Shoulder Calculus

I have a new shoulder calculus, I think, and it’s telling me to lengthen the duration of my quest.

The basic algebra is this:

the longer I engage this particular adventure, the more fun it gets;

the more fun it gets, the more time I spend at it;

the more time I spend at it, the wearier my upper body muscles get;

the wearier my upper body muscles get, the less precise my form and technique;

the less precise my form and technique, the greater the chance of injury.

Evidence?  My left upper shoulder rotator cuff is beginning to feel a twinge every now and then.

So...a new shoulder calculus: all factors involved suggest I need to either have less fun or slow down. Slow down it is. This is way too much fun.

I’ve also learned about a new muscle group called the latissimus dorsi, which you can see below (thanks to the author of the blog--One Healthy Munchkin):

 As I’ve explored the various muscle groups involved in a momentum-pull-up, this is one I knew very little about. It’s directly behind you, so why would you notice it? Many shoulder issues stem from locked or frozen latissimus dorsi, I learn, particularly if one sits in a stationary position most of the day and rarely moves it. Like online teaching, for instance, or entire days spent at a computer screen. I’ve begun the painful--and I mean painful--rolling process of waking this muscle group up, both in use and in some simple bodyweight-roller massage movement.

I wonder if I learn to love and care for my latissimus dorsi--lats, for short, which one should use for an 'intimate' in one's life, I suppose!--I wonder whether my shoulder will let me do more of the jumps and pull-up practices I want to do?

I also wonder if I’m catching that body lifters’ disease of more, better, best. Or perhaps I’m finally just enjoying my body for who and what it’s always been. There for me, with its own limits and quirks that it’s my job to learn to love, but it's there for me, strong, built (even), and beautifully mine.

I'm learning how to isolate exercises for muscle groups too. I played with a wide bar, weights' use of the lats today at the gym. It felt good to use the upper back muscles and protect my shoulder.

Facing One's Weight in the World

Returning to the body requires facing your own weight in the world.

Think of all the associations you have with ‘weight.’ Because I sit with the Quakers sometimes, I hear a positive connotation in their phrase, ‘weighty elders.’ They use that phrase to describe those with sufficient gravitas and levity, presence and practice to have seen most all of the human condition and to have withstood it in grace and compassion. Weighty elders. Most of my associations with 'weight' are negative though. Particularly if placed with a possessive pronoun: my weight, her weight, his weight.

The Americanized expansion of ‘size’ conditions this in me, from the outside, while my own stories of shame condition it from the inside. I remember going to the local Dairy Queen to get a mini-blizzard sometime last year. (I’m one of those whose sweet tooth is fairly small. It allows me to enjoy a couple bites of an ice-cream or sweet treat and be more than satisfied. Bread and pasta? Those are my insatiables!) My husband and I sat, savoring our sweets, and noticed the mural on the wall. It was an old photograph of a crowd of people, all ages, gathering for the opening of an ice cream shop. The picture was blown up to cover the entire side wall of the Dairy Queen. The year looked about 1950-something, judging by the dress and cars that were in it. Because it had been suggested by some dear friends of ours, we looked at the mural with intention and noticed what they had, which was quite startling. Every single person in that photo was slender or of solid build. Not one obese person was in the entire photo, a picture of a large crowd. Perhaps it was a statement that the shop had just opened, so no associations of stress relief had had time to be drawn with the product to be sold there! Not one overweight person appeared, in a random old photo of the joint. Fast forward to today, in Midwestern, economically-challenged Ohio? It’s a rare thing to find a slender person, especially over the age of 30. Weight today brings immediate association of over-eating, neglect of the body, a tone of judgment. Weight. Too much. Overweight.

