Rest Day

Posted on by stilllearning2b

As you can see, my dog has mastered the rest day.  I, on the other hand, am still learning.

I am most familiar with the concept of a rest day as it relates to exercise; don’t work the same muscle group on consecutive days and build in at least one day a week with little to no vigorous activity to let the body rest and heal.  I used to completely ignore this advice.  After all, if 5 days in the gym is good, then 7 is better, right?  My younger body let me get away with that, but it has now decided to not be so forgiving.  If I push too hard for too long without a respite, I get sick.  Injured.  Anxious.  Irritable. Sleepless.  And, the progress in the gym or on the running trails stops or even reverses.  My body simply throws itself on the ground like a three year in the midst of tantrum and says, “I refuse to go any further.”

Without rest, that is.

The mind needs rest too.  It’s protestations can be more subtle than the body’s: general malaise, feeling down, irritability, uncontrolled eating, trouble sleeping.  All of those can be signs that you have been pushing too hard for loo long without a respite.  Even when in crisis mode, it is critical to take a breather every now and again.  Sometimes the most growth occurs when we back off a bit and simply take a rest day.

Why I Became a Tough Mudder

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I told my family last year that I had signed up (and paid good money) for an 11 mile obstacle run, I think their first response was to shuffle through their contacts looking for the psychiatrist I saw in the early months of the divorce.  “You’re doing WHAT?  Why?,” I heard repeatedly, usually followed with a resigned head shake, “You’re crazy.”  Crazy I may be, but I felt compelled to do the event and I am so glad that I did.  Tough Mudder was more to me than a run.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A few months after the July disaster of my marriage, I signed up for my very first race ever: a half marathon.  This was a bit preemptive, since not only had I never competed, I still was weak and skinny.  I went into that race only having completed the distance once before.  That was the worst race of my life (cold, rain, illness), but I endured and made it through.  It was exactly the confidence boost I needed at that point.

Over the next several months, I ran more races, but none of them required me to dig all that deep into myself.  None of them gave me the sense of triumph over adversity that I was seeking.

 

Then came Mudder.  My boyfriend was the one who actually found this race and he proposed that we enter together.  I loved the idea immediately. With a shared purpose, we hit the gym with renewed vigor and not a little trepidation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The event itself was unbelievable.  It turned out that it was slated to be held in a dry county, so the money that normally went towards beer instead paid for a longer track – almost 15 miles up and down (did I mention up?) a motocross track.  The temperature was cold, and the water obstacles were colder, as volunteers emptied flats of ice into the streams.

 

 

 

It was an amazing challenge for my boyfriend and I to tackle together.  It gave a true sense of working together and overcoming adversity.  My other races had been alone; it was beautiful to have someone to share this with.  It helped me learn to trust him, learn that he was not going to abandon me when the going got tough.  We pushed each other, encouraged each other, lifted each other, and even shared some muddy, sweaty kisses.  It was amazing.

I think everyone, especially those re-centering after trauma, should do their own version of Tough Mudder. Something that pushes you further than you comfortably want to go.  Something to show you what you can accomplish.  Something to show you that discomfort is temporary.  Something to show you that the support of friends can help get you through when you want to quit.  When the big picture of what you have to overcome is too big, it helps to have a little Mudder to think back on and realize, “I can do this.”

 

 

 

Tough Mudder logo
Image via Wikipedia

 

Wellness Newsletter 2-27

Posted on by stilllearning2b

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How a Kettlebell Became My Therapist

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I have exercised regularly since high school.  It was always an important part of my life. It allowed me to release excess energy and frustration, it made me feel better physically and emotionally, and it helped me to feel strong.

kettlebell
Image via Wikipedia

When my divorce occurred, exercise gained an even greater importance in my life.  It allowed me to reconnect with my body on those days when I was drifting.  When anger was the driving force, the heavy bag contained the essence of my ex.  I would go on long runs to wear out the demons of anxiety that had taken up residence in my brain.  I took spin classes, riding through the discomfort, proving to myself that I could endure. I lifted weights to build muscle, trying to convince myself that made me strong.  I did yoga, exploring my edge and going beyond what I thought I could accomplish.

