Buying Groceries

Posted on July 16, 2014 by tosabarbell

groceries

The Facebook and Twitts. Where we can keep current on daily activities of our friends, our enemies, people we admire, or people we don’t know but I guess wanted to know me cuz I got a random friend request by some dude in Chile but what the hell the more people I’m friends with the more popular I am.

I love it.  It is a constant source of entertainment or aggravation. There are many folks I’ve had to “unfollow.” Unfollow. Did you ever think, as a child in the 70s that you would actually use the word “unfollow” and instantly everyone would know what an annoying attention whore that person is just because of the word “unfollow?” SRSLY. How about “block.” Ooooooo, that’s bad. Or the worst? UNFRIEND. That’s deep. To “unfriend” someone is the kiss of death. If I remember correctly, we only had an ‘unfriend’ option before the ‘unfollow’ option appeared. So even the Facebook recognized that to ‘unfriend’ a peep was too much for our politically pussified nation. We actually have conversations and use these words. Yup, me too.

I just looked at my FB page, I have 974 “friends.” I ‘follow’ about 20. That means I have 954 people in my cyber life that I’m not up to date with on their daily activities. I’m a bad friend. At one point I had about 1500 friends but “cleaned house” (another FB term.) How to clean house? Easy. There are a few criteria that will get you the boot from my FB friend’s list…

1. I don’t care if you’re going grocery shopping. True story. It amazes me how often I see people post, “Going to the grocery store to pick up the apples I forgot yesterday. FML.” No, fMl that I just read that. How about, “Busy day, need to bring the car in for new brakes and run to the grocery store.” No. That’s two errands. Not busy. If that’s busy, your life is boring. Goodbye. Basically, I don’t care if you have to run an errand. Stop posting that shit. Show me your dog. Or your food. Or your ugly squats. ANYTHING. But don’t tell me you’re running errands. Everyone runs errands. Run yours and STFU. Or goodbye.

2. I don’t believe you when you say someone in your gym just went BEASTMODE. First off, shut up. No one serious uses that word. Second off, NO THEY DIDN’T! (Yes, I just yelled that, scared the dogs.) I’ve been around the strongest men in the world and some of the strongest women (no, I’m not bragging, it’s an honor and I’ve already stated as such.) Anyways. When they upload a video, it’s impressive. Even if it’s a shirtless ping pong match. Impressive. Add some ranger panties and you’ve got yourself a shared video. True story. But your video of too skinny shirtless boys (they lack the testosterone to be called men) of some kettlebell swings and 100kg high squats are not impressive. Stop feeding them the line that it is. It is not beastmode, it’s attention whoring. Where’s THAT status update: “Here is my latest attempt at attention whoring, please to enjoy.” You’d get my respect. I might even keep you around for a little while to see what else you’ll come up with. Yes, we celebrate PR’s. Sure. Always. But a person who’s been in the gym for 4 weeks isn’t celebrating a PR, they’re learning and getting stronger. A good start, but not a PR. Gawd, if you have a coach who doesn’t understand that, I feel sorry for you. But you’re still not followable. Goodbye.

3. College students. I don’t care if you have finals. I don’t care if you have a test. You’re in college. Unless you’re a single working parent going to school in your 8 minutes of spare time and kicking ass, I don’t care. Shut up. To complain about a final and then post a “post final” beer guzzling picture means you just publicly complained about having to prepare for an hour’s worth of work.  Hey, ya know what? You’re months away from having your own bills, a 60 hour work week and STILL not being able to afford anything. It’s called real life. You’re not in it right now. Real life is so unpleasant at times that college kids who’ve tried it run back to the dorms to avoid it. Know what we call college students who took over 12 years to get a degree? Doctors. If you’re not one of those, then mommy needs to wean you off her checkbook titty and boot your ass out. True story.

4. PDA. No, not the huggy/kissy cutie couple pics, those are fun (COUGH*Loz&Liz*COUGH.) They show us that our friends are happy. That’s happy. I like that. The Public Display’s of Affection I’m talking about are the comments and posts on others pages where they declare love or support, but don’t actually do anything in real life. Happens all the time on my daughter’s page. Annoys the ever living out of me. If she posts anything about even a little unhappiness, she gets posts from estranged family members saying how much she’s loved. Oh really? You post on Facebook where others can see but won’t drive the 12 miles to go help? F off. SRSLY. Some of the most insincere people on the planet are on the Facebook. You’re recognizable. Go away.

And last but certainly not least?

