Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Yoga Bear

Last night Kimm and I headed off to the YMCA and joined a Yoga class.  This is something I NEVER imagined myself doing.  That said, Kimm has been taking classes for about a year and has found them to be most beneficial.  A couple of the guys I played rugby with have mentioned that they are enjoying yoga as well.  Additionally, a mutual friend I met via Facebook is blogging about a challenge she made to herself to do 100 Bikram yoga workouts in 100 days.  Her blog is the “Balancing Twit” and was part of what inspired me to begin this journey.  Thanks Julia G. 

We got our boys settled in the gym where they could play during the class.  There was a Zoomba-esque class in the studio next door that had about two dozen women doing a cross between Middle Eastern dancing and aerobics.  Many women had the belts adorned with coins that belly dancers wear.  These would make jingle sounds as they moved.  There was one man in the class.  Boy, did he look like a fish out of water.  At least he did not have a jingle belt on.  More power to you sir!
I realize that “yoga” is a very broad term.  It can encompass many styles and levels of fitness.  I would refer to ours as “entry level”.  Our Instructor, Allie, informed us that weights and the fitness balls would be incorporated into the routine.   She also jokingly asked if I had “lost a bet”.  I let her know my intentions were pure and that I had heard great things about yoga and wanted to give it a try.
An hour later, I was nearly asleep in a fetal position on the floor.
Throughout the class there was new-age music playing on a boom box.  This is the same type of stuff you hear when you get a message somewhere.  “Yanni on Yanni” is how I would describe it.  For the first couple of minutes the Zoomba music was still rattling the walls making an interesting, if not distracting combination of styles.
I was concerned because my body was still sore from my track and field exploits from Saturday.  My Hamstrings were especially tight.  My goal was to make it through without falling over.  I tried to set up in back to avoid being a distraction.  The room had mirrors on three sides.  There was no hiding.  I was easily twice as big as most people in the room.  My guess is there were a couple of ladies that were nearing a mere third of my size.  Once again, I looked completely out of place.   I resembled a bear that had wandered out of the woods and found his way to the “Y”.
“Yoga Bear” I thought to myself.
The class started by focusing on breathing, stretching, and posture.  I focused on getting the voice of Yogi saying “Hey hey hey Boo Boo” out of my head.   The things that go on inside my head…
Eventually the music, stretching, and breathing won over my brain. 
I relaxed.

There were some moves that were awkward for me.  I breathed through them.  I got to where I was “in the moment” I had no concept of time or events outside the studio.  Before I knew it we only had a few minutes left and it was, as Kimm refers to it, “Adult Nap Time”.  
We did the “corpse” position on the floor.  I rock at this.  Even in my first class I nailed it.  Nobody “corpses” like me!  Allie gave us rectangular bags of rice to cover our eyes.  Slowly we relaxed our bodies starting with our toes and moving up.  Eventually we were instructed to turn to our left side.
If you threw a blanket on me, I would have slept all night.
Finally, class was over.  Kimm explained to me that I had to get up…really…you can’t stay.
Yoga Bear would not be able to hibernate on the studio floor.
Upon getting up and moving around, I realized my hamstrings had released.  My back and shoulders no longer felt the effects of heaving discs and shots.  My voice was relaxed and speaking like I was in a library.
So, I’m a convert.  I know that yoga is something I must incorporate into my exercise regimen in order to improve my flexibility, balance and strength.  I also realized that while everyone could see the dancing bear in the corner doing yoga, I was just as good as everyone else.  I will stay at this level for a bit and take some more challenging classes in the future but I am very pleased with the start.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Day 1 - And so we start...kind of....

I awoke this morning and donned my grey sweats. I fed my pet turtles (“Cuff” and “Link”) and cracked six eggs into a glass and drank them raw. I then proceeded to run through the streets of Philadelphia….

Okay…that was Rocky. Instead, I got up and started my quest to turn myself into a sprinter by getting up at 4:50 a.m.and heading to the YMCA…and swimming. I have been swimming off and on for the past couple of years. It is great cardio and low impact. The thing I like about swimming the most is that the water just makes you feel “good” when you are done.

So I got a half a mile in and headed home to a breakfast of wheat toast with peanut butter and tea.

(I promise not to bore you with benign details of what I eat every day!)

