I am really comfortable.
I have found my niche.
Boot Camp, 6:30PM Tuesday and Thursday night and 9:00 Am Saturday morning.
I have been able to make it for many if not most of the sessions.
Then suddenly a change, Tuesday night now starts at 6:00PM.
I know I will miss some classes.
The real question, can I go it alone on Tuesday and catch up on Thursday and Saturday?
This is where the Zen of Exercise needs to exert a powerful influence.
Exercise is more than aerobic and isometric work. It is also a unique form of communication among like individuals pursuing a similar goal, deep health.
Exercising alone is lot like talking to yourself unless you can transition the experience into a metaphysical trance or Zen like state where you become one with the equipment and the muscles.
It must become a form of meditation.
In this state you can begin to feel each muscle fiber slide over the other and the weights seem to lift themselves as you watch with joyful detachment ignoring the pain and exhaustion.
This is an extremely hard state to attain.
It is like a pitcher “who is able to clear the machine”.
It is like a golfer who sees the swing.
It is like the running back that sees the seam.
It is like Michael Jordan, who on many occasions left gravity behind as he floated to the basket, the only destination in that moment.
I am trying to achieve that state on Tuesday nights now that I will on occasion leave the group dynamic for a singular pursuit of exercise excellence.
I prefer the group dynamic but such is life and if I can achieve the status of an exercise aesthetic without the benefit of I-Pods or earphones then I may yet discover some new truth in my quest for health.
Just remember Psychology and Physiology aren’t really spelled all that differently.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Pushing The Envelope
“When will it ever get easier”, the question hung there waiting for an answer.
This was about forty minutes into the Tuesday night Boot Camp when everyone was either a light shade of purple or deep maroon.
“I have been doing this for years and it seems to be getting harder”.
I decided I needed to respond; I have a background in exercise physiology and the answer will not be reassuring.
There are two components that must be addressed in responding to the question.
The first component has to do with Sparta.
Sparta can easily see when people are coasting.
Sparta can make the exercise routine as hard or as easy as she sees fit and I don’t anticipate a sudden feeling of seasonal warmth to suddenly cause her to change the routine into Slipper Camp.
It is called Boot Camp for a reason.
Sparta can put three grueling leg exercises in a row, she can add laps, she can follow the heavy bag with mitts and she can knock out any station that provides a little breather.
There are enough combinations of stations that Sparta could challenge even the best trained athlete.
The second component that needs to be addressed is Maximal Aerobic Capacity or Maximal Exercise/Work Capacity.
Maximal Aerobic Capacity or Maximal Exercise Capacity is usually expressed in the amount of oxygen used per kilogram body mass per minute. It is usually determined during exercise such as cycling, running or even Boot Camp. The intensity of the activity is progressively increased until the subject is exhausted. The average value for a 20-year-old female is between 32–38 ml/kg/min; for a 20-year-old male it is 36–44 ml/kg/min.
The last time I looked, I didn’t see that many twenty year olds in our class.
Training can improve Maximal Exercise Capacity but the amount of improvement is highly individualized and inversely related to the initial level of fitness. A sedentary person may experience as much as a 25 per cent increase in VO2 max after only 8 weeks training; a highly trained athlete may experience as little as a 5 per cent or less improvement in the same time.
The key phrase:
There is an upper limit of oxygen consumption beyond which training has no effect. This limit seems to be genetically determined and may be reached after 18–24 months of intensive endurance training and it must be remembered that Maximal Exercise/Aerobic Capacity does decline with age.
Most everyone has been training in Boot Camp for more than twenty four months and many of us are getting older as each year passes. (A few, left un-named appear to be avoiding the aging thing). So it suggests that most of us are probably at our maximal aerobic or maximal work capacity and each little change in intensity will dramatically affect how we perceive the level of work.
But here is the bright inner lining; all in the class have increased their exercise capacity and are working at levels far above the average person. Some in class may be approaching levels as high as 60 ml/kg/min.
It is estimated that Lance Armstrong is the best endurance athlete in the world and his maximal exercise capacity is somewhere around 80 to 100 ml/kg/min.
He increased his capacity by 7% over 7 years of intense training and added another estimated percentage by reducing total body fat which is another way to increase work capacity by a few percentage points.
So to sum it all up, unless Sparta changes the class to Bed Room Slippers Class it probably won’t get any easier, ever, unless we can keep peeling the total body fat down to extremely low levels and achieve higher levels of maximal work capacity.
