Monday Bacon: From The Beginning

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When we had tosabarbell built up, I had very specific ideas on the energy I wanted. See, I had just spent two years in a gym where A. I loved it’s people; but B) I hated it’s energy. Oppressive. Aggressive. Mean. Abusive. I lost count of how many people, both regulars and visiting dignitaries, told me I needed to leave for my own good. They were right.

Anyway.

I wanted tosabarbell to be strong; you play here you work hard; understanding; stern yet calm; you learn; you apply; your coach is constantly learning; and it’s boundaries are firm but fair. Our walls were filled with plates and barbells and as I looked to fill it’s space without cluttering it up, I started looking for just the right picture. Oh sure, there are some very kick ass Arnold posters that you see here and there at true strength gyms. And they are awesome. There is a scene from Pumping Iron where he is posing in his last Mr. Olympia and looked at the camera with a smirk on his face. I love that look. I can’t find it in a poster though, only the one where his arms are spread as if he’s saying, “just look at all my glory.” That’s pretty cool. But, imo, a bit overdone in gyms. The smirk is gold, if I found that one I’d get it.

But then I came across this poster:

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Yup. That’s it. If you’ve seen any training videos out of tosabarbell, you’ve seen this poster. From the beginning, it’s been on the wall.

I grew up watching Muhammad Ali on the Wide World of Sports. His bantering with Howard Cosell is legendary and, I believe, some of the best television in the history of television. There were even some Saturday’s when my dad would have the luxury of an afternoon lounge and come watch with me. And this is where our parents can unintentionally impact our lives with one glib little statement. When Ali was on, touting himself as “the greatest”, Pastor John laughed and said something to the effect of ‘no one can call themselves the greatest, except for Muhammad Ali.’ 

BOOM! The respect my dad showed for Ali was impressive to me. Through hard work and a belief in oneself, you can achieve good things. Maybe even great things if you’re lucky enough.

That’s the energy I wanted, and still do, for tosabarbell. And I have it. Oh sure, there have been a few folks here and there where we’ve had to part ways for one reason or another. But at the end of the day, I protect the energy of my gym. If someone threatens that energy, they’re out. Sorry I’m not sorry. The people who train here are high in integrity and low in bullshit.

I believe I can honestly say that Muhammad Ali was one of my first sports role models. Now, I had absolutely no interest in boxing. Yes, it’s kick ass (boxer Scott LeDoux had a bar on the edge of Nordeast Minneapolis we would hit often. The upstairs was more ‘club’ but we’d head downstairs after grabbing a girly drink and listen to his stories. He was the shit and could portray boxing as a ballet mixed with a locker room brawl through his stories. I’m a lucky girl to be able to listen to them.) But I knew that the attitude and self worth that Ali gave himself was something to behold. Nothing I possessed until, probably, I hit 40 something.

And now he’s gone. Well, quite honestly, he’s been gone for a while for those of us not directly related. His lighting of the Olympic torch in Atlanta is embedded in many of us. The shaking; almost questioning look of the true G.O.A.T. It was heartbreaking for me to watch. But then I realized that it was actually a gift. Because we’re not always going to be who we are in our strongest moments and that’s okay. We’ll falter and if lucky enough, grow old. And right now, we don’t know what that will look like.

But those who love us will know. They’ll know what we “once were.” The attitude; the skill; the talent, and even the ego. They’ll remember. And maybe they’ll tuck a little bit of that attitude into their heart and let it come out in their own work. Because, I think, that’s what I do with those memories of Muhammad Ali looking straight into a camera telling the world that “…I’m in a world of my own.”

Ballsy. I like that. I’m confident you’re not surprised.

It’s not bragging if you can back it up.

Muhammad Ali

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Outrage

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I’m not talking about a zoo bound dead gorilla. Ever. JHMFC people, you are the media’s puppets.

That should outrage you. See, today everyone is outraged. I’ve seen the word on different social media posts no less than two dozen times. It’s only 11:00am and I slept in and the Americans are outraged. Not because our next President and leader of the free world will either be (imo) half of one of the most corrupt political couples in U.S. history (the Clinton’s make Francis and Claire look like Ricky and Lucy, srsly) or a bumbling, egomaniac that has the ego of Putin without the diabolical smarts. Either way?

Fucked. That’s outrageous. This is your country. What could Americans accomplish if their outrage was channeled towards making America better? We just won’t know, we’re too busy letting the media sway us onto benign topics and chewing on their bone for however many days they are told to keep us busy.

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Meet Za’layia Jenkins. She was 9. Sitting in her house watching television in Milwaukee when a shoot out opened outside her home. A shoot out. Not a cool, Kurt Russel’ish ‘AND HELLS COMING WITH ME’ shoot out but a real one. Where a little girl was shot and eventually died just because she was sitting in her house watching tv.

