Big Phat Pharm Phuks

pharm

Matt and I watched Chris Bell’s new movie Prescription Thugs last night. I have been looking forward to watching this for quite some time. Bell’s follow up to Bigger, Faster, Stronger wasn’t as in depth as his first movie, but it was far more personal. Tragic even.

In general, I’ve had a very dim view of the pharmaceutical industry my whole life. I’ve watched people close to me enjoy their gallon sized baggies full of prescription drugs far too long. It’s bullshit. When we value the pills we take far more than how we actually feel, we’re fucked. When doctors appointments fill our schedules instead of water aerobics and Zumba, we’re fucked.

Totally and completely fucked. But that’s current America. Health has not been valued for quite some time. I have removed people from my life who do not value their health. I just can’t even. For me, health is everything. EVERYTHING. Above love; relationships; success in various aspects of life, everything. My husband knows this and guess what, he’s okay with coming in second place to my health. Because when I’m not healthy, we’re not healthy. Duh.

I despise being sick. Last fall, at the wrap up of the Highland Games season while I was training for my weightlifting meet, I had put in some tall-snatch work into my program. I love those. However, having those reps crashing back down on my back without being adapted to the exercise destroyed me. Utterly destroyed me. I lost weeks of training. My body reacted as if I’d been in a car wreck. I instantly began fighting little sniffle’s that turned into an all out cold (I can’t even remember the last time I had cold/flu symptoms;) I had major inflammation, and overall I was a complete mess. Not to mention the fact that I was freaked out about the looming competition. It was horrible. I abhor not feeling strong and healthy, I will not trade it for anything. Ever.

Lucky for me I put my trust in Mike Westerling for coaching and programming and the results are: lifts are better; throwing is better; food is better and I’m feeling awesome. Now, sure, tragedy can strike at any moment. But everything that IS in my control is as good as I need it to be and even about 90% as good as I WANT it to be. (Wine. I haz it.)

I see people around me looking for quick fixes. Constantly looking for short-cuts to feeling and looking better. Wraps; detoxes; special diets; weight watchers, you name the snake oil, it’s out there. And that doesn’t even touch the Planet Fitness’ of the world and their “trainers.” Want to target abs for fat loss? Pay the WAC trainer and he’ll do it for you even if “target” loss is bullshit. Of course he weighs 145 pounds and even then doesn’t have abz but will take your money and when you fail to achieve your unrealistic goals, he’ll blame you. (I once watched a woman at an Experience Fitness work with a personal trainer. He had her side stepping across the floor for 10 minutes, cheering her on. She huffed and puffed as if she were on her 21st rep squat. That’s what $85 an hour will buy you folks. Walking across the floor.)

Then there’s the food. You know who I enjoy eating with? Throwers and Strongman. Why? Because they eat. They understand food’s role in their lives and use it to their advantage. You know who I hate eating with? Everyone else. There is a lovely couple here in town whom I adore. They are interesting and have diverse backgrounds and are so nice to be around. But they are both incredibly obese and have no desire to fix that situation. They once complained on the FB about an eatery near us and how a subtle flavor of their food was off. My thoughts? Dudes, you haven’t tasted food in years. You want salt and sugar and if there’s not enough on every bite of your food,  you complain. Srsly. I have compassion for those with eating disorders and am always willing to find help for those with severe, life threatening situations. But using food to be an attention whore, passing on this trait to your children all in the name of your crazy? Ummmm, no. Bye Felicia.

However, the $64 Billion diet industry and the gazillion billion spent on the fitness industry (did you know the average celebrity makes $33,300 per pound lost for weight loss endorsement. The average. I’m guessing those Oprah bullshit commercials-no you can’t eat bread fatty-are a bit more. She’s lost 26 pounds so far. Say, $50k a pound, so she’s making millions off those commercials. Thanks phatties) doesn’t even come CLOSE to the pharmaceutical industry.

A trillion dollars. They own Washington. They own Health Care. They own America. They are the absolute scum of the filth that has sat in a Pleasanton port-o-potty overnight. A dear friend of ours has said that she may switch careers and is looking at pharm sales and while I want her to be happy and successful, this makes me sad because then we can’t be friends. U Penn strength & conditioning coach Jim Steele asked me about the movie and here was my response:

A) I’m extremely thankful for good health and B) if one chooses to be unhealthy, the medical profession and the pharm industry is there to help.