I’m conditioned from my insides to condemn my own weight, or condemn myself for my own weight. I’ve listened some for where this comes from. Some of it comes from my mother’s indirect and direct narratives about her own weight. I remember a ‘cute’ story told of me when I was probably 4 or 5. Mom came downstairs with an announcement, “I’m 145!” Wanting to join in what appeared to be a celebration, I (apparently) asked, “Is today your birthday?” After the howls of laughter subsided, the exchange went into the little orange book that held all the cute and silly things my sister and I said while growing up. But there was a collision of weight, age, and womanhood that happened at some deep level. I learned that 145 lbs was a weight to aim for, even though I'm well over 5'10''. Some of the condemnation or shame comes from growing up with a physician father, professionally inclined to care deeply about weight and its relationship to health. I don't remember him ever judging my weight, but I felt a judgment, which I probably transferred on him, from whatever subconscious energies that were in the house. This energy was often imposed upon him, however, by patients of his we would see at the local Friendly’s on Sunday lunches, after church. “I didn’t order the sundae,” they would say, passing by our table on the way to pay the bill at the front door. Rarely was there a “Hello” or a communal inquiry, “How are you?”, but “I didn’t eat any ice cream” with a nervous laugh in front of a doctor and his family. Mostly, this negativity comes from a long-conditioned dislike and embarrassment of my abdomen, already well represented in my blog-pages. Reclaiming this well of creative energy in my body, in my life, I’ve found a better balance of acceptance and transformation here. I’m getting more adept at catching my internal critic, gently thanking her for her voice that, when shrill, did bring my attention to issues of weight and health, but then asking her to quiet her fear while accepting my pleasure at my build, my size, my strength, even the abundance of energy stored there for all my needs. We are all finding a way to live together, my weighty voices and my elder wisdom. Weighty elder, perhaps I’ll become someday.

So how does one face one’s own weight in the world? Just that—face it. Face it, even grow it for balance of strength and flexibility in the world. I may have an overdeveloped enjoyment of all things bread or pasta, but I know that, and regularly check in with myself to see how deep the addiction has gone. I don’t withhold the breads from myself, nor do I gorge on carbohydrates, but I live with a healthy awareness of the aimed-middle, a complex rhythm of delight and measured moderation. I did find a good running habit, to make use of the carbohydrates too. I miss that cardio exercise in my life, so am finding the time again to walk, perchance to jog and run.

I’m facing my weight in a new way with the pull-up project. I’m holding my own, I guess you could say. What does it feel like to develop strength in my upper body, and learn to use the resources that I have, to play with my own weight? To hold it for short periods of time, pulling against gravity to feel my own strength developing, bit by bit?

What I can say so far is that I’m learning a new way to be in my own body, to be responsible for it, to care for it even as I develop more of it. In ironic fashion for most of my mental habits with respect to my body, I’m now bulking up weight, so I can hold this “more” of it myself. This “return to the body” is requiring me to make more of a certain kind of it—muscle, in back, arms, core—in order to be able to face it and consider it a strong point of myself, my being, my way in the world. I think I’m falling in love with physical strength, not just intellectual or spiritual strengths. Physical strength for its own sake? No. But physical strength that allows me to be as weighty in the world as I can withstand, can hold, can love.

My First Official 'War Wound' of the Adventure

The gloves are helping. I had a rather slow morning of seeing my cousins off before dawn, doing a little domestic hospitality for my beloved, then reading the paper, which actually turned into an unintended nap. I awoke with the sensation of needing to move, so I donned my gym clothes and meandered onto the track at the gym. It was nice to walk and listen to the Harmonizer. I eased into one of the mountain-climbing machines for a little cardio play. And then I put on my gloves to see what the bar felt like today.

I could still feel a bit of the soreness from the last bar workout, but my mental baggage is much lighter. I did a couple of the jump-holds. I moved over to the tri-cept handles to see what the core muscles felt like. And then I wondered whether I could simply jump up to the highest bar and see what that felt like.

I reached the bar without too much hassle. First grip wasn’t quite thorough enough, so I released and looked up again. Aim for a little more ‘toast’ in the jump, as my soccer-coach used to say. “We don’t want Melba toast! Texas toast preferred.” I jumped up and felt the grip I’d hoped. I swayed a little, focusing on the grip. I hung for a bit, stilling the swing, then began to play with a little of the preparatory swing Natalie taught me a couple weeks back. I felt a flash of fear about my shoulders, but focused on the back-muscles and core muscles. I widened my hips in my mind, and allowed the legs to reach out a bit more, with more extension. Hands grew weary, so I released, to rest again. Another jump up, and I felt I ‘had’ it—nice grip, felt-sense of confidence about muscles’ firing, and I found myself smiling. I swung a bit back and forth. Released, repeat. This is much more fun, I thought to myself. I also am remembering to listen to the weariness that’s the natural by-product of these muscles exerting themselves. It’s no longer an “I can’t do that” but a “I can do this a few times and then I get too tired to be sure of my form” kind of thing.

One more jump, just because I can, and I felt my ring for the first time. “I forgot I had my wedding ring on!” I heard inside.  I relinquished the hold, looked down at my left hand, and felt light-headed with shock.

