Exercising Caution

"As with many things,

hesitation is better than hurry."

-- Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

Traffic light 11-13-14

"Strange, what being forced to slow down 

could do to a person."

-- Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song

"Don't ever take a fence down 

until you know why it was put up."

-- Robert Frost

Yesterday I got the green light from my eye surgeon to start exercising again.

Well, it was more like a yellow light.

Because I have to proceed very cautiously and very carefully.

He said I could "resume normal activity," but when it comes to exercise, for me "normal" can be anything but.

So I pinned him down so I'd know exactly what I should -- and more importantly shouldn't -- do exercise-wise, so that I don't interfere with my eyes healing right, and looking right.

I've been a good patient so far, staying well within the strict post-op boundaries. My doctor said I am progressing nicely and on schedule and that I've been doing everything just right.

So far.

And I sure as hell don't wanna fuck it up now.

Every safe driver knows that if you hit the gas after the light turns yellow, you're much more likely to get wrecked. So for now, when I exercise, I shall exercise caution.

Usually my insane workout mantra goes something like "bigger, better, faster, more."

But for now, I need to readjust my approach to something more like, "slower, gentler, little by little, stop if necessary."

I can live with that.

Because too much of a good thing isn't always a good thing.

My Home Gym

"So stop making excuses about
not being able to get the body you want
because you are not able to get to the gym."

-- Alex Stewart, 

"Building The Perfect Body At Home," Bodybuilding.com 

The Blue Bomber working out at home 10-10-14

"I like training alone. 

This allows me to do so without 

having to share equipment and putting up with 

anyone at the gym that thinks they know it all, but they don't."

-- "Working Out At Home," Bodybuilding.com

With the weather turning colder and harsher, bicycling outdoors is getting less inviting. Soon the cold will drive me indoors until Spring.

So it's a good thing I have my own gym right here in my own home.

It's set up in the basement, and is a combination of my own equipment and stuff that we originally got for my son Leo when he was first getting serious about football and lifting -- before he got way too tall for the ceiling and way too strong for the limited weights we have. 

But it's perfectly suitable for li'l old me. 

My home gym includes:

• A treadmill.
• An exercise bike.
• A cross-country ski machine.
• An indoor trainer for my road bike.
• Yoga mats.
• A fitness ball.
• A step thing.
• One of those convertible total body gym sets with the stacked weights and cables.
• Dumbbells.
• A chin-up bar that hooks over the door frame (which my weird mother-in-law bought me for Christmas one year. I still haven't figured that one out.)
• A bench with a couple of bars and a bunch of weight plates and also the leg thingy.
• A punching bag (and my very own boxing gloves.)
• A pair of those little push-up handles.
• A speaker that hooks up to my iPod.
• A huge TV for exercise DVDs.
• Towels.

I don't like working out in front of strangers. I don't like exercise classes. I don't like group activities. I don't like using equipment covered in other people's sweat and schvitz. I don't like having to get in the car and drive somewhere to exercise. I don't like paying money for memberships. And I don't like it when the gym is closed when I want to work out, like on Christmas.

Sure, gyms have their place.

Mine just happens to be at my place.

Too Much Of A Good Thing

"If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing."

-- Anais Nin

Freezer packed with ice bags 9-22-14

"Too much of a good thing can be wonderful."

-- Mae West

"The bigger the better; in everything."

-- Freddie Mercury

In most facets of my life I feel like I don't do enough.

But when it comes to exercise, I am definitely guilty of overdoing it.

I go too far, too hard, too often.

To stave off injury and soreness, I take an ice bath every day after my ride. I dump two 7 pound bags of ice in the tub, fill it with enough cold water to cover my legs, and sit in it for 20 minutes.

I store the ice in the basement deep-freeze. It holds about 10 bags at a time (along with all of our frozen foods) which means I have to restock every 5 to 7 days.

When I'm on my game, I get my own ice. Sometimes, when I feel lazy, I can bribe Leo to do it. When I totally forget and it's an ice emergency, my husband is always great about making a last-minute ice run for me. Sometimes I don't even have to ask. He just does it.

Yesterday I was out of ice. I knew there wouldn't be any after my ride. 

Leo and his girlfriend were eating breakfast together, so I didn't want to make him do it. And I didn't want to interrupt my husband, who was working hard on a project of his own, and make him drop everything to go get ice. So after my ride, I opted for a hot bath with Epsom salt. 

It felt good. But it wasn't the same.

Later in the day, while I was out running errands, I dropped by the store and bought my ten bags. I felt good about being responsible for my own damn self, and for taking care of my own damn business.

I carried my ice-cold booty to the basement and opened the freezer.

It was already full.

Packed to the gills.

Ten big bags of ice, ice, baby. 

The Ice Man had already cometh.