In a nutshell. The pharm industry’s job is to ensure that you stay sick. The kick backs they give medical professionals are there to ensure that drug pushing is always the priority of every doctor’s visit. Hashtagtruestory.

Big phat pharm phucks. Medical professionals who no longer wish to cure, but treat. Phuk off.

The movie is worth your time. Again, it’s personal. If you didn’t already fall in love with the Bell family in Bigger, Faster, Stronger you will here. They’re honest (eventually) and vulnerable and wear their battle weary hearts on their sleeves. They are survivors telling the stories of so many who didn’t make it.

The healthy do not need prescriptions. Chew on that.

World War II vets didn’t use the term ‘adulting’ when they were in their 20’s and 30’s. They had already gone to war; were raising families, and didn’t even consider not working hard every day of their lives. Responsibility didn’t scare them into their mothers tit, they had already seen their best friends blown apart. They ‘adulted’ at 17.

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Monday Bacon: 38 Rep Meet Warm Up

38

Matt and I spent the day in Chicago yesterday to handle and support our friend, Sue Hallen, as she competed in her first powerlifting meet after a year and a half hiatus. In general, spending the day with Sue and Ruth (Ruth was co-director of the meet and busy judging) is just a really good day. Doesn’t matter if it’s on the field or in a gym or watching their track meets (that’s NEXT Sunday!) They’re the best. Ruth has been competing in powerlifting since 1979.

1979.

Let that sink in a bit. Nearly 40  years. When I see people behaving as if they know half a shit after competing in one powerlifting meet it makes me want to vomit on their shoes. As for Ruth and Sue, their stories alone are worth the price of friendship admission and their run-ins and friendships with most of the greatest strength athletes of our time is more fun and impressive than anyone I’ve ever met. Ever.

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Ruth going over the rules with the loaders and spotters.

Sue’s return to the platform was an important one, not in numbers, but in gaining some confidence. The last time she competed was in South Africa at World Championships and she bombed out in her squat. No squat. No total. So while the numbers yesterday were lower than she cared for, her success in good lifts and a good total meant the goals of the day were achieved. Well done Sue.

While we were getting ready for some bench warm ups another Masters lifter who Sue knows asked to warm up together. Eventually she asked for some hand offs but other than that, I wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing. When we got into the lifting area, I asked if she’d still like hand-offs (you jump I jump Jack) and she appreciatively asked me to hand off to her during her attempts.

Barbara (her name) was a very nice woman and this was her first meet back after an 8  year break. She was doing bench only and was pretty excited to be there. For her first attempt (70kg), she made the lift but got called when her butt came off the bench. She put in a 2.5kg increase for her second attempt but missed the lift. Her 3rd attempt seemed good coming down but it was quickly apparent that she was out of gas. Bombdiddy bomb.

Bummer.

I felt bad for her. Afterwards, we were talking and I asked her about her warm ups. Here’s how they went: 2×10 with the empty bar (WTF); 1×10 with 95# (double WTF); 1×5 with 135# (holy mother of god); singles up to opener at 140#, 145#, and 150#. While trying to remain positive, I quickly told her we know exactly where her meet lifts went.  She said she’s always done this and I reminded her that even though she’s always had too huge of a warm up, she was 8 years younger.

Heyyyyyy ladies! Every year north of 40 presents different challenges, north of 50? Well, I’ll start dealing with that next year. But mostly I’ll know this, a 38 rep warm up at the meet is more reps that some take in a training cycle. For sure more reps than a training session if you’re smart no matter WHAT age you’re at.

38 reps. I can’t even. Sue took an eight rep warm up. One of her biggest pieces of advice to me last fall before my weightlifting meet was on warm-ups, less is more. I’ve talked about the warm up area at Savannah and while I believe that the volume lifted was too much for master’s ladies, I can’t imagine any of them did a 38 rep warm up. Geezus.

What I told Barbara before we parted was this, if you were MY lifter you’d never to 38 reps again in one sitting. EVER. Poor girl.

Anyways. We had an absolute blast, Sue hit her total, and we got to spend the day in a gym that’s been around since 1978 in the basement of a cool building in Chicago.

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Sue and Dennis Brady of B&W Gym on the north side of Chicago.

But if just one person reads this post and says to themselves, huh-maybe I shouldn’t be taking 30-40 reps of FUCKING ANYTHING ever but especially in a meet or Games warm up area, then my job here is done.

But they probably won’t.

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.