Unfortunately age and genetics are working hard against us.
This was about forty minutes into the Tuesday night Boot Camp when everyone was either a light shade of purple or deep maroon.
“I have been doing this for years and it seems to be getting harder”.
I decided I needed to respond; I have a background in exercise physiology and the answer will not be reassuring.
There are two components that must be addressed in responding to the question.
The first component has to do with Sparta.
Sparta can easily see when people are coasting.
Sparta can make the exercise routine as hard or as easy as she sees fit and I don’t anticipate a sudden feeling of seasonal warmth to suddenly cause her to change the routine into Slipper Camp.
It is called Boot Camp for a reason.
Sparta can put three grueling leg exercises in a row, she can add laps, she can follow the heavy bag with mitts and she can knock out any station that provides a little breather.
There are enough combinations of stations that Sparta could challenge even the best trained athlete.
The second component that needs to be addressed is Maximal Aerobic Capacity or Maximal Exercise/Work Capacity.
Maximal Aerobic Capacity or Maximal Exercise Capacity is usually expressed in the amount of oxygen used per kilogram body mass per minute. It is usually determined during exercise such as cycling, running or even Boot Camp. The intensity of the activity is progressively increased until the subject is exhausted. The average value for a 20-year-old female is between 32–38 ml/kg/min; for a 20-year-old male it is 36–44 ml/kg/min.
The last time I looked, I didn’t see that many twenty year olds in our class.
Training can improve Maximal Exercise Capacity but the amount of improvement is highly individualized and inversely related to the initial level of fitness. A sedentary person may experience as much as a 25 per cent increase in VO2 max after only 8 weeks training; a highly trained athlete may experience as little as a 5 per cent or less improvement in the same time.
The key phrase:
There is an upper limit of oxygen consumption beyond which training has no effect. This limit seems to be genetically determined and may be reached after 18–24 months of intensive endurance training and it must be remembered that Maximal Exercise/Aerobic Capacity does decline with age.
Most everyone has been training in Boot Camp for more than twenty four months and many of us are getting older as each year passes. (A few, left un-named appear to be avoiding the aging thing). So it suggests that most of us are probably at our maximal aerobic or maximal work capacity and each little change in intensity will dramatically affect how we perceive the level of work.
But here is the bright inner lining; all in the class have increased their exercise capacity and are working at levels far above the average person. Some in class may be approaching levels as high as 60 ml/kg/min.
It is estimated that Lance Armstrong is the best endurance athlete in the world and his maximal exercise capacity is somewhere around 80 to 100 ml/kg/min.
He increased his capacity by 7% over 7 years of intense training and added another estimated percentage by reducing total body fat which is another way to increase work capacity by a few percentage points.
So to sum it all up, unless Sparta changes the class to Bed Room Slippers Class it probably won’t get any easier, ever, unless we can keep peeling the total body fat down to extremely low levels and achieve higher levels of maximal work capacity.
Unfortunately age and genetics are working hard against us.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Mr. Id
Remember the television show, Mr. Ed?
Mr. Ed was a talking horse that would say just about anything.
Well, we have a similar personality in our exercise class, Mr. Id.
Mr. Id appears to have lost all brain filters such as Ego and Super Ego so that whatever bubbles up in the hindbrain soon finds expression at the mouth.
I understand this as I have suffered from a similar problem.
Age and slowed reflexes have begun to solve mine.
Mr. Id is about as funny as anyone I have ever heard.
It may just be the environment, the exercise class, but he has Jay Leno, Jack Paar and any other late night comedian, I have heard, beat by a mile.
Maybe he wouldn’t be as funny on day-time TV or at a Tea with a Ladies Society but the exercise class laughs all the way through the crunches.
Last night he said, “I must be the most out of shape ”#@$%^” in this class, I have already been unconscious twice and I am numb from the hips down”.
This is all said amid a number of expletives, praises for the trainer and other noises usually reserved for rooting water buffalos.
He attacks the heavy bag like it is his worst enemy and if he hits it any harder, he might one day knock it out, for good.
The class seems easier with Mr. Id in the room.
He was a doubter at the beginning.
I think he believed the class was for "them" but he has not only joined it, experienced the pain, but actually seems to have moved to the stage of loving the agony.
Mr. Id has added a whole new level "of freedom of expression" to the class.
So hats off to Mr. Id.
I hope he keeps coming back.
Laughter and great humor help ease the pain of that last run or the final two minutes of flutter kicks.