5. Job. Ya know, the dude in the bible who’s life had tons of drama. Yes, I get where it’s a good story to show your loyalty and commitment to your belief. Sure. But that’s Old Testament stuff. If you’re lucky enough to own a computer that has the Facebook, you’re not Job. Stop with the daily drama. Xrst, if your life is so gawdawful horrible, stay off the computer and engage in a new reality. Facebook has given them the perfect avenue to display their garage sized shit. They get others to latch on to them and get carried away with their drama cuz then we’re such good friends. It’s bizzarro world. Yes, we go through things AT TIMES. Tragedy strikes and the quick FB message or hug CAN be warm. But if you’re going through something every day or week and feel the need to post on it to gain sympathy or envelop others in your drama, you’re high school. As I’ve stated before, I hated high school. I sure as hell don’t want it at 47. See ya.

Other than that, I love the FB. Dog pics; funny meme’s; cool food; friend’s updates in faraway lands; competition updates; awesome training vid’s, etc. If all you do is take quiz after quiz of what you’d be if you weren’t you and comic books are real? Turn off your computer and go have a conversation with a stranger. You’ve just become your computers best friend and guess what, it won’t love you back. It doesn’t know how. You’re not really Wonder Woman, or Gandolf, or a Wolf. You’re you. Sorry.

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.

Oscar Wilde

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Gait

Posted on July 15, 2014 by tosabarbell

gait1

Without realizing it, I have always been interested in movement. When I was a little girl and my mom would take me to the Nutcracker Ballet each year, as much as I enjoyed the costumes and the characters, I would watch the movement. What was the body doing right before a leap? How did the men seem to be invisible at times while the ballerina was lifted into the air by them? The arms, how did they extend to look as if they reached across the stage? Get the picture?

I suppose it’s why I was attracted to coaching. Well, that and I get to wear sweats and swear a lot. That helps. But watching people move and coaching them through heavy training is satisfying to me. Every time a tweak is made to improve efficiency it is happy. Success. The client feels it and gives them confidence. Fun stuff.

I’ve talked about how, since my move up north, I’ve seen so many more walkers and runners. People in Texas didn’t. It was just too hot. Oh sure you’d see a runner here and there but nothing close to a town with pretty mild weather and a ginormous lake to run next to. And because I’ve always been interested in movement, I am inundated by visions of people who don’t know how to move through space. It is amazing to me that so many in the medical profession support smoking bans to “cut down costs of medical treatment” and then do NOTHING about the complete mess of 80% of the population’s walking gait and how many folks will need surgeries later in life to replace messed up hips and knees. SRSLY.

Knee’s bowed in (Bigg does that sometimes, we’ve talked about it. New knees will be an anniversary gift at some point. Fun.) Shoulders slumped; pelvis’ tilted forward; chest caved in. As an aside, more often than not their face shoved in their phone which is both bringing them off balance AND making them a fucking annoyance. The ponytailed, lateral movement girls are hilarious. Trying to perfect their walk to make their pony tail swish back and forth must be the rage. I’ve never been able to do it. Not to pick on my wonderful hubby too much (too late?) but when he wears my keys around his neck you can hear them go back and forth because he has so much lateral movement to each step. (Please see *annoying as fuck* reference;) Love you hubbby!

Even HE is aware of it now and works on moving forward instead of side to side. Thanks gawds.

And the runners? OY VEY! The runners. What a complete disaster. Now, I have always loved to watch sprinters. They race on and around the track as if they’re on air. I’ve never understood it. I’ve never been able to do it. Never. I remember elementary school track and field days where I would run. I had about 30 meters in me before I petered out. But for those 30 meters? I soared like a brontosaurus. SRSLY. I felt like I could feel the earth move under my feet. Not because I’m awesome, but because each step was like Optimus Prime. Dance classes helped and I did ok because I have enough athletic ability to get through it. But “Juli” and “Light on her feet” has never been uttered in the spans of time. True story.

So watching these sprinters on the tele was the only way I could imagine moving like that. Smooth, strong, fast. Each step propelling them forward at record speeds. Compare that to the rediculousness I see on a daily basis. People running while each step propels them UP instead of forward. Incredibly overweight folks running cuz they decided to get “healthy” until their joints hurt so bad that they stop and remain overweight. The pony tail swishers. Heel strikers (hey, how’s that planter fasciitis treating you?) More knee’s bowed in, only this time with speed. (I pity the running fool who complains about their sore knees around me again.) Skimpy shorts and sports bras on girls who should NOT be wearing skimpy shorts, sports bras, AND running in public. Hey! Spandex isn’t for everyone you know! (FTR, If the chick rocks the spandex and sports bra…have at it. Far be it for me to deny the males of the world some eye candy when I so dearly appreciate a pair of well worn ranger panties.)