So you know what I did? I called him on his phone (he was out scouting geese with Leo) and reamed him out. Ripped him a new one. I was all "Why didn't you tell me you bought ice? I have ten fucking bags and no where to put them. I hate it when you do this." I was super pissy because if I'd known there was ice I could have taken my ice bath after my riiide-uh!

And you know what he did? He apologized. For being nice. For helping me. For seeing a need and filling it. For being the kind of husband that almost every other wife wishes she'd married.

I huffily rearranged the contents of the upstairs and downstairs freezers as best I could and was able to cram in six bags. I dumped three bags into the bathtub, and put the last one in a cooler. Then I took the ice bath I'd missed earlier in the day.

Using three bags instead of my usual two made the bath extra icy and extra good, and it felt extra awesome.

I needed it to cool off my hot head and realize that I was a complete bitch to my husband who'd done nothing wrong except be a totally great guy. When he got home I apologized, and I thanked him.

And I realized, now that I have all this excess ice, I can take 3-bag ice baths for a few days to use it all up. I know it's a strange and unusual luxury, and not everyone's cup of tea.

But it's definitely my cup of tea.

Make that iced tea.

Exhausting My Body, Calming My Mind

"Studies suggest that the brains of insomniacs may be in a constant 'on' state,

continuing to operate at high levels even when it's supposed to be dialing down ..."

-- Alice Park, "Insomniac? You Might Have A Hyperactive Brain," Time online

Self portrait 6-27-14

"If your dog has a lot of built-up energy, a really vigorous dog walk 

is another excellent way to redirect it where YOU want it to go. 

Once you've burned that extra energy away, your dog should be pleasantly exhausted 

and too tuckered out to jump and nip."

-- Cesar Millan, "How To Calm A Hyper Dog," Cesar's Way

I love The Dog Whisper.

I don't even have a dog.

I don't even particularly like dogs.

But I've discovered that you don't really need to have a disobedient, overactive dog to use Cesar Millan's helpful advice. 

I have used some of his common sense principles of dog psychology in parenting. I particularly like the concept that an overactive, naughty dog is much more likely to settle down and obey when it has been properly exercised -- when it is good and worn out. Same with overactive, naughty kids.

My kids are grown and no longer have behavioral issues. But this particular dog-rearing principle is still massively useful and effective in managing my own wildly disobedient, overactive mind.

"Overactive mind" is a real diagnosis that is often coupled with anxiety and insomnia, both of which I have. When you have an overactive mind like mine, it's as if the "on" switch is permanently stuck. And the more you try to switch it "off", the more "on" it gets. Imagine a light bulb that is being pumped with more voltage than it's supposed to conduct, so that it's constantly on the verge of shattering.

Or, imagine a hyperactive dog that is constantly barking, biting, jumping around and knocking all the tchotchkes off the tables (and then eating them). Now imagine that same dog racing around inside of your head, and every time you shout "No!" or "Bad dog!" it's as if you're encouraging its misbehavior, and so it just ramps up even more.

It's exasperating. It's incessant. It's constant. It's oppressive. It's maddening.

It makes you want to shoot the damn dog.

This is why I love The Dog Whisperer.

Thanks to Cesar Millan's advice on how to calm and quiet, rather than shoot, a hyperactive dog, I can use exercise to calm my overactive mind effectively enough so that I don't go off the deep end.

Cesar says:

"If you don't provide enough exercise, the dog's excess energy in its body will 

override everything else. That dog's mind will not be focused and its heart (or feelings)

will go completely out of control."

Mine too.

Yesterday, my yipping mind wouldn't shut the fuck up. It was barking, biting, jumping, scratching ... all that shit.

So I took Cesar's advice and used my body to get inside my head. I climbed on my road bike and pedaled, hard, for about 3 hours without stopping. I pumped music through my ears while I pumped out excess energy through my legs, and I didn't stop until my body was so exhausted that my mind finally came to heel.

The thing about overactive dogs is that they'll be overactive again tomorrow and they'll require their good, hard playtime again. And again. And again.

It's the same with my overactive mind.

That's why you'll find me out there pretty much every day, working my mind issues out through my body's tissues.

I guess that's why they call it a workout.

Anyway, I do it because Cesar says.

Sit. Stay. Good dog.

A Good Workout

"Wow, I really regret that workout."

-- No one ever

Wood mannequin 4-9-14

"I run to burn up what I don't need and ignite what I do."

-- Kristin Armstrong, 

Mile Markers: The 26.2 Most Important Reasons Why Women Run

"There will be a day when I can no longer do this.

That day is not today."

-- Unknown

I workout every morning. Every. Morning.

I used to be a runner, but an injury and chronic pain stole running from me.

Now I'm a swimmer and a cyclist. I can't swim right now because the surgical scar on my face is still healing and my goggles would fuck it up. Also, I'm still waiting for Old Man Winter to hit the bricks so I can get my bike back on the road. (My road bike is currently in the shop anyway because I wore out the chain and the sprockets riding on the indoor trainer -- wore them out!)

