PenteKing’s BodyBlog

I asked my trainer to help me work my back and biceps today. The workout was a good one. She had me do some exercises that really fatigued the muscles. The only downside is that when I tried to do a reverse sit-up, I got a twinge that was really more of a spasm. I put the brakes on in a hurry because the LAST thing I want to do is throw my back out. It’s bad enough that my chiropractor harbors serious doubts about being able to help me re-align my body. I don’t need to add injury to insult. So, I worked my back and biceps until my muscles felt like so much spaghetti, and then trundled myself off to work where I indulged in my usual breakfast of oatmeal, egg whites and toast.

 BTW, I think I found another gym where the atmosphere is more conducive to working out than making out. I’m going to train there for a couple of days on their free pass program, and see how it fits. Wish me luck. (Not that anyone’s reading these blogs of mine, but, just in case…)

Today being Wednesday, I went to spinning class at zero dark-thirty this morning, and dropped about a pound of bodyweight (most of it water) in my relentless pursuit of living in a fit, healthy body. Afterwards, I powered down a half bottle of Carbo Power to help me get through my day. I ate my usual diet - nothing weird or outlandish. I had no highs or lows during the day, until about an hour ago. And then - WHAM! It was just like hitting a stone wall. The engine started sputtering, the mind started wandering, and the energy level sank below the floorboards. I mean, WTF? This has never happened to me before, and I am completely puzzled as to the reason behind this massive power outage.

Does anyone out there have any ideas? Enquiring minds want to know.

Soooo, in anticipation of my gym closing (major stress and anxiety here over that, let me tell you), I worked out somewhere other than my usual place today. So, okay, it wasn’t as bad as I imagined it would be. The spinning class was full (surprising for 6:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning), most of the treadmills and stair steppers were in use (again, a surprise), and there were quite a few people pushing some fairly heavy iron around. The downside? There were too many people! I’m accustomed to working out in relative seclusion, or in the company of a small, hard-core cadre of fellow bodybuilders. These folks were just "working out" if you understand what I mean. I got the feeling they were there because it was somehow "expected" of them. I didn’t get the sense that they cared about what they were trying to accomplish, or in fact, that they were trying to accomplish anything other than checking one more item off the ‘To-Do’ list.

Perhaps I’m being too harsh and judgmental. Perhaps I’m just an old crab that doesn’t like the fact that he’s being forced to change his routine. I’ll continue to look around. By the way, I did forty minutes of hard cardio this morning, and then worked my shoulders tonight until I could barely lift my arms. I’ve dropped five pounds in three weeks, and am making excellent progress toward my ideal weight. I won’t complain at all in my next blog. I semi-promise.

I learned today (through the grapevine, and certainly not officially) that my gym is being sold. Which means, I am also told, that I must now find another place to hang my hat and call home. Shit**** and ****shit. I don’t like it. Not one little bit. I’m invested in my gym. I’m comfortable there. I look around, and I see familiar faces. I know where the weights are kept, and I know the protocol. I know who I can talk to (for advice and encouragement) and who to avoid (Spastic Man don’t want nobody talking to him!). I know how long to let the water in the shower run before it reaches the proper temperature. It’s all those little details that make a place feel "right" to you. Either the place has the ambience you like or it doesn’t. There’s no third option. I searched for a while to find this place. I liked it the minute I walked through the door, and I like it even better after having been a member for a while now. And now, it’s going all away. I’m going to have to start over from scratch, and that makes me uncomfortable in a twitchy, antsy kind of way that will stay with me for at least two months. Shit**** and ****shit. I don’t like this. NOT ONE LITTLE BIT!!!

I’ve been trying for two days to deny the cold reality of being sick. Even though I’m carrying around about a half ton of tissues, and am scarfing vitamin C like it’s going to be outlawed tomorrow, I was still trying to convince myself that I was fine, and that I could carry on (carry on, my wayward son). My trainer, Rachelle, (never one to beat around the bush) took one look at me this morning and said, "You look like shit!" How do you argue with an assessment like that? It’s so bold; so forceful; so straightforward. I mean, there’s no arguing with that. How can you? The mirror lies to you. (Remember, everything reflected in it is backward.) You lie to yourself. Only your significant other and your trainer will give you the cold, hard facts.

So, I’m under strict orders. Eat strawberries (loaded with vitamin c), drink plenty of water (a gallon, minimum), have chicken broth and herbal tea, and GET SOME REST! Of course, I have to obey. Even though Rachelle is only 5′2" tall and weighs 120 pounds soaking wet, I have no doubt whatsoever that she can kick my ass from here to Sunday without breaking a sweat. I’ll surface when I’m feeling better.

It’s all about discipline. Every last thing we all do to improve our bodies and increase our overall health is based upon the fundamental cornerstone of discipline. It’s easy to sit on the couch and quaff a cold beer while munching on salty chips slathered in fiery salsa. It’s great to sip fine red wine while eating 12 ounces of red meat, half a pound of potatoes, and then topping that off with a carmelized creme brulee for dessert. It’s easy, and it’s tempting. Temptation is all around. It’s a part of the constant barrage of advertising we face each and every day. It’s part and parcel of nearly every product sold on the shelves of American supermarkets. It’s on the plates of our friends and family. It would be so easy to give in.

But we can’t. We can’t because to do so would be to invalidate all our hard work. It would endanger our health, and it would make us feel like crap. I know I’m preaching to the choir, but every now and again, I have to remind myself why I got into this thing in the first place. Living in a fit, healthy body is better than any alternative I can think of. People complain about being overweight; about their clothes not fitting; about the scale constantly going up. They complain all the while they’re shoving a hot dog covered with cheese chili down their throats. Their feet, knees and backs hurt because they’re carting around thirty or forty or fifty pounds more than their bodies were meant to handle. They wheeze going up a flight of stairs because the last time they walked anywhere was during the Nixon administration. They complain, spend a fortune on fast weight loss cures (SNAKE OIL; SNAKE OIL), and never correlate their diet and lack of exercise to the condition of their bodies and the state of their psyches.