And for the record, I don’t like watching marathon runners. That’s not fun for me. Cuz this…

gait2

…just reminds me of all the starving people in the world. Really. I’m not being glib. I understand people like to run and some run marathons and ultra marathons. But they look pained and malnourished, not strong and powerful. And, ya know, we like strong and powerful around here. So I don’t want to hear from you runners. You’d get a lot more support out of me if you’d just squat once in a while.

Take a look at yourself. How do you walk? It’s important. It could help figure out knee or hip or back pain. Yup, it’s that simple. Pay attention to others. What do you see? And if you see a 350# bearded giant coming towards you with keys around his neck that are swinging back and forth, give him a “forward” cue so he stops it. Heeeheee.

I’m going to work like it’s a pure guts race at the end, and if it is, I am the only one who can win it.

Steve Prefontaine

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Monday Bacon: Sunday School

Posted on July 14, 2014 by tosabarbell

sundayschool

I have always loved the water. What can I say? Hawaiian. Growing up in the city, I’d always look forward to getting up north to our cabin. It was situated outside Grand Rapids and had one of the best sandy beaches on Lake Pokegama (I was about 8 years old when I could finally say that word correctly.) My cabin day routine was something like this;

Wake up around 7:30, beg mom to feed me quick so I could get outside. Explore for treasure around the woods until the sun came around a little bit to throw some warmth on the beach, enter water. Stay there until mom banged the lunch triangle, scarf down food, back into water. In the evenings, it would be pretty chilly so I’d have to be content with just playing on the beach and playing with crawfish. The only thing I hated was bloodsuckers but they stayed near the shore. When the neighbor man let his daughter and family use the cabin, then I had a buddy. His name was Todd and he’d come grab me some mornings before 7:30 so we could play in the water. Lake Pogekama days were the happiest of my childhood. When my folks decided to sell the cabin instead of keep it in the family, it was devastating. A family death.

I’m thankful for those days. It made summer, well, summer. Our home away from home. My mom grew up in Grand Rapids so the local Lutheran church was one she’d been a member of for most of her growing up life. Each Sunday, we’d get up, get dressed and have to go to church. Truth be told, I hated it. I wanted to be in the water. I wanted to sit in the sand and dig in it. I wanted to listen to the sounds. Boats, loons, and cabin noises around the lake. There was a summer camp right across the lake and if you were quiet and listened careful enough, you could here THEIR dinner bell and kids screaming in the water. (A rite of passage was to canoe over to the camp in the middle of the night, steal the clothes from the lines and drape them on the diving boards. My friend Michelle and I were stealthy little ninja’s and did this all the while the counselors were playing cards in the main cabin. We. Rule.)

Anyways. Back to church. I asked a couple of times if I could stay back. I promised I’d talk to God out in the water or while I”m resting on the beach but it was a no go. Sure I get it, but I still didn’t like it. My thinking was: Hey! God gave us this lake and beach, he’d want us to enjoy it! Right???? Nope, that argument didn’t work either. Poor me.

I still love the water. It’s my happy place. It’s MY church. Where I can go to calm myself, find peace of mind, listen to the sounds that bring me comfort. When I moved to Milwaukee and told Matt we were going to grab a coffee and head down to the lake, he was baffled. Why would we do that? Uhhhhh, why WOULDN’T we??? So we did and it was as if I had just presented the dude with Electricity. Put away the phone, find a good rock, and just be. By the way, my first summer here, I found the perfect rock. It fit my back perfectly and even had a little pillow formed for my head. I laid there for hours that summer when life got overwhelming. I loved my rock. Anyways. He loved the lake time and will even head down there with a cigar on his own.

If lakes are my church, Lake Superior is my cathedral. Growing up close to Duluth and then heading up there each summer while at the cabin, I came to love that lake. There are parts that are dark, and so dangerous. Canal park is tons of fun and we got to watch ships come in but the canal waves would come way up the cement as if trying to grab you and bear hug you into the water. The Lake near the Apostle Islands is beautiful and calm and inviting. One long weekend on Madeline Island had us in the water as much as possible due to the temps staying in the high 90’s and no air conditioning. If you weren’t in the water,  you were sweating. True story.

sundayschool1

The Apostle Islands

For me, Lake Superior encompasses life. Large; strong; powerful; sometimes angry; sometimes calm; sometimes it takes; sometimes it gives; constant and constantly changing. Cold that can kill or give relief, up to how you approach it and prepare for it. The more we appreciate it, the lovelier it gets. Ya know, life.