Mr. Ed was a talking horse that would say just about anything.
Well, we have a similar personality in our exercise class, Mr. Id.
Mr. Id appears to have lost all brain filters such as Ego and Super Ego so that whatever bubbles up in the hindbrain soon finds expression at the mouth.
I understand this as I have suffered from a similar problem.
Age and slowed reflexes have begun to solve mine.
Mr. Id is about as funny as anyone I have ever heard.
It may just be the environment, the exercise class, but he has Jay Leno, Jack Paar and any other late night comedian, I have heard, beat by a mile.
Maybe he wouldn’t be as funny on day-time TV or at a Tea with a Ladies Society but the exercise class laughs all the way through the crunches.
Last night he said, “I must be the most out of shape ”#@$%^” in this class, I have already been unconscious twice and I am numb from the hips down”.
This is all said amid a number of expletives, praises for the trainer and other noises usually reserved for rooting water buffalos.
He attacks the heavy bag like it is his worst enemy and if he hits it any harder, he might one day knock it out, for good.
The class seems easier with Mr. Id in the room.
He was a doubter at the beginning.
I think he believed the class was for "them" but he has not only joined it, experienced the pain, but actually seems to have moved to the stage of loving the agony.
Mr. Id has added a whole new level "of freedom of expression" to the class.
So hats off to Mr. Id.
I hope he keeps coming back.
Laughter and great humor help ease the pain of that last run or the final two minutes of flutter kicks.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Old Dogs, New Tricks and Nicknames
It is hard to learn to jump rope when you are past fifty.
It is difficult to get the rhythm of the light bag when you are beyond fifty five.
It is hard to remember Jab, Upper cut, Hook, Cross, Hook, feint, duck, Jab, Jab, Hook, Cross, and on and on.
The neurons just don’t fire that fast anymore.
I guess that explains why I sometimes seem to stare straight ahead after hearing a command.
It takes a few seconds to register and a few more seconds for the impulse to activate the muscles.
But, the hardest of the hard, has been the Hula Hoop.
Try learning that when you are over sixty.
In a car, sixty equals eighty eight feet per second.
In a body, sixty equals about eight feet per second.
The joints and muscles just don’t seem to move as easily as needed to keep a Hula Hoop up in the air, defying gravity.
Then one night last week, it clicked.
I am sure it looked strange but I was actually “Hula Hooping”.
Sparta saw the moment and began whooping as she announced to the assembled class, “looks like the old dog can learn new tricks”.
The mind rebelled.
Old Dog, “who is she talking about”?
The mention of age rarely comes up in the gym.
I actually forget my age during these intense exercise sessions.
But in deference to the Master/Mastress, placing a fist in my other palm, I bow like an acolyte in training, thanking her for the recognition and the new nickname.
See, I have given each person a name that reminds me of some special characteristic and finally I was given mine, Old Dog or OD for short.
So from now on OD will be doing the Blogs, OD will be attending class, OD will be working out in the gym, OD will keep on, keeping on.
And finally when it all ends, hopefully in my eighties, the final report will most likely read like some strange form of poetry:
OD
DOA
The Hula Hoop
Won This Day
It is difficult to get the rhythm of the light bag when you are beyond fifty five.
It is hard to remember Jab, Upper cut, Hook, Cross, Hook, feint, duck, Jab, Jab, Hook, Cross, and on and on.
The neurons just don’t fire that fast anymore.
I guess that explains why I sometimes seem to stare straight ahead after hearing a command.
It takes a few seconds to register and a few more seconds for the impulse to activate the muscles.
But, the hardest of the hard, has been the Hula Hoop.
Try learning that when you are over sixty.
In a car, sixty equals eighty eight feet per second.
In a body, sixty equals about eight feet per second.
The joints and muscles just don’t seem to move as easily as needed to keep a Hula Hoop up in the air, defying gravity.
Then one night last week, it clicked.
I am sure it looked strange but I was actually “Hula Hooping”.
Sparta saw the moment and began whooping as she announced to the assembled class, “looks like the old dog can learn new tricks”.
The mind rebelled.
Old Dog, “who is she talking about”?
The mention of age rarely comes up in the gym.
I actually forget my age during these intense exercise sessions.
But in deference to the Master/Mastress, placing a fist in my other palm, I bow like an acolyte in training, thanking her for the recognition and the new nickname.
See, I have given each person a name that reminds me of some special characteristic and finally I was given mine, Old Dog or OD for short.