I’m feeling particularly self-righteous today because faced with more calorie-deficient food than you could shake a stick out, I turned my back on it all, went back to my desk and had a small baked potato and three ounces of broiled chicken breast for lunch. Then, after three hours of overtime, I went to the gym instead of going home. It was a small victory, but damned satisfying. 

I participate in two intense forms of aerobic exercise a week - the Saturday morning fitness boot camp, and the Wednesday morning spinning class. Both kick my ass, but for far different reasons. I’ve written about the fitness boot camp. It’s hell and pain and anguish and lungs that feel like they’re on fire because there’s not enough air in the world to fill them. Spinning, on the other hand, is a different kind of hell.

There are usually only three of us (not counting the instructor) in the class on any given Wednesday. It makes for pretty good camaradarie between us and we push one another to go faster and go longer. I’ve been doing this for about a month (five Wednesdays) and I’ve noticed something strange. My endurance is dropping rather than increasing.

When I first started, it was a struggle keeping up the pace, but I did it. I was sore as hell for three days afterward, but I finished the entire class. I was proud of what I’d done, and thought I would only improve. The past two Wednesday mornings, however, I’ve had no ‘oomph’ in my legs, and there have been times during the workout when I simply had to stop in order to rest.

What gives? I thought this would be an excellent way to build up my endurance and my quads at the same time. Now, I find that I’m regressing instead of progressing. Does anyone have any insight into what’s going on and what I can do to reverse the process?

I celebrated my birthday on Saturday night, and as I may have mentioned, imbibed way too much wine. It was a cheat night, and I went right back to living clean the next day. It being Sunday, though, I wanted to rest, and so did no weight lifting or cardio. Instead, I worked at transferring files from my wife’s old notebook to her new one, loaded with the new Vista operating system. About three hours after I started, I realized what a mistake I had made. I won’t bore you with the horrifying details of everything that went wrong. Suffice to say, I spent more than five hours on the phone with technical support, talking to every moron they had on staff. It’s incredible. The company claims to sell and know computers, and yet their technical staff couldn’t spell the word if you spotted them the c-o-m-p and hinted at the rest of the letters. Needless to say, I was in a fury by the time 1:00 a.m rolled around.

Being the obssessive person that I am, I refused to give up until sheer exhaustion put me down for the count. Naturally, I failed to get up in time to work out on Monday. I barely made it to work on time, and spent the day in a fog, waiting until that blessed moment when I could get home and hit the sack.

This morning, trying to get back to my normal routine, i found that I was so stiff and sore, I could barely move. My trainer, Rachelle, told me that my body, having accustomed itself to being physically active every day went into shock when it had two entire days of rest. I don’t know whether to believe her, although the explanation she gave sounded plausible enough. Does anyone have any experience with this? Have you laid off to rest, only to have your joints seize up like rusted metal? Enquiring minds would like to know.

As you can probably tell from the title of this blog, I went briefly over to the Dark Side last night. Although my birthday was a month ago, last night was the first chance I had to celebrate it. My wife and I hosted a catered party for a small circle of our friends. We worked with the caterer to plan the menu, so many of the items presented were low in fat and extremely healthful. (My guests probably haven’t eaten so well as they did last night in quite a while.)

My downfall was the wine. I am a person that adores wine. Of all the alcoholic beverages, it has the most "life", the most complex and pleasant interaction with food. We selected good wine to accompany the good food, invited in our guests, and then let loose the dogs of pleasure. And the party was a major, rip-roaring success.

But I drank too much wine. I’m not as hung-over as I feared I’d be, but I know that what I consumed last night has set me back. The scale says that I gained two pounds (which strains credibility), although I suppose it’s possible. It’s the invisible things I’ve done to my body which frighten me more. Let’s just hope that I can recover and move forward again.

Beginning today, I’m back to eating clean and taking care of my body. To do otherwise would be irresponsible.

"Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves back up."

American media, it seems, has a catchy phrase for nearly everything. People are categorized as being physically challenged if they have a handicap; or are said to be "people of color" if their skin tone is not alabaster white. In the spirit of this phenomenon, I would like to offer the phrase "aerobically challenged" as a phrase that us non-runners can use when describing our affliction.

What led me coining this phrase was the fitness class I attended this morning at 8:00 a.m. It consisted of running (forever, it seemed) up and down a staircase containing 100 steps. The steps are steep and really lead nowhere. They were placed, in my opinion, by a sadist who knew that fitness instructors all across San Diego would be drawn to them like a moth to a flame. and it is true that many joggers and marathoners use the staircase as a training tool. It builds the legs, hamstrings, buttocks, and forces you to shed pounds. (Water weight at a minimum. I dropped a pound and a half after my class; all of it in the sweat that poured from my pores.) That is all well and good for those folks who have built up to the staircase’s rigor over a period of weeks or months. For folks like me, who haven’t attempted anything like this in more than ten years, it was the worst form of torture imaginable. Halfway through, I was sucking more wind than the twin engines of a 767 Boeing aircraft. Small children, if left unattended, would have been sucked away from their parents’ embrace by the vacuum created by my aching lungs trying to pull air back into them. At the end of the hour, my legs were rubber, my clothes looked as though I had bathed with them on, and my stomach ached as though Mohammed Ali had been using it for sparring practice. Oh my God, I thought. What kind of an idiot would do this to himself simply for the sake of living in a fit, healthy body?

I’m going back next week.