Friday Jams: Lapin A La Cocette

Posted on April 25, 2014 by tosabarbell

Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in it’s deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.

Rainer Maria Rilke

The first time I saw V, she walked into WFAC with skirts flowing and perfume wafting. Who. Is. This? And why the FUK does she wear so much perfume?! I was in the middle of a training session and the ladies I was with also wondered what was going on. See, women didn’t just waltz into WFAC and ‘rule the skool’ as she did. Obviously, she was somebody. But who?

After a session or two of her training, I started talking to her. Well, her name was Veronique and she was French. Like, from France. Accent and all. And though her long, flowing jet black hair was beautifully styled and all of her jewelry stayed on during her training sessions (a far cry from stinky t-shirts and shorts of the normal WFAC crew), she was obviously down to earth and here to make friends. She had history with many folks, and a Cancer scare that was trying to poke back into her life. She was happily married to her musician, teacher hubby and raising her two boys (one small, one large, both unique and so reflecting their mama.) We would chat here and there in the gym and then her French Mama came for a visit.

Now, if I’m remembering correctly, her mama was in her late 50’s. Maybe early 60’s. I DO remember that she was drop dead gorgeous and OOZED sex appeal. Like, Sophia Loren sex appeal. Is it wrong to be jealous of a 60 year old? Hope not.

Anyways. That visit was kind of a turning point. I was going through some things and V was like a lighthouse. I, along with so many, steered our ships towards her safe light and unloaded. She (and her non English speaking hot mama) told me what I NEEDED to hear to steer on the correct course (whereas so many “friends” tell us what we WANT to hear.) Not V, loving truth, even in beginning friendship.

She was there for my and Bigg’s beginning. Even one night making Rabbit Stew. I texted him and said I’m at V’s and she’s making rabbit stew. He texted back saying I have awesome friends. Yup. I do. But this fucking cancer thing…always lurking in the shadows. She was being treated, but all of her treatments were “just doing what they have to do.” She never showed fear. She never showed defeat. Just motions. Going through the motions of cancer and living life to it’s absolute fullest. Good laughs; good friends (she has so many); good wine and food; good times. So many good that it amazes me to have so many V stories in such a short span of time.

She was very closed lip’d on what was going on with her illness. Is it serious? Is it not? Is it gone? (We thought so last October, it’s one of the first times I cried in front of Matt. Thinking she was free and clear. I was so thankful I couldn’t help but let the tears flow.) That was around Halloween.

And then November happened. Matt and I were in a downward funnel of shit. Not good. Stuff building and not knowing how to stop until a night occurred where it got out of hand. I let her know things were bad, please send strong thoughts. And she was on it. STOP IT! You two love each other. You must forgive. She was one of the few who said what we NEEDED to hear, not what others told us cuz they thought we WANTED to hear. No “circling the wagons” to keep us shielded from the idea that we may need to change; no “I’ll give you a bottle of Whiskey to make it all better and send you on your drunk and angry way.”  Truth. Real. Loving. And it saved us. She. Saved. Us.

And now she’s gone. I could say she left this earth today but the clock has turned and it’s suddenly tomorrow. A day where she hasn’t been with us. Not a good day.

Paul McCartney

Blackbird

Enjoy your weekend. Please. Honor the good. Dismiss the small stuff you can. Life is bigger.

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Just Do It…(like this)

Posted on April 17, 2014 by tosabarbell

justdoit

Years ago, I trained briefly with an Olympic Weightlifting coach. I’d drive two hours (one way) for about an hour and a half session and trained with a promising up and comer strong young man who was a collegiate lifter. It was a new experience for me, training in the garage with another lifter. The coach was an Olympian, a very nice Minnesota man. In fact, I still owe him $20 towards my final session. I think of that everytime I’m in a situation where I may see him (like The Arnold.) I carry an extra $20 in case I run into him and can square up.

Anyways. My two hour trips didn’t last long. Truth be told, we never really jelled. My part of that is when I get coached, I try to do exactly what the coach tells me. I’ve written before on how that screwed me up at Games last year, getting “coached” by countless people right before attempts, I’d try to do what they told me and get all messed up. (Which is why I’ll quietly walk away from folks this year or just outright tell them that I’ll talk to them AFTER I throw. No more.) The problem is, many people have the right idea in their head but have no idea how to communicate it. Compound that with the fact that I’ll try to do exactly what they say and I’m just a big old mess.