So from now on OD will be doing the Blogs, OD will be attending class, OD will be working out in the gym, OD will keep on, keeping on.
And finally when it all ends, hopefully in my eighties, the final report will most likely read like some strange form of poetry:
OD
DOA
The Hula Hoop
Won This Day
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Anybody Care for A little Whine
Saturday, Boot Camp.
Time to set up the stations.
Put the jump rope here. It will be more painful that way.
Two laps, outside, jump rope; slip rope, stairs mitts, plates, fourteen stations in all.
Don’t stop.
Keep the intensity high and do the push-up station here.
Count the number and call them out.
Thirty-five, next time forty, next fifty.
Fierce says, “I think I am dying”.
“No your not”, I say, “Just push on through”.
We do the two hundred shoulders, the fast abs and Sparta thanks us for the excellent work and the healing.
Seems she is in a “mood”.
She warned us before the class that she was in "that mood” and needed healing.
Healing is accomplished by pushing everyone to his or her potential and beyond without anyone dying or walking out.
We all make it.
I then transition to a training session with weights and other strength exercises.
I join a group this day, all younger than me and watchful.
Sparta looks at me and says, “push-ups, fifteen”.
“I just did push-ups”, I said and immediately realized I was whining.
I try to avoid whining at all possible costs.
If you don’t want to do something, leave. Don’t whine.
If you are still whining and over the age of sixty then you really have more problems than I can enumerate.
And suddenly I am whining.
“I am whining”, I say,"I didn’t really mean to".
“I know, you very seldom if ever whine, it is good for me to hear this, it helps the healing.”
Healing, I am not worried about healing I am worried about face and maintaining it.
I do have some Ego.
I drop down and do the fifteen push-ups and feel flushed because I have stepped into murky waters and I don’t like it.
I do the squats, the dips and return to fifteen more push-ups.
I finally finish with the last set of fifteen push-ups and gratefully get to move across the gym to curls and arms presses.
The session ends.
Sparta thanks all for the good work.
As I leave the floor I am trying to decide which wine I might present to seek forgiveness for that last whine.
I am sure a Dry White Chardonnay would be the best.
Sparta might share some as I have heard it goes real good with Crow.
Time to set up the stations.
Put the jump rope here. It will be more painful that way.
Two laps, outside, jump rope; slip rope, stairs mitts, plates, fourteen stations in all.
Don’t stop.
Keep the intensity high and do the push-up station here.
Count the number and call them out.
Thirty-five, next time forty, next fifty.
Fierce says, “I think I am dying”.
“No your not”, I say, “Just push on through”.
We do the two hundred shoulders, the fast abs and Sparta thanks us for the excellent work and the healing.
Seems she is in a “mood”.
She warned us before the class that she was in "that mood” and needed healing.
Healing is accomplished by pushing everyone to his or her potential and beyond without anyone dying or walking out.
We all make it.
I then transition to a training session with weights and other strength exercises.
I join a group this day, all younger than me and watchful.
Sparta looks at me and says, “push-ups, fifteen”.
“I just did push-ups”, I said and immediately realized I was whining.
I try to avoid whining at all possible costs.
If you don’t want to do something, leave. Don’t whine.
If you are still whining and over the age of sixty then you really have more problems than I can enumerate.
And suddenly I am whining.
“I am whining”, I say,"I didn’t really mean to".
“I know, you very seldom if ever whine, it is good for me to hear this, it helps the healing.”
Healing, I am not worried about healing I am worried about face and maintaining it.
I do have some Ego.
I drop down and do the fifteen push-ups and feel flushed because I have stepped into murky waters and I don’t like it.
I do the squats, the dips and return to fifteen more push-ups.
I finally finish with the last set of fifteen push-ups and gratefully get to move across the gym to curls and arms presses.
The session ends.
Sparta thanks all for the good work.
As I leave the floor I am trying to decide which wine I might present to seek forgiveness for that last whine.
I am sure a Dry White Chardonnay would be the best.
Sparta might share some as I have heard it goes real good with Crow.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Old Man Is Wanting
I have been weighed and measured.
I have been found wanting.
I guess maybe I came too late.
It seems Fierce has taken the field.
Sure I can’t count.
Sure I can’t memorize the punch sequences.
Sure I'm slow and occasionally purple
Now Fierce has the upper hand.
She is young, fast and aggressive.
She hits the mitts with precision and speed.
She hasn’t caught Ammo or the Ambassador yet but she has the eye of Sparta.