My ring finger was blood-red, on the outside, unlike any of my other fingers. “Oh shit,” I said aloud. I pulled off my glove, saw it was bright red above the wedding ring, and in a panic, wiggled off the wedding ring, half-expecting excruciating pain for moving it over the joint. Nothing. No pain. I sat down, so as not to pass out. “What in the world…?!”

I have my first official ‘war wound’ of the adventure! I guess I have to wear my wedding ring on my pinky-finger or not at all, as many blood vessels  must have burst with the jump-and-hang play at the high bar. Confirmation from my physician-father assures me it’s a surface thing, and not to worry. Natalie too. All is well, though my finger looks horrid. I wonder if it will turn bruise/blue next?

Next time, I’ll remember to take off the wedding ring.

The Top of the Bar Has Been Seen

I’ve seen the top of the bar, without jumping. It is a new day.

Yesterday was a good one of felt-progress. You know you slog along with whatever goals or things you are trying to do, and it feels like there’s no movement, no progress? Well, yesterday was not one of those days. It was one of the kind where it feels like you’ve jumped over a mountain of some kind, without anticipating you were even close.

First, though, I’ve been meaning to share an earlier learning: I’ve been thinking about a pull-up all wrong, with two different angles of wrong. Before I began this little adventure, I thought there was one way to do a pull-up, and that’s that. The stationery form, pull from the arms and upper back muscles way. A traditional masculine way, I might add, emphasizing the gifts of upper body strength of a certain sort. Then I learned about the pull-up that involves a ‘kip,’ or the use of the hip and core strength in tandem with a bit of a swing to push oneself up in a certain fashion. Push up against gravity = pull-up, in this case. A third kind is a pure momentum push-up against gravity “pull-up” which entails a bit more leg use in addition to the kip-swing motion. There are probably other forms too, but the invigorating thing—as always—was to learn there is always more than one way to approach the pull-up bar. As anything in life, there is always more than one way, beyond the most obvious way that you’ve thought about it. The ‘kip’ version suits me very well, given my own substantial hip (and now core) strength. How did my mother say it, when I was 13? I “have child-bearing hips; they’ll serve well.” So they will.

I’ve also learned that the mental work of this project is more than half the battle, not my body-weight or inability. I think my body is quite capable and even eager. It’s my fear and mental-baggage that’s weighing me down. Fear shoots through my body when I have my hands on the bar and simply hang there for a time. I panic that my shoulders or my arms and most especially my hands will be injured. I have this felt-sense of weight that is ‘shame’ colored, somehow. Fear, weight perceived in a putrid color, and voilá—baggage. So the challenge requires some new mental calisthenics and explorations of resourcing.

I’ve been exploring the mental experience of this training with training gloves instead of the chalk for my hands. They change the feel of the bar, and ultimately I may want to be without them, but for now, they cover my fear somehow, which is worth it. And two, I’ve found three different forms that I can simply learn to hold on the PowerTower thing. A tri-cept focused, L-sit, getting my hands used to the weight as I may, as I strengthen the core muscles alongside the back muscles. Free hangs from the pull-up bar: short times of simply feeling the form, trusting over time into my body’s willingness and ability to play with my weight as well as carry it. These things are increasing my comfort with upper body training, and they seem to be easing my mental baggage as well. Yay.

But the cool thing about yesterday was the resistance band. Natalie and I have used these before, though my anxiety prevented me from easing into their assistance for what I want to do. I saw her strapping it up to the bar before my PT session was to start, and the pit of anxiety deepened in my stomach. But I had worn sweats for the first time, mostly because I was simply chilly, being winter and all. I think having cloth between me and the band helped. So you put your knee in the lower loop of the band, put your hands on the bar, and do a pull-up, if you’re able.

I was able!!! I saw the top of the bar, with attention to core muscles, back-wing muscles, a bit of arm muscle too. I saw the top of the bar. More importantly, I felt something new. I felt the ability to execute the right form for the pull-up—for someone with my body-form—and the sensation of ability as it moved into wearied muscles and inability. The first three times, it felt like I was flying up to the bar somehow. The second time, I could feel the tiredness. The third time into the band, my muscles were spent, and I couldn’t do it anymore. But it had changed. The perception had changed. It was a wholly different continuum than I’ve previously had access to, in my body, for this activity. I felt what it was like to pull myself up over the bar, felt the sensation change as the muscles were taxed, and only then, felt the inability.