My struggle with the Olympic lifts is when I would get walked over to the wall and be told that I need to look exactly like THIS…

…keep my back long like this and chest up. W!T!F!????

First off, I can’t keep my back “nice and long” unless I’m put on some sort of torture chamber device. My back is nice and short in comparison to my femurs. The actual exact OPPOSITE of Pyros Dimas. So we would snatch, over and over and over and anywhere from 28-30kg hoping that I would magically “get” it and start looking like him.

Ummmm, that’s not how it works folks. If your “strength” coach keeps telling you that you’re not “looking” right, fire him/her. They have no idea what they’re doing. If your coach says you need to look like Lidia Valentin as you come out of the hole, assume you mean her hair and make-up cuz that ain’t coaching. Coaching, teaching the fundamentals; laying a foundation for further learning; principles based on the mechanics of lifting, not appearances. Cuz guess what folks, these lifters are the best of the best. It’s like saying, run like Walter Payton. Well, ok, he was amazing. But what coach these days would allow their player to hold the ball as if you’re about to drop it (cough*EARLYDAYSAP*cough.) What worked for Payton worked for him but perhaps wasn’t the ideal form of running with a football being chased by really big guys who want to smash you into the ground and take away said football.

There is an interesting discussion going on right now on NASGA on just this topic (that I started. Troublemaker:) I asked about a stone put and where we want our throwing elbow. Do we want it as high as it goes, causing shoulder impingement? Or do we keep it parallel or low. ADD in the additional angle of the elbow ‘behind’ the hips or not and it’s very interesting to me. Some top notch throwers and coaches have chimed in, which I am very appreciative of, and there are a couple of different answers. As I’ve watched seemingly hours of video of some of best throwers in history, the consensus seems to be…elbows are actually all over the place. My question then, is WHY? How is force transmitted most effectively in the release?

Same goes with lifting. And running. And training. In each ‘form’ example given of a top athlete in sport, an opposite example can be pointed to by another elite athlete in the same sport. And all of that has absolutely nothing to do with a novice learning the fundamentals. Mechanics. Transmission of force. If that ain’t being discussed, then yes, you may as well talk about hair and make-up.That reminds me, I need a haircut…and some brown eye shadow.

Any intelligent fool can make things bigger and more complex…it takes a touch of genius – and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction.

E.F. Schumacher

Training Log

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Blazing

Posted on April 15, 2014 by tosabarbell

blazing

There are at least two absolutes in life (no, not death and taxes), one; when Bohemian Rhapsody comes on the readio, you sing. Loudly. B) When you happen upon Blazing Saddles on the television, you watch it. Even if the Gopher’s are playing the Fighting Sioux (suck it NCAA) in the Frozen Four.

I mentioned last week my love for the Marx Brothers. I love watching their movies because they’re talented and talent is in short supply, has been on the Big screens for at least 20 years. They sing, dance, play all kinds of music and have a comedic timing that is a thing of beauty. But most of all, they pushed the envelope. Groucho Marx and his sexual innuendos were incredibly risque in his time although I would contend that most of his lines would now be lost on the majority of young people under 30.

There were few like him. Oh sure, Bob Hope was funny, but he was white bread. His acts were fun and silly and at times suggestive, but he kept on the right side of the line.

And then came Mel Brooks.

An obviously comedic talent, his antics with Carl Reiner are legendary. My cousin Paul and I would sit and watch Get Smart on Sunday nights and laugh are little asses off. When he came up with The Producers (a musical about Adolph Hitler), no one would touch it. No one would distribute it and it was finally shown as an art film. Brooks won an Oscar for it. After a couple of unsuccessful films, along came Blazing Saddles.

Seriously, this scene alone brings tears to my eyes. (I’ve just re-watched it five times. Laughed out loud every time.)

Racism, sexism, just plain sex, homosexuality, violence, and music (I’m sure there are other politically incorrect topics I’m not thinking of too.) All rolled into one hilarious movie. Who would dare? Mel Brooks. His other movies were fun too, Young Frankenstein plays around here from about Oct 1 until Thanksgiving.

Brooks has won an Oscar, an Emmy, a Tony, and a Grammy. Solid.

We now live in a world where no one laughs at anything. Brooks would never have made it if he were just starting out now. But Blazing Saddles brings us back to a time when we used to have sense of humors and not be so fucking serious about every thing spoken or implied. In your face humor. I still love it.