Albert Einstein

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Monday Bacon: Lessons From Dean

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Dean and Sam

About a week and a half ago, I was up around 4:30am to get ready to head out to Orlando for the first Highland Games of the season. The morning was tense and made tenser (totally a word) by the fact that I decided to clean up the kitchen and floors before I left. Suddenly, my “let’s leave at 5:45 to get to the airport around 6 or so for my 7am flight” plan went straight down the shitter. We left the house around 6am and even for me (I hate hanging around airports for hour(s) before flights), it was getting a little tight.

Thankfully I had my coffee for the ride (another reason why I was running late) and as I was taking my first sip in the car, Matt softly says to me, ‘I know you didn’t see this yet but Dean Bennett died last night.’ We were at the stop sign, me drinking coffee, late for the airport, and BOOM! The floor just dropped out.

Now, I will be the first to admit that Matt and I didn’t know Dean as close as others. I don’t know what his favorite color was; I don’t know where he and his wife, Mary, met. We ran around with some of the same people but often not at the same time. What I DID know about Dean was that he was someone who had a complete handle on those around him. Which, of course, attracted you to him. He was always interested in what’s happening with YOU but at the same time happily discussed what was happening to him.

He never forgot a conversation and would be one of the first to celebrate with you or tell you you’ll get ’em next time when struggling at an event. He had so many interests, I wonder if he just assumed that he had 36 hours in a day compared to the rest of us that are able to squander away 24.

Dean loved the strength world. His T-shirt line, Atomic Barbell, was a way for him to be involved with the STRONG of the world and he relished in it. He would pack up his “Atomic Cadillac” (Cadillac’s were another interest of his. I had taken a picture of a Cadillac carrying a newlywed couple in Iceland and told him it made me think of him. He was so excited you’d have thought I’d just handed him a million dollars. But that was Dean, so happy to be thought of) and road trip all over to sell his shirts and give support and help where needed at events.

We always knew which sports season his now 16 year old son was in by the photographs and scores updates on the Facebook. He was so proud of Colin. We always knew how in love with his “bride”, Mary, he was by his many posts giving thanks for her and singing her praises. There was not one ounce of insincerity in his body and to be around such a good person is a gift. To hear that he no longer walks the earth was something that took some time to fully comprehend. When I got to the airport and had a spare moment, I looked on the FB for some sign that this was a weird joke.

Nope. Dean was gone.

This past Friday was the funeral. Now, in general, funerals are sad. They’re kind of supposed to be. If, when I go, there is a funeral and no one is sad I’m going to be super pissed. There are the stories that make you laugh. The memories that make you wish for one more conversation; one more hug; one more chance to let the person know that it was important to you that they touched your life. People speak, with humor, of the person’s shortcomings (Dean could talk, and talk, and talk. Once, at a surprise party for our friend Sam, Dean started talking about one of his favorite events, (Relentless Powerlifting Meet) and after about 20 minutes I bailed to the bar. I think Matt sat and listened for at least 45 minutes and they both finally got up and started to mingle. But that was Dean, he was a talker and loved to share his passion. While I wouldn’t see this as a shortcoming, it was joked about.

Hearing Dean’s close friends and family share their love and heartbreak with the rest of us makes you love him all the more and wish desperately that he was still here to tell him. Seeing his son look longingly at the open casket as it was being wheeled away, knowing this was the last chance to see his father in physical form yet wanting to remain strong for his mother, well, it was horrible. Shell shocked, that is the only term I can think of when looking at those Dean left behind.

But Dean left many lessons too and as we listened to the stories, we took them in. Be kind. Be interested in others. Be passionate for life. Work on things you may not be good at (Dean had set up a training session with another friend that very Saturday morning to work on his bench press. In general, Dean didn’t train very often but that when he did, he wanted to do it as well as he could.) Get out. This is a big one for Matt and I. We don’t get out often. And it’s not a winter thing, it’s an ‘us’ thing. Get out. Be social. Invite others into your lives. Broaden your interests. Seek out the friends in your life.

For us, it could be something so little as heading over to Kirk’s at Winners Edge gym on a Strongman Saturday and hang out with the crew. But that’s two hours of connecting that we don’t usually do and it needs to change. Have lunch with friends (after the funeral we went for lunch with Sam McMahon for custard shakes and burgers. It was a great lunch with great stories but I was tummy ached the rest of the day from the food. Next time I order a salad;) Most of all, make sure our friends are okay. Do they need anything? Celebrate with them more,  and sit in front of the tv or in front of a book just a little less.

