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.

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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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Obsessed With Squats

Posted on July 9, 2014 by tosabarbell

Any day that starts with Pisarenko is a good day. True Story.

I am completely OCD about the tshirts I wear. I have about 3 that I’ll wear on a usual basis and a handful of others that I’ll wear here and there. In the summer, it’s tank tops. Cuz they don’t try to choke me to death. True story.

No matter the shirt, the first thing I do is cut a V in the front so it doesn’t rub on my throat. Ya, I know. OCD. Further cutting will come in various forms depending on the situation. When I need to wear a Games shirt (which isn’t common since I usually grab a 2x shirt and pass it off to the Oz man) the neck gets cut first and then usually the sleeves. I’m checking the YouTube to practice prettier styles but usually I just cut the sleeves and tie the back together with one of the sleeve parts. Kate Burton is a master of the T-shirt cut. She cuts and weaves and turns out something that should be in a shop. SRSLY. That’s beyond my talents, kinda like french braiding my own hair. Not happening.

The T’s I DO wear are standard. Gym T’s, older gym T’s. Faded; writing is wearing thin; actually each t-shirt is wearing thin. To be on the acceptable daily wear list a few requirements need to be met. It must be a soft cotton. I can’t wear thick cotton T’s. I feel like I’m in a coffin. FoShizzle. The shoulders need to be cut generously (which immediately takes women’s T’s out of the running.) The length needs to be perfect. Not too long or it all bunches up around my short waist and believe me, I don’t need things bunching up around my waist. I’ve got plenty there to begin with. I need to be able to stretch out the chest (boobies) without stretching out the tummy cuz thankfully, for now, the boobs are bigger than the gut.

My three favs, listed in order are: a T from my pals down at CrossFit Retribution that has the word SQUAT across the front in bright orange. Underneath the Squat it says, ’till your eyes bleed’ which is a bit dramatic but whatev. Their artwork on the back is solid and even though folks sometimes think I’m a CFr, it’s worth it to be comfortable. It’s my everyday go to. My other two are from my BFF’s over in Brooklyn, Paulie and AoD of South Brooklyn Weightlifting Club. One is a very nice black T with their logo, that’s my dressy T-shirt and the other is their top seller RUNNING makes me tired T. That’s a fun one. People look at think ‘OH, a runner’ but then say, ‘OH, not so much.’ I have a couple of those but the other ones are used for throwing. I have one long sleeved black T shirt that I got at Target about 8 years ago that I still wear with the long underwear shirt when throwing in the cold. It has so many holes now I’ve almost thrown it away at least three times but just can’t do it. I love that shirt. (Memo to me, when finding a shirt that I love, buy four.) The T I wear for training when not tank weather is a Brooklyn Barbell shirt I got years ago from Keith Wittenstein who I used to coach with. It’s a bit big so I wear a tank top underneath but it’s nice and thin and doesn’t get in the way. I honestly have no idea why I have two T-shirt drawers when I only use 5 of them consistently. Hoarder.

Anyways. Back to my SQUAT shirt. As I said, it’s my go to when it’s too chilly for tank tops. This morning was one of those times.  The Oz man and I got up a bit early (for him anyway) and ran some Birthday errands for my Fav Gal Pal. We started at the local Starfux where I got two dirty Chi’s (one with soy, my bday gift to her was actually saying “soy” when ordering a drink;), went to a grocery where we got a balloon and a donut each to pre-game our drive to the actual donut shop to get a donut bouquet for her birthday breakfast.

At the Starfux, the nice woman taking my order said, “I love your shirt.” I say, heyyyy thanx man. Actually I just said thank you. She then went on to say, “My husband would love that shirt, he’s obsessed with squats.” Uhhhhh, huh? I had to investigate that further so I asked what does it look like when someone is obsessed with squats. What I got was, “Oh you know, he has to squat every day or he get’s crabby. He’ll squat anytime anywhere even if we’re in the grocery store or out for the night to loosen up.” My inner angel/devil voices were battling with each other where the Angel’s MUST!NOT!SAY!ANYTHING!ABOUT!DOUCHE-Y!CFr! won out. So when she finished with, ‘he just really loves CF’ I could just smile and walk away. Funny enough, when I was waiting for my Dirty Chi’s (I kinda like saying the word ‘dirty’) another 170 pounder dude says, kinda side like, ‘Nice shirt.’ When I mumbled thanks he gave me a head nod as if to infer that we had some squat kinship going on. There’s a reason why I usually drive through these places.

Obsessed with squats? Pleaze. In all honesty, squatting and attention whoring are two completely different things. For one, you actually need a barbell and some weights to do it so if you think you’re doing it in a grocery store or at the pub? No,not a squat. Attention whoring. Poor girl. By the way, when I order a dirty chi (heeehee) I always have to ask them to put only 1/2 the amount of chi syrup in there or it’s too sweet and yucky. I forgot to do that this morning so just pressed some coffee of my own. I struggle.

SO. To recap. Pisarenko? Good squatter. He used squats to get strong. Strongest. Someone “obsessed” with air squats where they need to do them in public constantly? Well, sure, they’re obsessed. Just not with squats.

True Story

And then I heard that some bloke from Australia won the gold with 60 kilos less than I did in the National Championships.

Anatoly Pisarenko

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