| 24 may 2001 | in training Over the past couple of years, my workout regimen has acquired a lot more variety. I've always been pretty dilgent about getting aerobic exercise. Since I was a kid, I've tried to swim, run, walk, or hike at least three or four times a week. Ironically, you have exercise-induced asthma, cardiovascular exercise is one of the best things you can do to improve lung function. In my case, I just have to be careful not to run when it's cold or very dry outside. For the most part, I lucked out in that if I eat right and move around some, my body stays intact. Minimal wiggly and jiggly. No chubby. Heart beats just fine. Lucky gal indeed. And yet, don't you know I'd want to fuss with things just a bit. About three years ago, I decided to get with the program and start serious weight training beyond push-ups and those dumbbells I stowed under the bed. I never did it before, because I'd always been pretty strong and was afraid I'd get bulky in all the wrong places. That I would become one big thigh. Hi, this is my friend Kim the Quadricep, my friends would shamefully say. She weight-trains, big dummy. Do yourself a favor. Don't believe that. I was led to believe all of my life that weightlifting automatically renders you a wide load. Uh-uh. Do you know how hard people have to work to get truly large (especially women) and how many supplements they eat, drink, and (in not-so-good cases) inject? Getting big is a job, and that was one of the primary fears my first trainer chucked right out the window. If I did it right, I could be assured better muscle tone, as well as increased bone density throughout my lifetime. I would not look like a thug. Okay with me! So, fast-forward to this year. Until recently, I've focused my workout on the weight machine circuit. One of the primary reasons for this is because it's hooked up to the Fitlinxx computer system, which records your workout and then provides you with stats within your facility and in the nation. That was great for awhile, but I finally hit a plateau, and got a little bored. Next stop: free weights. Ow ow ow ow ow. From the Smith machine (the one that helps keeps the bar in place while you do squats), to full military and bench presses...it's been kind of a sore time here in the Den. It's been an adjustment every way you look at it. Have you ever been in a free weights area? If it's anything like ours, you'll get most of your workout cleaning up after some meathead. I must work out during the Neanderthal hour, being as I have to put away their multiple 45-pound plates so I can put my scraggly ones on there. Plus, it's so great for my self-esteem. Some of those guys can juggle furniture. I'm doing well not to drop a dumbbell on my foot. Nonetheless, I'm persevering and already feel better for it. Free weights force you not only to lift the thing, but also to balance. There's no machine for you to set the perfect range of motion and make it all comfy. It's you, a bar, and a lot of concentration. Then it's a couple of Tylenol. Recently, I decided to dive into one other thing that's always been in the back of my mind--yoga. I've never tried it before, figuring it was for aspiring contortionists and people who joined drum circles. I take it all back! If someone could please help me lift my arm now, that would be so nice of you. Being completely new to the sport(?) of yoga, I'm studying the history from a book and a few good sites. Then I'm attending a class once or twice a week whenever I'm in town. I was really self-conscious when I first walked in there. I was the tallest woman by at least a foot, but thankfully there were quite a lot of tall men in there to balance things out. Turned out about half of the class was new to yoga, too, so I didn't feel too putzy. I've always been pretty flexible, except for my hamstrings and thighs, but we did a few poses ("asanas") that should fix me up in about a month if I practice. All told, I felt swell, even invigorated. You know how you meet people in their 40's and 50's who will grin and tell you they feel better than they did when they were 25? Their cheeks are pink, they walk with a little extra spring, and they look better than a lot of 25-year-olds? It's hard to miss them--mind, body, and spirit skipping down the sidewalk. I learn well by example. |