That, friends, should elicit outrage. That is outrageous. If each and every one of you fools who are ready to string up a mom for letting her kid out of her sight (like you NEVER have/did/would do) marched your asses over to North Milwaukee and were led by Sheriff Clark (we love him too) and said,

“No more. We are OUTRAGED that you are killing children in your own neighborhood. You’re DONE.” And that’s just north Milwaukee. Name any city and you’ll find that neighborhood where these outrageous things are happening every day.

Oh, and uhhhh, the elephant in the fucking room (I was going to say the ‘dead gorilla in the fucking room’…too soon?) is that pesky number of abortions in America since Roe v. Wade. Something along the lines of 59 million plus. Now, pro-life or pro-choice, don’t care. Really, I’ll respect your right to own a solid opinion on the matter. But your opinion doesn’t dismiss the fact that over 59 million babies have been aborted.

59 million babies. One gorilla.

Wow.

Living life through meme’s? Check.

Moral outrage on something that has no affect on you whatsoever? Check.

The media’s sheep? Check.

I find that outrageous. Absolutely outrageous. Today is a day to read a book. Or watch Soap Operas. Or mow my lawn by taking an eyebrow scissors and individually cutting each blade of grass at a time. But stay off social media (except to read this blog post of course). Because the amount of outrage makes me outraged. And I’m trying to be zen today. So piss off pretend gorilla lovers, you’ve done nothing in the way of furthering the species to date. Why start now?

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A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right.

Thomas Paine

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Things I’m Not…

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A few weeks ago, I mentioned who I am. A little earlier today, I started thinking about ‘who I’m not.’ (Yes, it’s a late post. I was going to write about this during the weekend but then Air Force One came on. Come on! Han Solo v. Dracula. Srsly.)

So, in order of no importance:

1) Blonde. I spent about 8 years using ‘Sun in’ to try to make my hair blonde. It never worked. I was a swimmer, so during summer season my hair would turn a silverish green when swimming outdoors, that’s as close to it as I came. I dunno why being blonde seemed cool, those Sun In girls just looked like they were having so much fun. But here I am, brunette as can be.

B. Long.

Look, tall or short, there are people who are long. That’s all I wanted to be. Long and lithe. Think Misty Copeland,

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who will always be long no matter how short she is. But no. Not me. I’ll always be short; a bit stocky; and the polar opposite of lithe (I don’t know what that word is, let me know if you think of it.)

III

Young

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…and this, friends, is probably the most challenging of all. I am not young. Oh sure, I mostly live in denial with my training and the way I walk through life but there are a few realities that I deal with.

A) I’m 49 and at 49 I am limited in how I can compete with those 20 years younger than me. I know I can make up some ground with hard work; an ability to catch on to things, and being coachable with advice from those who know what they’re talking about and are kind enough to share with me.

But,

B) I’m fighting time. That’s what this year and (if I’m lucky enough) next year is about. Competing at a high level into my 50’s. Quite honestly? I don’t know if I can. Even with being sick this past spring, I am blessed with good health and good strength. Can I keep that up? I don’t know. I’ll try. That’s all I can do. Try.

But it’s a bit daunting. Because at some point, I will become a true Master’s athlete. Still competing but not able to keep up at the pace I want to. I’m not taking anything away from Master’s athlete’s. Really, in some sports that clarification begins at 30. 30. Srsly. If I were 30 I’d have 20 years of kicking ass ahead of me and all the time in the world.

But I’m not long; lithe; young; blonde; as strong as I want to be; as explosive as I want to be; as ‘fit’ as I want to be, etc.

I’m just me. Short; chubby; old; stubborn; unreasonable at times; unable to deal with others stupidity most of the time, and not able to eat all the pizza I want to.

Will it stop be from wanting to be more? Nope.

Come on, you’ve met me. Right?

What is success? I think it is a mixture of having a flair for the thing you are doing; knowing it is not enough; that you have got to have hard work and a certain sense of purpose. 

Margaret Thatcher

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Wednesday Bacon: Facts of Life

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A) 100 Pounds

Over the years, I’ve trained a few folks who fall under the “morbidly obese” category. Most of us have. Which is why we understand that when a person’s weight gets out of control, it has very little to do with “choices” and more to do with how a person feels about themselves. (Yes, we’ve come into the age where the obese get to shout from the rooftops that they actually feel quite good about themselves and people better just love them as they are and we all say, ‘you go girl.’ I don’t. Because I think they’re full of shit. They’ve admitted that they’re unhealthy; that shitty food makes them happy, and that they’re just waiting for that one person who accepts them for who they are which is really quite easy if you just troll the Dunkin Donuts line each morning.)