It’s a new day in the awareness of this Wisdom Walker!! I gotta get me one of them resistance bands. J

Lisa - 1; Scale - 0

I never should have gotten on the scale today. What was I thinking? 

It’s been a quiet, contemplative couple of days. House chores have gotten done. Dinners with family have been enjoyed. A couple phone chats with friends and a tremendous amount of fun reading, work administrivia, and soul-clearing have filled these brisk then sunny days. I’ve been exploring the inner life and external realities of a lower-carb diet. Not for the traditional “new-year’s resolution’ diet thing, but to listen once again to my hunger patterns, mental relationship to breads and pasta. To explore a couple different kinds of recipes with kale, spinach, berries and the like. Body movements and opening began again at the gym, and a couple sessions at home opened up, with various levels of intensity—some playful, some intentional.  Life was feeling good and productive.

Then the scale. I know that strength-training means one doesn’t lose weight, potentially even gains weight. I know my core and upper body strength are more developed than they've ever been in my life. I love walking by the power-tower thing, putting down whatever I’m carrying, and hanging on it or jumping up to play with leg raises or whatever. Whatever suits my fancy. But my weight is as high as it’s been in probably five years!!!! Stepping on the scale, and in one fell swoop, my overall sense of fitness, enjoyment of my body-movements, excitement about my body-listening and hunger patterns went flying out the window. Seemingly without choice (as I experienced it anyway), I careened back into the body-censor and self-flagellation that comes with fearing “I’m too heavy.”

Goodness gracious I get bored with this. Anyone who reads these things must as well?

En route home from a day’s bodywork-learning, I stopped off at the grocery to get just the deli salads I’d been craving. I enjoyed a sample of the ‘buffalo chicken dip’ with a chip, to save myself from buying the whole thing. And home I returned, to a loving dog, a home perfectly-blissfully quiet, and spaciousness just right for enjoying a little workout before a light meal. Without agenda or “workout” to accomplish, I moved in some of the ways I’ve learned, played a little with the power-tower, and eased into a totally different awareness of my body.

I’m so very thankful to be able to move as I do, to smile at the challenge I’ve selected, and move patiently in the small ways that will build to a greater sense of freedom about my own sense of strength. I don’t know if I’ll make it by mid-March, but the journey so far has been just what the doctor—me, myself, and I—ordered. Today, by end of day, I learned I could simply move as it felt good, increase the intensity of exertion as felt good, and know that my shoulders and arms were weary enough for the day.

I ran to the phone, to catch an old friend’s call, and noticed my reflection in the dark-lit window panes. A good form.  A fortunate woman.

Fuck the scale.

What is Fitness (Again)? Time, Training, Tenacity

“Fitness is being able to do what the body can do, when it needs to, for things we imagine, for the age we are and the needs of our lives at the moment.” This is a marvelously broad and affirming definition of fitness, though not one I seem able to believe. Tough to cite one’s own words and realize an impotent center to them. (see A New Question Begins, 12-16-12). Much more regular in my thoughts are the monolithic tropes of the overculture, particularly with respect to feminine form. “Being fit” in my head usually means

• wearing size 10 or smaller clothing
• having slim to no hips, thin thighs, absolutely flat stomach
• running a marathon or being a tri-athlete
• never eating sweets, pizza, or fatty foods

 Then I got interested in Crossfit, though not enough to actually pursue their “plan” or “product” myself. Yet. For now, I’m living vicariously through my trainer, who discovered this elite fitness community about 6 months ago. (See www.crossfit.com). The site offers an introductory article to introduce their mission in the world, entitled “What is Fitness?” which informs this entire post.

There, Crossfit suggests three basic standards to fitness. The first includes ten recognized, general physical skills: cardiovascular/respiratory endurance, stamina, strength, flexibility, power, speed, coordination, agility, balance, and accuracy. “You are as fit as you are competent in each of these ten skills,” they write. They also observe that some training improves competence through organic changes in the body (endurance, stamina, strength, flexibility) while others improve through practice, changes in the nervous system (coordination, agility, balance, accuracy). “Power and speed are adaptations of both training and practice.” The symmetrical balance of body and ‘mind’ here pleases my sense of proportion. Makes sense that fitness should have a good balance of both physical and mental acuity.

The second fitness standard marks a high bar: performing well at any and every task imaginable. Instead of the ever-increasing achievements of weight or distance, this standard shows a pragmatic turn. Does your level of fitness allow you to perform what you need to perform, in any given setting? This kind of standard is particularly appropriate for firemen (women), policemen (women), and any who face physical challenges in their profession/job. Crossfit is particularly aimed—or at least well-suited—to these populations, as a matter of fact.