Srsly.

If you’re quiet,  you’re not living. You’ve got to be noisy, and colorful, and lively.

Mel Brooks

Training Log

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Monday Bacon: Top Chef

Posted on April 14, 2014 by tosabarbell

1 weeks worth of food for a 75(ish)kg female athlete. Booya! (shamelessly taken off Ingrid Marcum’s FB:)

One of the most difficult changes to make as we try to get away from our ‘fat self’  is to stop the habit of eating the fast food and focus more on the real stuff. Ask any S&C coach who has worked with a newbie on this and they’ll all say that they’ve heard the, “I’d eat better but I’m so busy and don’t really like to cook so I have to rely on other stuff” so many times that it’s almost an autofeed in our excuses book.

Yawn.

Look, no one expects you to be a Top Chef in cooking up your own food, especially if this is a new habit for you. But I WHILL expect that you can cook up something better than a Big Mac. Cuz that’s actually a really shitty hamburger. Grab a pound of extra lean hamburger and some Penzeys Spices (I really like the Sweet Curry) and you’ve got meat for a day (girls) or lunch (boys.) Put butter spray and lemon pepper on some fish and throw it in the oven for 6 minutes and BOOM! Meat for a day. Not hard. New? Yes, but not hard. Invest in some tupperware, you can even buy it in the grocery store now (do they even HAVE Tupperware parties anymore?) Carry food with you, bring it to work, bring it to the gym, bring it to wherever you’re going.

Yes, I understand busy and on the go. But are you home at any point and sitting around doing nothing for more than 1/2 an hour a day or a couple of hours on a Sunday? Then get in front of the stove. IMO, time spent in front of the stove is just as important as time spent in the gym. If you’re not willing to do one, why do the other? No one is powerless here unless they don’t have a stove. Then you have to go borrow your mother’s, but that’s okay cuz she’ll be happy to see you. We don’t have a microwave (no, not because we have any deep seeded political reason not to have a microwave, we just don’t have room for it) so we go over to Bigg’s Mom’s house to use hers when I need to melt some chocolate for my chocolate covered strawberries. True story. By the way, if you say that you are indeed NOT home for a half hour sitting doing nothing I will either call you a liar or an incredibly bad time manager. Or both.

I’ll tell you what, there is something completely satisfying in cooking up at least a couple of days worth of food. Knowing all you have to do is wake up, make the coffee and all of this deliciousness is waiting for you and you don’t even have to get in the car to drive thru to get it. Score. Here’s a sample of my week…

myweek

Protein Pancake mix for quick breakfast carbs; fish ready to go into the oven; wine (always); green beans (I really hate veggies but will eat these); Oatmeal; salads from the salad bar (one per day); 93/7 lean hamburger mixed with sweet onion and sweet potato; pasta with Italian dressing. I have another pound of hamburger in the fridge I’ll make up tomorrow. I’ll go and get two more salads on Wednesday, enjoy one treat of a Q’doba burrito bowl and I’m set until the Bigg guy gets home from the Middle East on Friday. When he’s home? Take this, add a meat smoking session of at least 10# of something tasty and multiply everything else by at least three. EZPZ. Time consuming? Sure, a bit. Not bad and gee whiz, whatever I miss in life while doing it will just have to be missed. I know I’ve set myself up for a great week of food. All food is portable, mostly. If you’re just so special that you absolutely can’t make some food and take it with you so you have to go through drive thru’s and eat their shitty food (remember, McDon’s has salads YO!), then go ahead and be fat and unhealthy. You win.

But not really. Cuz that excuse is old. It’s tired. And it’s bullshit. If you’re reading this and of adult age (good lord I hope parents don’t let their kids read this blog); able to function in society with a job and shit; you can cook up a pound of burger. And go make a salad bar salad with a pound of pre-made chicken on it; and boil some water for some pasta. But that’s only if you truly want to make a healthy change. Up to you.

I don’t believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one’s hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as “Oh, I don’t know how to cook…,” or “Poor little me…,” or “This may taste awful…,” it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one’s shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings), and make the other person think, “Yes, you’re right, this really is an awful meal!” Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew, or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake has collapsed — eh bien, tant pis! Usually one’s cooking is better than one thinks it is. And if the food is truly vile, as my ersatz eggs Florentine surely were, then the cook must simply grit her teeth and bear it with a smile — and learn from her mistakes.

Julia Child

Training Log

 

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