ready to tango. And tango I did. What the fuck happened between my earliest years -- and Now? Really. I wanna know.
Where am I going with this? Until the past year, I've never pushed myself to exhaustion. Never took that deep breath and let my mind believe I could do it. Carter asked me today how I can be such a contender, such a non-quitter, when by history I've done nothing but complain about being physical. The fact is, I don't really know. I'm lucky to have a body that is naturally very strong. Being strong allows me to do things that a lot of women can't just do without a lot of work, In some cases, many women would never be able to endure the weight that I can. It's how I'm built, not something I've spent a lot of time building. And I have done, and continue to do, a lot of whining and complaining, although my body is entirely, completely and unquestionably capable of doing what I ask of it.
So while I look to Crossfit next Tuesday, I'm already preparing my mind for it. I've got to come to grips with what the little internal voice is saying to the bigger external me. It's exciting to know I'm going to back to hit the challenge, and while I've enjoyed the last couple of weeks of theoretically easier work, I know I've been slacking. Perhaps for good reason, perhaps for cause -- but slacking nonetheless -- and I want to leave my history of complaining, whinging and whining behind. I want to get my mind wrapped around a holistic idea that my entire being can do what I need it to do. The little girl in me is scared; the big girl is getting ready for the Zombie Wars and needs all the hurt in the world to get ready. I need my body to be ready for anything, and that's entirely dependant upon what my body is ready for, and what my mind will allow it to do. I've got to release the anxiety and the doubt, and just go with what my body will do for me. Because it will do what I need it to do; I just need to believe in it and not cry about how hard it is.
And today, I try to keep the complaining minimal. In fact, I don't think I really made one true complaint; observations, yes: "Wow, my legs are burning," or, "Out. of. breath...", "That's some heavy weight", or "Damn, that was harder than I thought it would be." The truest complaint was for a 30 pound weight to be adjusted in my left hand so the chronic De'Quervain's inflammation was allieved (a matter of how I had a grip). Perhaps I could overlook that sharp, awful pain, if the shit hit the fan; and that's too much, even. I feel for Stein who has to listen to it, and does, and rolls his eyes and he pushes me. By this time, he knows me. He knows when I'm complaining for complaining's sake, knowing that my whinging is a way of trying to weasle out of doing. He knows what my limits are, and doesn't listen to my bullshit. He does listen to the real things, the pains in my hands, the muscles I have issues with. Other than that, he just yells (in his not-yelling kind of way), "don't be a pussy, just DO IT!" At which time, I almost always do completely what he's pushing me to do.
Mostly, though, what I do is entirely in my own head; my body will do what it's told. My mind is what gets in my way.
Cry, baby, cry.
My workout with Stein today was the last Circuit training I get, as we're back to Crossfit next week. The hamstring is better enough to get back to the Crossfit task, which I'm actually missing. Here's my little dirty dilemma; I'm an inherent lazy-ass and Crossfit doesn't allow lazy. Circuits don't either, but it's much easier to take that extra bit of time-out, because Circuits are timed, and generally include only 3 exercises/3 sets, during which you get plenty of adequate rest to recuperate. Rest, I might add, that I don't need.... Crossfitter's have a lot of quick recovery time, and I took advantage (ashamed to say) with the 15% incline three minute treadmill walks (easy peasy shite, really) I've been granted the last few weeks. Welp, that's over and done with.
In circuits, the emphasis on strength is fun for me, I enjoy hoisting as much weight as possible, and because I'm a lot stronger than most women, and that's according to Stein who says I'm stronger than any of his other female clients, it gives me some internal props that my self-esteem needs. Today I did 60-pound bench presses, also did 210 lb. leg presses (on the machine). Both a bit of work, and thoroughly enjoyable. Fifteen sit-ups times 3 in the circuit (I have some trouble with sit-ups, though my core is hard as a board). Three sets of one minute four-point planks, a bit of a challenge, but I can do all that, 30/35 -pound bar curls, and some other stuff that Stein insisted I do like a Crossfit -- take minimal rest, which I did.. but... It was nice to get that bit of endurance/cardio going, a nice burn in the large muscles, and a bit of hard-breathing. But... it ain't no kinda crossfit.
Where the hell am I going with this?
Stein and I had a conversation about your mind -- where your mind stops you/how it keeps you going. He did a hard-core Crossfit the other day; a 10,9,8,7, etc. routine with three draining exercises (burpees, dead-lifts, kettlebell swings, box-jumps or something like that). It's a grueling work-out, and he said he got stuck about half way through and had to get his head wrapped around the knowing he actually could get through it and how good it feels, and honest, it does. And he did.
I've always felt like my head gets all in the way of my doing the best I can, and it's true. I often come into the training sessions knowing how hard it's going to be, and questioning whether I'll be able to do it. Far too often, I have serious anxiety before I even get there, because I'm just over-thinking the whole thing. I've never actually "failed", which is really only possible by quitting. And I've never quit.