The next protégé?
The old man has walked the crooked mile and has the crooked smile.
He has the crooked jab and a really crooked cross.
His crooked, broken uppercut is a total loss.
So the old man with the little crooked smile, will continue on it seems, at least for a while.
And watch as Fierce runs the next hundred miles.
I have been found wanting.
I guess maybe I came too late.
It seems Fierce has taken the field.
Sure I can’t count.
Sure I can’t memorize the punch sequences.
Sure I'm slow and occasionally purple
Now Fierce has the upper hand.
She is young, fast and aggressive.
She hits the mitts with precision and speed.
She hasn’t caught Ammo or the Ambassador yet but she has the eye of Sparta.
The next protégé?
The old man has walked the crooked mile and has the crooked smile.
He has the crooked jab and a really crooked cross.
His crooked, broken uppercut is a total loss.
So the old man with the little crooked smile, will continue on it seems, at least for a while.
And watch as Fierce runs the next hundred miles.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Oh Momma, So Many Questions
Big class last night.
A lot of punishment was meted out for slow learners.
The whole class paid.
Why is it, the guys can’t count past four?
The girls don’t have that counting problem.
Why is it the strongest looking guys struggle the hardest with the 200 shoulders?
Do they pick up too much weight?
Why is the running such a difficult task for some and yet others run with abandon?
I believe those, the easy runners, could run all night long.
Why didn’t May and Audrey join us last night?
Was the music too raw or did their advanced years keep them at bay?
What did the Yoga instructor say to one of the guys at the front of the line in the middle of the class?
Better yet, why did they laugh?
“Tell us all”, my old high school coach would say.
Where was Cheshire and Transformer?
Will we ever see the Mighty T again?
How much sweat have those mats absorbed?
Don’t they feel heavier?
Do the crunches ever get any easier?
When will a six pack or even a one pack start to show up?
Is the turtle shell the best I can hope for?
Where has Sweat Shirt Boy (SSB) been and why is he now back?
Is my new name really going to be dumbbell?
Or was it a missed modifier causing the command to sound like, “pick it up, dumbbell”?
Shouldn’t it have been, “pick it up, the dumbbell”?
Was it the lack of a comma, some other errant punctuation or a participle placement problem?
“I sure hope so”, said me in my mind as I type this.
All night the questions rumble through my mind as we jump rope, hit mitts, pound the heavy bag.
Sometimes they are funny enough that I begin laughing out loud.
I am fairly sure a number of the players question my status, “is he really all there”.
I have a counting problem, I have a hearing problem and I frequently still try to put the gloves on the wrong hands.
But in spite of these issues, I will keep coming back, keep pondering deep and not so deep questions and continually wonder if I will be able to do this when I am eighty six?
A lot of punishment was meted out for slow learners.
The whole class paid.
Why is it, the guys can’t count past four?
The girls don’t have that counting problem.
Why is it the strongest looking guys struggle the hardest with the 200 shoulders?
Do they pick up too much weight?
Why is the running such a difficult task for some and yet others run with abandon?
I believe those, the easy runners, could run all night long.
Why didn’t May and Audrey join us last night?
Was the music too raw or did their advanced years keep them at bay?
What did the Yoga instructor say to one of the guys at the front of the line in the middle of the class?
Better yet, why did they laugh?
“Tell us all”, my old high school coach would say.
Where was Cheshire and Transformer?
Will we ever see the Mighty T again?
How much sweat have those mats absorbed?
Don’t they feel heavier?
Do the crunches ever get any easier?
When will a six pack or even a one pack start to show up?
Is the turtle shell the best I can hope for?
Where has Sweat Shirt Boy (SSB) been and why is he now back?
Is my new name really going to be dumbbell?
Or was it a missed modifier causing the command to sound like, “pick it up, dumbbell”?
Shouldn’t it have been, “pick it up, the dumbbell”?
Was it the lack of a comma, some other errant punctuation or a participle placement problem?
“I sure hope so”, said me in my mind as I type this.
All night the questions rumble through my mind as we jump rope, hit mitts, pound the heavy bag.
Sometimes they are funny enough that I begin laughing out loud.
I am fairly sure a number of the players question my status, “is he really all there”.
I have a counting problem, I have a hearing problem and I frequently still try to put the gloves on the wrong hands.
But in spite of these issues, I will keep coming back, keep pondering deep and not so deep questions and continually wonder if I will be able to do this when I am eighty six?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)