The water felt good on my shoulders and back which are still aching from my efforts on Saturday at the State Games.

Oh yeah… those. You probably are wondering how my races went. I’ll get to those.

I threw Shot Put and Discus two days ago and my body is not happy with me. Even though I was pretty good at track in High School, that was 30 years ago. My muscles, tendons, and joints remembered the routine all too well. Unfortunately, they remembered me throwing the boys High School weights of 12lbs in the Shot and 1.61K in the Discus. Until I turn 50, I have to throw 16lbs in the Shot and 2K in the Discus. It does not sound like a huge difference but it is. The Shot Put feels Like a Volkswagen, the Discus, a manhole cover.

I am pleased to say I repeated as a Silver medalist in the Discus and took Bronze in the Shot Put…

…but you weren’t really interest in those events.

My first race was the 100 meters. My son Sammy was also in this race, though a much earlier heat. He missed out on a medal by .04 of a second. He is 7 and was running against kids as old as 9. He will be back next year older and stronger and more determined. As I told my wife, Kimm “actually having track spikes next year will help too!” She looked at me the way wives often look at their husbands and asked “you’re going to buy the kid spikes so he can run one event in them?” Even though it sounded more like a statement than a question, I went ahead and responded “he can actually use them in 3 events!” I am taking her silent glare at me as a non-verbal form of consent.

But I digress…

I ran in a heat that actually had guys in “singlets”. A singlet is the cross between a unitard, compression shorts, and a tank top. I was going to ask the guys where they got them because I wanted one too, but I didn’t want to interrupt their springing around like frogs from Calaveras County. This was not going to be pretty. They used starting blocks. I stood there like I would ready to cover a kick in football or rugby. They had spikes. I had my running shoes. I felt every bit out of place as I was.

“On your marks…set….BANG!” As soon as I heard that shot, I knew that any chance of a respectable finish were gone. My legs felt like tree stumps. Why was I the only one running in a tar bed? I plodded my way down the track finishing dead last in my heat, my age bracket, and EVERY age bracket, including the 76 year old Don Lucha (amazing guy) for the day at 19.07 seconds.

They shoot horses that run like that.

I had time to kill before my last event the 50 meters. So I tried to stay hydrated and stretch but had to run around getting my boys to their other events while carrying my bag and shot puts and discs and what all… The events were the easy part of the day! The 50 meters was the third to last event so there was time to wait. The waiting is what kills you. I wish I could have walked to the starting line and done my 50 and called it good. No…you have to wait…and wait…and wait… Meanwhile your body tightens up and you need to try to get warmed back up.

The 50 was horrible. It was “New Coke”. It was “Ishtar”. It was Roseanne Barr singing the National Anthem.

Again, when the gun when off I felt like a School Bus trying to get up to speed on the highway. The other runners were very nice. We all congratulated each other for finishing without falling down or tearing any major muscles. Afterwards, Sam and I waited on the infield to see how he finished in the 200 meters when an announcement came over the loudspeaker. I had actually taken bronze in the 50 meters. Apparently, there were only three competitors in my age group. Sam was so excited for me he started dancing around. I was so sore all I wanted was a congratulatory gin and tonic and a hot tub. I would get neither...

We gathered up our awards and headed home. My youngest, Sam won 2 bronze (Long Jump and 200M) my oldest, Max, took 2 bronze (Bowling and Discus) and a silver (Shot put). A pretty good showing for the day all around.

On the way out, several people came up and congratulated me on my efforts. “I saw you running today…great job!” they would say. My boys thought it was “cool” Dad was getting recognized. Like I was some sort of rock star. In a way though, each pat on the back struck the nerve that initially made me do this. It was embarrassing. Although these people were genuinely trying to be kind, I felt I was being condescended to. I could feel a bit of anger building. It was then I heard a voice call out “John!” It was Don Lucha. A 76 year old competitor who ran several events that day. He would have actually beaten me heads up in the 100 if we were in the same heat. We had chatted while on the infield waiting for our events. He is an amazing person. He is a widow who has 4 daughters that he spends as much time with as possible. He said “Good job today.” I said “Thank you, sir! I just wished I could have run a little faster!” He looked at me and said “You were a great example to those boys today. They’ll remember this”. This caught me off guard and I choked up a bit. I covered up by nodding in agreement.