But when I started to think about it, I've had a life history of not even starting, let alone quitting. When I was 7 and 8 years old, my stepmother took me to the 400 acre tract of land she co-owns. In the early years, the only way to get to the camp site was to hike, nearly 100% uphill. I spent the entire hike, each and every time, huffing, puffing, complaining, whining and crying about it. The adults would take my heavy sleeping bag, leaving me with my backpack, and as far as I know, the other kids on the hike would just do it and get through it. I made specatular spectacles of myself, which likely I am still remembered, even 40 years later. Funny thing is that at 47 years of age, I can hike a 15% incline (a very steep incline) steadily for quite a long time. Surely, those hikes weren't at 15%, and yet I acted like they were killing me.
I was also the kid that could not, for any reason or at any time, run the entire track for P.E. That's 1/4 mile, people, not a mile. I couldn't complete a real push up. Or a pull-up. I couldn't finish the Presidential Phys. Ed. challenge, and I have never, ever, in my entire life (until now) been able to do it. Now that I want to do it, I keep injuring myself. When I was a kid, I just gave up. I failed. I failed because I wouldn't push myself past my comfort level; nowadays, the comfort level is whatever I set my own abilities at. I can do alot more than when I was in the 5th, 6th, 7th grade. Today I can push-up, pull-up, run, jump and otherwise test the Average. I'm not Average. I'm beyond that. Back in the day, my mind left me with a Below Average ability. At theh age of 47 years old, I am better than I was at 7. Sad but true. At least I figured it out. I figure so many others' never do... guess that's pretty fucked for them, and I got little sympathy. But that's another blog.
As a teen, I roller-skated everywhere. I mean everywhere. Uphill, downhill ... in traffic, on the steepest of steep hills in Berkeley. I did a huge wipe-out down Marin Avenue -- a 25% grade at least -- and skidded two whole blocks on my right side. the end result was a black bruise on my right thigh with the imprint of a wrench on my thigh, complete with the Craftsman brand imprint. I plan on tattooing this on my leg sometime in the near future. and I never complained, not once, about the work to get up the hill, nor the spectacular skid down the hill. I was charged in those days and ready to tango. And tango I did. What the fuck happened between my earliest years -- and Now? Really. I wanna know.
Where am I going with this? Until the past year, I've never pushed myself to exhaustion. Never took that deep breath and let my mind believe I could do it. Carter asked me today how I can be such a contender, such a non-quitter, when by history I've done nothing but complain about being physical. The fact is, I don't really know. I'm lucky to have a body that is naturally very strong. Being strong allows me to do things that a lot of women can't just do without a lot of work, In some cases, many women would never be able to endure the weight that I can. It's how I'm built, not something I've spent a lot of time building. And I have done, and continue to do, a lot of whining and complaining, although my body is entirely, completely and unquestionably capable of doing what I ask of it.
So while I look to Crossfit next Tuesday, I'm already preparing my mind for it. I've got to come to grips with what the little internal voice is saying to the bigger external me. It's exciting to know I'm going to back to hit the challenge, and while I've enjoyed the last couple of weeks of theoretically easier work, I know I've been slacking. Perhaps for good reason, perhaps for cause -- but slacking nonetheless -- and I want to leave my history of complaining, whinging and whining behind. I want to get my mind wrapped around a holistic idea that my entire being can do what I need it to do. The little girl in me is scared; the big girl is getting ready for the Zombie Wars and needs all the hurt in the world to get ready. I need my body to be ready for anything, and that's entirely dependant upon what my body is ready for, and what my mind will allow it to do. I've got to release the anxiety and the doubt, and just go with what my body will do for me. Because it will do what I need it to do; I just need to believe in it and not cry about how hard it is.
And today, I try to keep the complaining minimal. In fact, I don't think I really made one true complaint; observations, yes: "Wow, my legs are burning," or, "Out. of. breath...", "That's some heavy weight", or "Damn, that was harder than I thought it would be." The truest complaint was for a 30 pound weight to be adjusted in my left hand so the chronic De'Quervain's inflammation was allieved (a matter of how I had a grip). Perhaps I could overlook that sharp, awful pain, if the shit hit the fan; and that's too much, even. I feel for Stein who has to listen to it, and does, and rolls his eyes and he pushes me. By this time, he knows me. He knows when I'm complaining for complaining's sake, knowing that my whinging is a way of trying to weasle out of doing. He knows what my limits are, and doesn't listen to my bullshit. He does listen to the real things, the pains in my hands, the muscles I have issues with. Other than that, he just yells (in his not-yelling kind of way), "don't be a pussy, just DO IT!" At which time, I almost always do completely what he's pushing me to do.
Mostly, though, what I do is entirely in my own head; my body will do what it's told. My mind is what gets in my way.
Cry, baby, cry.
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.
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.
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.
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