It’s my Sunday School, where I can feel it’s energy and listen to it’s message. I don’t get bogged down with religious policy or hypocritical members. Just the waves, one after another. The sound of nature and a reminder that it’ll be there long after we’re gone. Zen.

sundayschool2

This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.

Dalai Lama

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1 MILLION dollars

Posted on July 10, 2014 by tosabarbell

value

I’ll admit, I still laugh at the Austin Powers movies. While Fat Bastard was my favorite character, Dr. Evil was pretty fun. I remember the time he was going to hold the “laser” “beam” ransom and proposed to the UN (or something like that) his demand of “One MILLION dollars.” Of course he was laughed at because one million dollars didn’t hold much value to this political corporation. Shocker.

Poor Dr. Evil. This came to mind yesterday when thinking about the value of various things. Matt and I have been discussing the value of training advice, especially with so many internet guru’s. How folks won’t blink at the idea of buying $200 worth of absolute crap at the local GNC, how many sessions of solid coaching that will have a far greater impact on your training could that have bought? Well, four here. Four sessions to get you trained on your form and your programming. Chat up food in between sets and you’ve just walked away with a solid idea of what the hellz you’re doing for the next month in the gym rather than session after session of machine masturbation while chugging down your $200 GNC product.

Sad as it is, the general population does not value good coaching. They have bought into the idea that supplements can replace food. That machines can replace barbells. And that the local WAC trainer who uses terms like, “Muscle Confusion” knows what the fuck they’re doing. They are looking for the next best thing and reading stupid magazines expecting to read about them. HEY! Ya know what 98% of fitness magazines do? They sell products with fiction smashed in between the advertisements. Duh.

I had Oscar’s middle school lines coach in the gym last fall who wanted to get my advice on having open gym time after school and how to structure it. Admittedly, he said that he works out with a program that he read in a muscle and fitness mag 10 years ago and that’s what he wanted to do with the kids. After giving him some ideas on how to make best use of the kids’ time (based on experience and knowledge of other programs including John Welbourn’s CF Football) without driving the adult volunteers nuts, he said thanks, but he’ll stick to the magazine programming. Fok. Ok, don’t be sad when Oz won’t be there though. Cuz that “program” isn’t one and if you’re not going to have expectations or a 3 strike and you’re out rule during a middle school open gym time, you’re now running a day care. A FREE daycare. See? Cuz the kids won’t value it. The parents won’t value it. Good luck with that. It didn’t last long. Maybe a few weeks. Another shocker.

I had a client who was honest to god mentally and verbally abused by her former trainer. I saw it happen. She was extremely overweight and I guess he had her believing that his way was effective. It was incredibly uncomfortable to watch. When she started training here I laid down my style. Stern, yes. Abusive? No. Solid programming, strength training and when it’s not raining, we push the prowler. Track your food. That’s an order. And eventually I realized we weren’t working. See, abusive and so sore she would be in tears each week by the other trainer was what she was used to. She didn’t see value in getting her Squat numbers up (anyone telling you that you’re too fat to squat is a bad coach. Look elsewhere.) Or her bench numbers or deadlift form dialed in. She refused to track her food just saying, “I ate pretty good today.” Look, if you don’t value what I’m doing for you, we can’t work together. Fact. But it made me sad. I don’t pretend to speak for all strength coaches around the world but I whill say, when we lose one who needs help the most, it hurts.

But we can’t force value on others. If you’ve let others talk you into the fact that supplements outweigh solid training and programming; powder is more important than food; to sprint faster you just need to sprint more, and other rediculous notions I just can’t help you. I wish I could. Just park a platform outside of a GNC and teach people to deadlift instead of letting the Polo’d sales dude who doesn’t even lift talk you into what you need (which, by the way, will put commission in his pocket. He doesn’t care what it does for you.)

But if you have a good coach around, value them. Some come to mind. Streeter and Carrie in Redmond; Angie and Beau in Maryland; Alex in Canadia; Brian & crew in Barrington; Shawna in Long Island (who I still owe a phone call to. Crap, I suck at returning phone calls. True Story); Paulie and AoD in Brooklyn; Mike & Donna in Melbourne. Me. Ya, I’ll throw my hat in there. I’m a good coach. Very good. But if my work isn’t valued, I’m not for you.

True story.

Mojo. The libido. The life force. The essence. The right stuff. What the French call a certain…I don’t know what.

Dr. Evil

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