The third fitness standard governs (and assesses) performance in all three pathways of energy for human action—phosphagen pathway, glycolytic pathway and the oxidative pathway. The first dominates the highest-powered activities, those that last 10 seconds or less; the second (glycolytic) dominates moderate-powered activities, those that last up to several minutes; and the third (oxidative) dominates low-powered activities, those that last in excess of several minutes. The task is to develop and attend to all three pathways of energy for human action. Just learning about them, I can already confess that I’m really comfortable with the third, oxidative, pathway, as seen by my love of long-distance running. I’m less comfortable with—but can tolerate—those things that last less than 10 seconds. It’s that middle ground, the glycolytic pathway, that brings fear for me. Why? I have no idea.

Another schema in which Crossfit defines fitness lies in a continuum between Sickness, Wellness, and Fitness. In this frame, “fitness is and should be ‘super-wellness.’” I find this schema quite useful, particularly as our rather polemical culture can create “fitness junkies” whose obsession with their bodies, physical fitness, and presentation of form offers little to them (or others) in terms of health or wellness. Particularly for women, the media-saturated ideal of “feminine fitness” poses images and behaviors decidedly sick: anorexic, boyish-boney, even starved softness with shadowed make-up. In the CrossFit world, wellness integrates medical science without being enslaved by it. Wellness is based on measurements of blood pressure, body fat, bone density, triglycerides, good/bad cholesterol, flexibility, muscle mass, etc.  Sickness can address everything from excessive bodyfat to low bone density to mental illness (depression, etc.), with actions to be taken toward wellness before “super-wellness” or “fitness.” Fitness simply becomes wellness magnified, deepened, intensified.

Implementation of this “definition” of fitness attends to metabolic conditioning or “cardio” work, interval training, gymnastics, weightlifting, throwing, nutrition, and sport.  The hierarchy begins with nutrition, however, only ending with sport, or “a fantastic atmosphere of competition and mastery.”

When I return to the notions of ‘fitness’ that usually float like pixies in my head,

• wearing size 10 or smaller clothing
• having slim to no hips, thin thighs, absolutely flat stomach
• running a marathon or being a tri-athlete
• never eating sweets, pizza, or fatty foods

I smile with relief at the Crossfit mission and wisdom, even if it feels a bit like Everest from where most in the American scene live. A notion of fitness rooted in pragmatic performance, particularly one connected to one’s life/profession, how one needs to spend time in any given day, is quite satisfying. Honorable, somehow. I’m beginning to pay attention to how my profession naturally predisposes me to certain kinds of body experiences, which continue to be necessary, for now, but can become a choice too.

Mostly, this intensely articulate definition and implementation of fitness frees me from some of the overculture’s obsessions I’ve been internalizing for a long time. Size of clothing matters little. Wearing slightly baggier jeans has loosened and strengthened awareness in my belly, my womb, which I have needed for a long while. Having hip strength, even a repository of abdominal fat that stores energy for core-strength use, is a good thing for performing many tasks I might previously have thought impossible. Running long distances offers one kind of performance, but fitness can express itself in multiple ways. This makes the path to fitness so much more interesting and exploratory, which is marvelous too. For good or ill, I’ve also gotten a little less self-incriminating about food. I’ve noted my weight is up since I’ve focused on strength-training and development of upper-body musculature.  I also know, for a season, that the weight-gain may actually be necessary for what I’m trying to learn, to do. For once, my weight is a pragmatic portion of a larger picture about what my goals are, what I might want to explore, to learn. It does not define or condemn, but instead, contributes its part alongside other factors.

Come to think of it, I feel a bit more like a sculptor of form and less an impotent lump of clay shaped only by my impulses or outer culture. Not only does it feel good to have some agency in this morass we call feminine fitness, it’s incredibly empowering to name a goal (even if it still feels impossible to me!) and find relationships and a fitness community in which such things are mountains needing to be climbed, desiring to be climbed,…and simply a matter of time, training, and tenacity.

“Fitness is being able to do what the body can do, when it needs to, for things we imagine, for the age we are and the needs of our lives at the moment.” For now, I want to companion my body, with other wisdom-folks, into this exploration of upper-body strength, without an obsession or all-costs force-of-will, but with an impish smile and intention to be free—to act, to play, to grow.