Anyways. One particular client of mine had a lot of weight to lose. A lot. She was probably about 130 pounds overweight (overweight is subjective, fuck the BMI. A healthy weight with muscle mass is dependent on the person. This isn’t the Biggest fucking  Loser after all, it’s real life.) We worked together for almost a year before we had to part ways. At the end of the day, I can’t take money from someone month after month for just showing up. That’s how I roll. I’d be richer if I could. I’ve heard other coaches/trainers say it, ‘Dude, who cares what they do in the real world, they just show up a couple times a week and pay me. Rad.’ I can’t.

One of the worst things that could’ve happened to this particular client was that she lost 100 pounds 10 years ago. Looked great; felt great, one of her happiest times. Then it came back, with friends. It took about six months. But byGods she knew that if she really wanted to, she could lose 100 pounds again. Except that she couldn’t. And I couldn’t reach her to just start with five pounds. Let’s take three weeks and lose five pounds. And then another week or two for another 3-5 pounds. Let’s just take this one pound at a time. Nope, when she was ready (she said), she’ll just lose 100 pounds again.

It was heartbreaking. When I work with someone, I’m all in. I’m not a WAC trainer, after all.

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Thumbs up dude. Rad.

Holley Mangold posted on her InstaGram this past weekend that she’s finally accepted that she needs help with her weight. That she’s still recovering from the Biggest Loser and  has used food for more than just fuel. That’s big. Because, to my knowledge, Mrs (she got married a couple weeks ago) Mangold has been very public on how she LOVES to be a big girl. LOVES it. But really not really.

There are many of us who train hard and have athletic goals. So much so that the “and need to lose some weight” dealio gets pushed to the back of the line. Even losing 5-10 pounds off a needed 30 is a a huge victory. But it always starts with one. One pound, probably water weight, but it’s one less than yesterday. And then you shoot for two. And so on. And so on.

Don’t wait for the magical day where 100 pounds will disappear, it doesn’t exist. Start today.

With one.

B.  70 Pounds

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I have no idea why people post lifting videos and then lie about how much weight they’re “lifting.” I don’t get it. Who cares? A 135 pound deadlift is awesome, if that’s what you can do today?!?! Why lie?

But there’s been another rash of videos where the stated weight is quite inflated. Now, sometimes that’s not the lifters fault. There was one video of an Olympic hopeful that had been shared where the person who re-posted it got the weights wrong. (Srsly dude, RED=25kg/BLUE=20kg/YELLOW=15kg/GREEN=10kg. Just add the colors. This isn’t hard and I think almost all math is hard.)

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I imagine your need to impress takes priority over that pesky ‘honesty’ and ‘integrity’ thing and HEY! That’s okay! You go girl. But people can add shit up, quickly, and we know you’re lying. We don’t care. But we know.

Why bother? Lift the weight you can today, that’s awesome. That’s all any of us do. Some days it’s more, some days it’s less. But we’re there, putting in the work. That’s the important part.

Quite honestly, it’s likely I’ll never squat over 160kg. I’d have to train for it and I’m pretty busy training for two different world championships this year neither of which is a squat world championship. I have finite abilities to recover and lifting hard saps my resources. Most importantly; however; is that I don’t care. It’s not the tiger I have my eye on. It’d be cool, sure. Maybe people would take me more seriously as an athlete (heh.) But I have to respect my goals and more importantly, my age and ability.

So if I can walk in the gym and hit a 130kg squat without too much trouble, I’m happy with that. Sure I’d LOVE to be stronger. But I got work to do and squatting or pulling in the PR zone week after week means I do nothing else. So last week I hit one at 105kg and headed out to throw.

Completely unimpressive, eh? Here’s a picture of all the fucks I give:

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Be proud of yourself for the efforts you give. Don’t lie about how much you’re lifting. It makes you look silly and it diminishes the actual work you’re doing.

Plus, ya know, pussy.

C.  Paleo Cookies…

…are still cookies. If you’re a phat, you can’t eat that.

Years ago, my cousin Denise started a gluten-free baking business. She had spent almost two years sick and tired and finally tried a gluten-free diet and has never been sick again (at least with that belly stuff.) She’s strong and awesome and I’m happy that she’s happy and healthy.

Each time I’d visit her house in Woodinville, WA she’d serve up some baked goods that she’d been working on perfecting. I’d take a taste and say, ‘yup.’ But I only got a taste, cuz I’m a phat. And I don’t get cookies. At least, not cookie after cookie.

Paleo cookies are still cookies. Paleo pancakes are still pancakes. Paleo cake is still cake.

Fucking duh. I’ve actually known people who are visibly bloated and inflamed and shout from the rooftops that they’re eating Paleo and they’re SO much healthier.

Ummmm, no. That’s not even remotely how it works. Even the IIFYM crowd admit that they eat clean the majority of the time and use shit here and there for a quick fix.

Duh.

Anyway, don’t play that shit where you make me drag your words outta you. Declare, or shut the fuck up.

Al Swearengen

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