Monday Bacon: Toned Ban

Posted on June 9, 2014 by tosabarbell

Inevitably, when someone hears about our Black Iron gym, they will say that they really don’t need to be stronger but they DO want to be toned. I then ask, ‘What does toned mean?’  They will then point to whatever area on their body that has extra skin or fat collected and say, ‘I just want to get rid of this.’ OHHHHHHHHH! You want to be stronger.

Huh?

FoShizzle. Get on the Google and type in Toned, here’s what comes up for the number one definition: give greater strength or firmness to (the body or a part of it). Greater strength. Duh. Because the only way you’re going to get “toned” in the gym is to A) increase your muscle mass and 2. decrease your bodyfat. Will you do that on the treadmill? Well, no. Then you’re not addressing A, remember? Can you do that without changing a diet that has put you into a situation of being heavier than you’ve intended? Nope. Cuz 2 ain’t happening without changing your diet. Duh.

Bigg and I tried to come up with a scenario in our world (“our” being ‘Merika) where being strongest wouldn’t be an asset. No, we’re not talking strongest in the county, or even in your home gym. We’re talking strongest that YOU can and should be. If I ruled the world (and some days I get real close, just ask me) I would ban the word TONED. That word has caused more ‘Merikans to become skinny and weak than the Smith Press. True Story. It has given the perception to millions that if I just lose a little weight, I’ll become healthier. People, weaker is never healthier. Duh. What would people in globo gyms from seaboard to seaboard look like if the mantra was, “I just want to be strong.” Think of it. Kind of like a reverse Orwellian gym society. Suddenly we have an overabundance of 80 year old’s lifting barbells at Planet Fitness and there would be NO lunk alarm. Ohhhhhh, to dream.

Talk about the 80 year old’s who are strong…Bigg and I also discussed various folks we know from all walks of our lives who have taken up the idea that strong doesn’t matter in life and how quickly that little lifestyle tidbit will bite them in the ass. We know some skinny-fat people who may need a cane before leaving their 40’s or at the very least early in their 50’s. Unacceptable. If I’m using a cane within the next 30 years it’s because I’ve had some catastrophic injury, not because I’ve just accepted to be weak. Fok.

Why does this bother me so bad? Why don’t I just let these people decline in record time right in front of me? Honestly, I dunno. Cuz I care I guess. Cuz it’s avoidable. Cuz all you need to do is start. But you need to get away from Toned. Toned is bullshit and has weakened not only your body, but your mind. Unacceptable, knock it off.

FoShizzle.

I work out. I’m getting toned too. The Wii Fit really works your body. When I get off, I’m dying.

Keke Palmer

(I had to Google who Keke Palmer is. She’s an actress. Who I guess is so incredibly weak and deconditioned that a video game destroys her. But hey, she’s “toned.”)

Training Log

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Friday Jams: Fallen Heroes

Posted on June 6, 2014 by tosabarbell

glennormandy

 

One thing about the FB, it’s always good for some dog pics. Sure Cat and Horse too, but the dogs rule the FB. We love our dogs. I will battle my neighbors for my dogs and don’t give one shit if I don’t have a ‘neighborly’ friendliness with them because of it. Terry Smith down south has quite an adorable bulldog(?) puppy named Crom. So far, at 8:05am, he’s won the internet for the day. The dog is adorable and though I don’t know him very well, Crom and Terry seem to be two peas in a pod. Heh.

We all love our dogs. I read about a Yellowstone thermal pool death of a man when he jumped in to save his dog, who by the way was probably already mostly dead by the time the human got there. Supposedly his last words were something to the effect of, ‘it’s my dog.’ Heartbreaking.  There are a lot of folks who keep their dog on a short chain bolted outside. Poor dogs. Currently, my two are keashed out after a rough morning of eating and walking down the stairs.

I grew up with dogs and they were all family members. We were raised to look out for our dogs. Don’t let them run in the street (when I was 4 or 5, our baby Puggie ran out in the street when we were moving something into our house up north. I was young but have a vivid memory of my mom and the woman who hit Gittle sobbing together on our living room floor. Gittle made a full recovery and had a very nice Puggie life. Other than my big white dogs, I luvs the Puggie’s.) We all are pretty serious about taking care of our dogs and making sure they’re safe and sound and happy.

But what happens when we knowingly bring our dogs into one of the thickest battles of history? What was that like? Knowing that YOU may not make it out of D-Day alive, but then having to wonder who is going to take care of your dog. Cuz that’s how dog people’s minds think right? Always ‘my dog.’ Take care of ‘my dog.’ Lazar Bachovic has written an article on the Paradogs of WWII. Here’s a short excerpt.

There have been dogs in war for centuries and many in other branches of the armed forces documented during WWII. But the paradogs? They’ve got my vote. See, the humans knew what they were training for. They were jumping out of airplanes because liberty was more important than life. The dogs? They knew that making their human happy was more important than their life. So if jumping out of an airplane and looking after them once on the ground made their human happy? They’re all in.

That’s a hero.