So for now, I'm stuck in the basement on my Sears stationary bike and NordicTrack skier. Sometimes I lift weights. I call it my "off season training" to make it more attractive.

It's mundane. It's boring. It's monotonous. I want nothing more than to be out there on the road gulping in the fresh air and sunshine.

But being confined to the "dungeon" doesn't mean I can't still get a good workout. I can make it work. The motivation part is a little tough right now, but once I get down there and get going, it's all good. I get the music playing and the blood pumping and the sweat flowing and it only takes a few minutes to start enjoying the familiar, heady feeling of exercising my body. 

Also, I am super-grateful that I have practically a whole gym-full of exercise equipment right in my very own basement. It makes it hard to make excuses.

And even if it's a little boring right now, it's till satisfying, because if I accomplish nothing else all day long, and no matter what else happens that day, and no matter how many ways I may let myself down, as long as I got my workout in, I never feel like a day is a total wash. I can say "at least I did that." It's my one most constant and reliable "good thing."

My exercise "dedication" borders on addiction. Probably it is an addiction. OK, it's an addiction. I know this because when I think about not exercising, I get twitchy, panicky. I get anxious and depressed and hopeless and afraid and bitchy and very, very sad. And often, the only thing that helps me cope when I'm panicky, twitchy, anxious, depressed, hopeless, afraid, bitchy or sad, is exercise. For me, there's nothing like a good hard workout to change my perspective and return the rosy glow to my outlook. Working out is my drug of choice. And yeah, OK, I admit, I probably abuse it and overindulge in it pretty regularly. (That chronic use injury didn't just happen all by itself. I gave it a  solid push with years and miles of hard pounding.) 

I'm now at an age where I have to barter with myself -- make trade-offs -- to make sure I don't exercise too much now and thereby jeopardize my chances of exercising 10 or 15 or 20 years from now. It's not easy, and am not always successful at this kind of discipline. I'll tell myself "Ride for an hour, maximum." But then I get out there and the wind is mild and the road is smooth and the perfect mix of songs is playing and I feel strong and extraordinarily happy and before I know it my water bottles are drained and four hours have disappeared and I'm still happily pedaling along, even if it hurts.

And I think, "Tomorrow, I'll do less." Or "Tomorrow, I'll take a day off."

But when tomorrow comes, I do it all over again.

Instead of doing less, I get regular acupuncture and massages to undo the damage.

I'm usually icing or heating something. I go through lots of Tiger Balm.

I only take a day off when absolutely forced to by circumstances beyond my control, and I hate it.

So yeah, I admit, I'm an addict.

They probably have meetings and 12-Step programs for people like me.

Doesn't matter. Even if they do, I wouldn't go.

Or if I did go, I'd most likely ride my bike there and back, just to sneak in a good workout.

Out-Swimming My Demons

"Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

What do we do? We swim, swim."

-- Dory, Finding Nemo

Swimsuit 2-12-14

"Don't stop 'til you get enough."

-- Michael Jackson, "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough"

My demons have been breathing down my neck a little too hot and a little too heavy lately.

I don't know what you do when your demons get clingy, but I like to take the little bastards for a swim.

At first they think it's a fun adventure. They're like a dog on a car ride that hasn't heard the word "vet" yet. They're all jumping and excited, like "Yay, swimming! We love swimming!"

An hour and a half later, when I'm still swimming hard and they can no longer keep up, when they're exhausted and limp at the bottom of the pool, they're more like, "Fuck swimming. We HATE swimming."

That's when I know it's safe to get back out of the water.

When the weather is warm I like to take them for long bike rides. Forty miles of hard pedaling in the hot summer sun shuts up a chatty demon like nobody's business. When I can, and even though it hurts, I like to run 'em into the ground. Sometimes I take them to the gym to lift weights -- rep after rep after rep after rep until they finally pipe down.

I guess it goes back to when I first heard the phrase "exorcise my demons." I guess I misunderstood. I thought it was "exercise my demons." And so I do. Regularly. And hard.

I've been an endurance athlete for a lotta years. And long, hard exercise has always been one of my favorite coping mechanisms when shit gets difficult. It's a good pressure valve for me. It's good therapy. It clears my head. And I've always gotten off on wasting my competition.

So it's what I do. I keep swimming -- churning away -- until I can no longer see anything over my shoulder. Until I win.

Sometimes it takes an hour.

Sometimes an hour and a half.

Sometimes ... well, I go for as long as it takes. My shoulder aches. My hair is ruined by chlorine. My skin is itchy. The goggle marks around my eyes are permanent. Even after a shower I still smell like pool.

But I can breathe again. I can think again. I can deal again.

Plus, I have abs like Dara Torres and a resting heart rate of about 40 beats per minute.

Take that, you little bastards.