In all of that, my favorite exercise was the kettlebell.  It became my therapist and my coach.  The kettlebell forced me to integrate my movements.  It required I find a rhythm.  It showed me that I had power hidden within me that I could tap in to.  It showed me that simplicity can be beautiful and momentum can be harnessed.  It integrated the mindfulness of yoga with the power of lifting and the endurance of running.

On a practical note, the kettlebell took little space, made no noise to wake the neighbors, and could be done in a short amount of time.  All of which have been requirements in the last few years at some point.

Those thrice weekly appointments with my iron therapist have not only soothed my ind they have also helped to sculpt my body.  Kettlebells are amazing for their ability to build muscle and shred fat at once.  I tend to mix it up, but here is an example of a common workout for me:

Note: I use a Gymboss timer to make this easy!

Choose a weight that is easy to move for a few reps but that becomes challenging, but not impossible, over the duration of the interval.

Set the timer for 20 1-minute work sessions with 30 seconds of rest between each interval.  Each exercise is to be completed for the 1 minute duration.

English: Russian kettlebell champion Valery Fe...
Image via Wikipedia

one-armed kettlebell swings – right

one-armed kettlebell swings – left

one-armed snatch – right

one-armed snatch – left

around the world – right

around the world – left

goblet squats

farmer’s walk  – right

farmer’s walk – left

Turkish get-up (alternate sides)

Repeat circuit.  This usually has me so wiped that it is difficult to get up the stairs.

Videos of all of these exercises and more can be found here.

 

Learning to Breathe

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’ve never been very good at breathing. 

My childhood was spent with perpetual croup, the seal-barking cough echoing through the house at all hours.  Eventually, I was diagnosed with asthma, my lungs plied with drugs that were supposed to encourage them to relax.  Regardless of the dosages and names of the medications, I always failed my lung function tests at the allergists.  I wasn’t used to failing tests, but I didn’t know how to study for that one.

I adapted to my lungs.  I knew when an attack was about to have me helpless in its clutches, I knew when pneumonia was setting in.  I let my lungs call the shots and we had an agreement that I would work within their constraints.

Then, one day soon after my 30th birthday, I grew tired of the bondage.  I turned the tables on my lungs and informed them I wanted to start running.  This was a laughable goal, as I had never even completed the mile running in school.  But I was determined.

I started at a local park with a .75 mile loop.  My first try was a humbling experience.  You see, I was in shape.  I lifted weights and could do cardio.  I just couldn’t run.  Within moments of beginning, my chest heaved, my breathing was rapid and gasping.  I was taking in air as though threatened, as though the next breath would never come.  I made it one full loop that first day, but I still didn’t know how to run.

Over the next few weeks, I kept at it, returning to the park 3-4 times a week.  I starting to trust my body.  Believe in my breath.  I worked to consciously slow my breathing, pulling air deep down into the unused basement of my lungs.  As I learned to breathe, I was able to increase my mileage to the point where I outgrew that park in the next two months.

My breath training extended to yoga.  I had been practicing since I was in high school, but I always focused on the positions and movements, not the airflow.  Running had brought the breath to consciousness; yoga taught me how to use the breath to calm and energize the body.

Then July came.  Disaster struck.  I lost contact with my breath, but I didn’t even realize it.  I just knew my chest felt constricted, wrapped in bindings carried in by the trauma.  I wasn’t able to run or to do yoga, getting even further out of touch with my lungs.  It finally took a third party to make the re-introduction; a therapist at a meditation and yoga retreat that autumn after my breath left me.

I lay on the floor of her office, cradled in a soft, fuzzy blanket.  She kneeled next to me, her voice soothing and calm.  She spoke to my breath, encouraging it to return, assuring it that I was ready to make its acquaintance once again.  She spoke to me, telling me t trust my breath, to allow it deep into my lungs.

My chest began to rise, the bindings loosening.  As the oxygen flowed in, I felt grounded.  Whole.  Reconnected.

My breath and I still have a complicated relationship.  I frequently don’t find it until a couple miles into a run or 10 minutes into a yoga practice.  I still have to encourage it, willing it back into my body, especially when I find myself gripped my stress.  It may at times be a tumultuous relationship, but I have no intention of loosing connection with my breath again.