One of the stories I heard about Dean was that he called a friend out of the blue one weekend and said, “Let’s go play laser tag.” And they did! A man 50+ wanted to go and play laser tag. So he did! I love that! Play. Have fun. Do something that makes you laugh (but not bowling. Kirk just blew a bicep bowling so that’s off the fun list for now.) Connect. Keep an eye on Colin. Make sure we’re at his sporting events. No, it won’t replace the one face in the crowd that he’ll be searching for. But it will let him know that his fan club is there for him. Be consistent. Be lasting.

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Go out of your way. Honor Dean and his lessons.

My Uncle’s dying wish-he wanted me on his lap. He was in the electric chair.

Rodney Dangerfield  

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Auld Lang Syne

auld

In general, I’ve never been a huge fan of New Year’s Eve. When I was very little our family would get together with my two Uncle’s families and we would go to The Curtis Hotel with my Grandparents; sometimes even my Grandma’s brother and sister-in-law; my cousins and anyone else who wanted to join us. We’d play games, swim in the awesome pool…

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…and basically watch the adults’ shenanigans for two whole days. It’s some of the happiest memories of my childhood. One year we bunny hopped down the hallways at Midnight, that was pretty silly of my father Pastor John which made it all the more fun. We packed coolers full of snacks and to this day my mom’s shrimp dip with Ritz crackers is one of my most favorite foods on the planet.

The Curtis hotel was torn down eventually and as the kids got older it got harder to get everyone together. But I still have a Curtis Hotel postcard with this pool scene on it, I think that’s pretty cool. Funny enough, when I first moved to ‘tosa, I was walking down the sidewalk with Preacher and there was an old man down the street sitting out enjoying the summer day. We got to talking and I said I had moved here recently but grew up in the Minneapolis area (proof that I really do talk to people if they catch me on a good day.) The old man goes on to say that he used to go to Minneapolis as a boy and show Parakeets with his dad at The Curtis Hotel. It was an awesome conversation.

Anyways.

New Years Eve’s as I grew older became work nights as I babysat for money like a fiend and jacking up the rates to over two dollars an hour for a holiday evening was money in the bank man…money in the bank! When I would be home on a college break I was too broke or babysitting again so I didn’t do much. Oh sure, I’ve been hammered plenty of New Year’s Eves, wahtev. But there’s always been something a little sad for me on the evening (in 2013, when we located my birth mothers family on Maui, I was told that she died in a car wreck weeks after turning 21 on New Years. I dunno, people can argue whether or not that would be known in some ways. I don’t know. But yes, I’d be open to it being a contributor.)

Also, Auld Lang Syne. I have never been a fan of that song. It’s always seemed so sad to me. So when I started writing this, it was going to be an article on why we sing such a sad song at the turn of the year.

But then I Wiki’d it (totally a word) and started reading the history. I’m so square, I had no idea of it’s Scottish roots and since I compete in the Scottish Highland Games, I now feel a kinship with it. It’s not sad, although remembering the past can give a twinge, especially if we’ve lost someone. It’s always kind of made me dread moving into a new year where my loved one didn’t walk among us. Still does.

But we’ve had so much good. Good health; good relationships; good food and drink (you’ve met us right?) We’ve made it through some tough moments and to get a chance to soak it all in is a good thing. We move through time so fast, take a moment to give 2015 a salute; the finger; a face punch…whatever you need, and then move on.

Move on. There are things that happen in life where simply saying it doesn’t make it happen. A devastating death; a physical ailment; financial strain that causes homelessness or helplessness. Reach out, your friends are there. Or maybe even strangers. I don’t know, all I know is when I’ve had to humble myself and ask for help it’s been returned in ways I’d have never dreamed.

Happy New Year. Thank you for reading, even my sporadic posts. There are so many out there that I think of on a daily basis (not in a stalker way…well, a couple of you but I’ve already told you I’m stalking you so it’s all good) with fondness and gratitude that you’re in my life in large or small ways. I have so much admiration for so many and am thankful for it.

Auld Lang Syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

Chorus:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak’ a cup o’kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup
And surely I’ll be mine;
And we’ll tak’ a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Chorus

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
Sin’ auld lang syne.

Chorus

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared’,
Sin’ auld lang syne,

Chorus

And there’s a hand, my trusty frier!
And gie’s a hand o’thine!
And we’ll tak’ a right guide-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

Chorus

But to see her was to love her, love but her, and love forever.

Robert Burns

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