He continued on his way with a wave and asked “See you next year?”

“Absolutely!”

By the way…tonight Kimm and I start yoga.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Let's get this party started!

As I was doing it, I was really not sure why.  It was actually a sort of “out-of-body experience” that has taken me a few weeks to come to grips with.  Maybe it was just too easy?  A few extra clicks on the computer and before I could stop to ask myself if I had thought this through…it was done.
I had entered the race.
Two of them actually. 
Now I know what most are thinking.   Someone signed up to do a road race of some ridiculous length.  A full or half marathon?  Maybe a 15K or even 10K that will challenge me to push my body through miles of pain?
No…my races were a bit “different”.
Let me set the stage.  I am a 46 year old man who throughout most of my life has been active in sports.  As a kid, I grew up playing the “usual” baseball, basketball, or football depending on the season.  I was an average athlete.  I could make most teams but was never the “star”.  Puberty sprouted me up to a height of 6’ 2” and provided me a large enough frame to carry enough weight to play offensive tackle through high school.  I was co-ordinated enough to throw discus and put the shot during track season and was competitive in most meets I participated in.  After college, a friend of mine introduced me to rugby.  I immediately took to the game and played regularly until my early forties.  Again, I was an average to better than average player.  My size and strong back allowed me to play in the front row as a “prop”.  Props are best equipped by being big and strong.  If I was blessed with the ability to run well, I would have been a “flanker” or “#8”. 
Speed was never a skillset that I brought to the table.
Last year, my sons Max, Sam and I participated in the inaugural “State of Michigan Games”.  These are an Olympic-styled event that is open to Michigan residents of all ages.  It is designed to promote healthy lifestyles, good sportsmanship, and competition.  We had enjoyed watching the Winter Olympics together and I realized this would be an opportunity for us to participate in a similar event together.  My boys bowled.  I “turned back the clock” and threw the discus.  We marched in the “parade of athletes” together waving flags.  It was a great experience.
So when this year’s State of Michigan Games came around we decided to participate again.  Max still wanted to bowl.  Sam decided to try his hand at several track and field events.  He wanted to compete in the 100M, the 200M, the Long Jump, and Shot Put.  Max also wanted to throw the discus, like Dad.
So I got online and registered us all.  I added “Shot Put” to the events I would participate in. 
Then, “it” happened. 
I registered to run the 50 M and 100M sprints.
Sprints.
Me.
Really?
I’m not sure why I wanted to do it.  Since retiring from rugby, weight has continued to sneak onto my body. 
I weigh 290. 
Pounds.  Not too proud of that fact.  It is what it is though and well…it’s not an easy one to hide.
I have never seen anybody fail at a marathon.  If you don’t finish, nobody will blame you.  They are a long hard race.  No matter how long it takes you, people take their hat off to you for your efforts.
As it sank in, I realized that I have really set myself up to fail.  I know I COULD run these races.  Doing so without being a COMPLETE EMBARRASMENT would be a different matter, however.  That said, I have been asking my sons to push themselves lately.  To take on challenges that they are not sure they can achieve.   I knew that the best way to show them you need to try things you’re not sure you can do is to do so myself.
Maybe that’s why I registered?
Maybe I took too many shots to the head playing rugby?
Regardless, I run.
In contemplating this situation I began to realize that my irrational act of signing up to sprint was really a call to action to myself.  I know I need to make some changes in my life.  I’m pretty comfortable with who I am.  I’m confident that I am a good person who brings a lot of value to my friends and family.  I donate time and money to causes I care about.  I try to make the world a better place. 
Here's the rub:  I can do better. 
I believe that is the root of the issue for me.  I can do better with what has been given to me.  I can do more.    My irrational act of signing up to do a couple of sprints has forced me to confront myself and challenged me to do better.
So becoming a “real” sprinter by the 2012 State of Michigan Games is my quest.   Running 100 meters may not sound like much of a quest but it’s not the distance that’s important.  It’s the fact that I am going to have to learn to maximize my potential.   I will have to master discipline, effort, and focus.  I will be changing my body.  I will be changing my mind.  I will have to embrace “perseverance” in a manner that I have never needed to before.
I am “the tortoise off on a wild hare….”
So I have my quest.   What is yours?