D-Day has always held a special place in my heart. For some reason it’s the one day a year my dad would stay home later in the morning and we’d watch news specials about it. Anytime my dad was still home at 8am, it was a special day. We usually had just gotten out of school for the year but didn’t sleep in on June 6. On June 6, we remembered. It made my dad cry which was kinda uncomfortable but solidified the point that this was a big day. The History channel seems to learn from it’s mistakes and is airing footage and specials about the battles all day. Two years ago they aired Pawn Stores or some stupid show all day. Idiots.

Anyways.

Today is special. Fallen heroes are remembered, both the two footed and the four footed kind. One woman, a private’s daughter, who thinks of her father facing the beach that day writes this:

I don’t know how or why I can feel this emptiness, this fear, or this determination, but I do. Maybe it’s the bond I had with my father. All I know is that it brings tears to my eyes to think about my father as a 20-year-old boy having to face that beach.

Yup.

I’ve used this video before. That’s ok. It’s a good one.

6/6/44.

Today, in their memory, and for all who fought here, we celebrate the triumph of democracy. We reaffirm the unity of democratic people who fought a war and then joined with the vanquished in a firm resolve to keep the peace.

From a terrible war we learned that unity made us invincible; now, in peace, that same unity makes us secure. We sought to bring all freedom-loving nations together in a community dedicated to the defense and preservation of our sacred values. Our alliance, forged in the crucible of war, tempered and shaped by the realities of the post-war world, has succeeded. In Europe, the threat has been contained, the peace has been kept.

Ronald Reagan

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Bad News Bears

Posted on June 4, 2014 by tosabarbell

badnews

Growing up, the Bad News Bears was one of my all time favorite movies. Kinda what The Sandlot is to my kids. The first time I saw it was at the Drive-In. I loved it. Sassy kids; a beer guzzling coach (I had one of those); kids that didn’t really get along until it counted, loved it. It probably was one of the reasons I started playing ball in the first place.

My first Little League team was the White Sox, we sucked. SRSLY. We may have won a game or two but I really don’t think we did. Our coach was a classmates father and kind of a nerd. As in, I’m guessing he’d never played the game of baseball much less had any personal skills to coach a bunch of little girls. Whenever he would get frustrated with dropped balls or bad throws, he would call a time out and stomp out on the field and scream at the player. In front of everyone. Not really what I had signed up for. When I threw a ball in from left field to the cut off, I (too late) realized that she had her back to me. I hit her in the back…it was his daughter. Coach quickly called a time out and started stomping out my way and I was ready for him. I quickly yelled before he was out of the infield to not even come yell at me in front of everyone just because his stupid daughter doesn’t know how to be the cut off person. (In hindsight, a player should never talk to a coach that way. But now I’m 47 instead of 10 so I’m a bit smarter.) He stopped, crooked his finger my way and benched me the rest of the game. I deserved it. That’s Little League.

I was thinking of Little League last night when I was e-chatting with a fellow thrower. I met Bonnie in the elevator at the Arnold this past spring and instantly liked her. She’s personable, has good energy, a hard worker. Things I like in a fellow thrower. Anyways, once you throw a Games in a full on snowstorm with someone, you’re bonded for life. True story. Bonnie posed a question that, in my opinion, applies to lots and lots of us in the Masters throwing world.

We’re old and new to a sport (maybe new to sport competition as a whole.) How do we kick butt and not get down when we don’t?

One of the best things about the Highland Games is that new folks can walk onto the field and throw with folks who’ve been around forever. The first Games I threw in was here in Wisconsin (not including the Highlander I did down in Texas) and shared a field with the likes of Mark Valenti, Craig Smith, KO, Chris Chafin and the list goes on. A-mazing. I had no idea what I was doing but had an absolute blast with the help of Erin (Valenti’s now wife) and the mood was always kept upbeat and fun by Shawna Mendelson (she’s awesome.) I had a complete blast and was hooked on this whole throwing thing.

Now, I have absolutely zero throwing experience, that hasn’t been helpful. People start talking about orbit and hips and blocking and I instantly start glazing over. I have no idea what that means. I guess I understand a little bit now but have a long way to go. I would contend that my first full year of Games (last summer) I relied on strength alone with a little bit of  athletic ability to take me the rest of the way. But to improve, I need to understand the mechanics of a good throw, practice, and apply. What is the joke (but not really) of how to become a good thrower? Do it correctly, now repeat it 100,000 times. THEN you’ll be a good thrower.

Crap. I’ve only done it about 500 times, not even close. What is there in the mean time? Practice. Little League, where we learn not only the fundamentals, we begin to apply them and hopefully at some point become consistent. Not only that, we learn that we can’t call a teammate stupid just because she doesn’t know she’s the cut off. But srsly, we learn to behave in others sandboxes. We learn that if someone else wants tacky and I don’t, I’m not the only one here. We compromise. We share our umbrellas. We ask for help without being a PI the A and understand the those who are helping are ALSO competing and maybe aren’t just focused on US doing better. We are ready to step into the trig when it’s our turn, we don’t make it about just us and force others to wait until we put on a show before each throw.

I’ve actually seen people COUGH*Jeff Armstrong*COUGH enter the Games and 30 seconds later is in the trig throwing cuz his name came up and it was go time. He wasn’t going to make people wait, it was his turn and he made himself ready for it. We pay attention (like, not become completely enthralled with Kirsti Scott’s WoB and almost miss throwing the Sheaf at Enumclaw. My bad.)

But mostly, we practice. We set realistic goals for each games and focus on them. Once the event is done, it’s done. I’ve had games where I completely bombed out and when I go back to look at numbers from the beginning of the season, I actually did really good. Perspective, keep it.

I really wanted to win the Arnold. When I thought I’d blown it with the hammer I was quite upset…for about 15 seconds. Then I looked at my guy, and then my two favorite sister’s on the planet, KCon and Little Con who all stood out in a snowstorm just to watch me throw and said, “If you ain’t first, you’re last.” Laughed and enjoyed myself.

How do we “just have fun” when we’re having a rough throwing day? I dunno, I’m still working on that one. Do your best. It’s glib and it’s trite but at the end of the day, it’s all we have. Sometimes your best isn’t very good. That’s ok. It’s only Little League, we’ll get better. Sometimes your best is just enough. That’s ok. Sometimes your best kicks ass. That’s ok. It’s all the same, your best.

Again, at the end of the day, all you have is you and your best…and a beer tent. Hopefully a beer tent.

Listen, Lupus, you didn’t come into this life just to sit around on a dugout bench, did ya? Now get your ass out there and do the best you can!

Training Log

Coach Buttermaker

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You Okay Hon?

Posted on June 3, 2014 by tosabarbell

Uncle Matty & Addi

One of the more fun aspects of WanAt life is the many sports activities of nieces and nephews. Bigg’s sister, Becky, and her hubby and kids always provide tons of entertainment no matter if it’s indoors or out. Trent’s basketball games are always fun and whenever he makes a basket he’ll still stop, look over to us and wait until we start the wave or give hyooge cheers. We’ve seen Addi, the sister, come up to bat at t-ball; completely miss a kick at soccer; and sing in the school pageant as an angel. This summer, their youngest (and Matt’s God-son) Tre will be starting t-ball so we expect more lulz at those games. In between Matt’s travel, gym sessions, and the refusal to wake up on Saturday for an 8:00am kids game we only make a game or two each per season but we love them. They love seeing their Uncle Matty on the sidelines and truth be told, these little maniacs are some of my favorite kids on the planet.

We started last Saturday with Addi’s soccer game. It was a gorgeous, albeit a bit hot, sunny morning and the little girls moving in packs around the ball was awesome. Lots of energy coming from the players, not so much from the parent helpers. Heh. It was lots of fun but I quickly notes something very puzzling coming from the coaching bench each time a little girl would fall…one (or more) of the coaching dad’s would yell out, “You okay hon? Are you sure, you okay?” Maybe they’d call them by name but each fall or crash brought about an ‘You okay?’ SRSLY???!

It’s soccer. You fall down. Even the big boys and girls fall down in soccer, in dramatic fashion no less. No one asks THEM if they’re ok. They may even get a yellow card for their antics. What part of soccer do the dad’s not understand? Your kid will fall down. They’re ok, they’ve been doing it for years. Geezus, stop babying your baby. If they’re bold enough to tie up the cleats (Addi’s are an awesome white and purple Nike pair, loved ’em) then they’re bold enough to deal with the heightened dangers of, oh I dunno, FALLING DOWN! 

If YOU as a parent can’t handle that, you need to stay home during the games. Asking little girls if they’re ok repeatedly after each fall during the course of one little soccer game is annoying as fok. True story. Even some of the girls were annoyed. One particular girl with the fiercest game face I’ve seen on a 6 year old and a long brownish/blond braid gave such a look of contempt when asked if she was okay that I wanted to adopt her. Exploit that shit, she has the eye of the tiger, stop asking if she’s okay! She’s clearly fine, see how she’s walking away? She’s up. She’s fine. Shut up.

When I was a bit older than these girls, I started playing softball. I don’t know how many raspberry’s I got on my left leg from sliding (hate pants) but I do not ever recall being asked if I was okay. I would just walk over to my mom who would have the water; washcloth; and peroxide ready for me to get cleaned up before I went back out on the field. (Peroxide on raspberry’s is a special kind of hell by the way.) But no one HAD to ask if I were okay cuz I was walking away from the plate. See? If I can walk, I’m ok. These girls too. They’re fine. STFU and let ’em play.

OH! Before heading straight away to older brother Trent’s soccer game down the road (no one asked the boys if they were ok by the way) we passed a 7-11. What do you do when you pass a 7-11 on a hot, sunny day? Get Slurpee’s of course…with mustache straws. Duh.

addisoccer2

Addi & her Slurpee

I decided I can’t pay a person to rewind time, so I may as well get over it.

Serena Williams

Training Log

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