Recess Again

Do you remember recess?  Or PE?  (We called it gym class in Junior High.)

For me, recess started out as...fun!  I got to be outside and I got to try new things - often mastering them.  A few of those things were quasi-dangerous. I'm sure today's second graders wouldn't be allowed to do a penny drop over packed dirt and gravel. We had no concept of spotting.  We either picked up those who crashed or we ran to get the teacher - depending on how much blood there was.  The metal merry-go-rounds provided stomach-flipping thrills the faster we pushed them. Those ladders leading to the slide?  How many rungs could we climb and then jump off?  Who needed a slide?  Swings were made to be bailed out of - not just swung.

I learned to be social, encouraging, and competitive all at the same time.  There were a couple ways to draw a hopscotch grid.  You couldn't double-dutch by yourself.  Freeze tag was more fun the more people who played.

Things started changing for me in the fifth grade.  I was terrified of one particular girl in my class.  She started with threats of finding me after school and escalated to literally beating me up on the playground one day.  I dreaded being outside of the safety of my classroom.  (The same girl was taken away by the police when she brought a handgun to school and threatened a teacher.  Yes, we had these problems in the sixties, too.)  Anyway, I found reasons to be in the library during recess.  I mean, who doesn't love a little girl who chooses to write extra reports?  Or reads just about every book she gets her hands on?

After sixth grade, we moved to the West side of town and I started attending a new school.  I didn't go to the same elementary schools as the other kids and I was a fish out of water, for sure.  I didn't own a pair of blue jeans.  I had kinky brown hair.  I wore glasses.  I obviously didn't fit in.  I was eventually befriended by a group of girls who probably saved my life.  I'm not sure if any of them know that.  I'm still in touch with most of them and I cherish the decades we've known each other.  The thing is, as a teen I didn't recognize their value nearly enough.  My glass was half full and I was waiting for some beautiful West side cheerleader to spill what little I thought I had in that glass.

We had to wear uniforms to gym class.  The institutional green shirts and shorts mortified me.  How could they look so cute on the popular girls and so awful on me?  Why wouldn't my mom buy me tube socks without the black stripe at the top?  Would I ever get a pair of gym shoes that didn't make my feet look like two bricks at the bottom of my legs?

Also, the showers.  I had to be naked around people I didn't know and I was never cooled off enough to stop sweating.  I often left the locker room feeling like I was emitting a cloud of steam.  My glasses would fog, my dark brown hair would curl even further, and my clumsy attempt at mascara would smudge.  I was surrounded by pretty, glowing, blonde cheerleaders.  I was Judy Blume middle school dramatic in a quiet, introspective, sweaty, and suffering way.

The activities in gym class were tough for me.  I hadn't taken private gymnastics lessons so I was essentially a remedial student for that portion of the year.  It wasn't unusual for some girls in my class  to do back handsprings and flips.  I fell off the balance beam more times than I can count.  Just walking.  No tricks. I saw the trampoline as a death trap.  When we moved on to basketball,  I didn't make baskets.  I counted on my friend, Kelly, to tell me to run to the other end of the court when it was time.  I had no concept of the rules of the game.

Summers were a relief.  My brothers, my sister, and I were on the neighborhood pool's swim team.  We walked to morning practices together, swam all day, and then practiced again at night.  Our coaches kept a close eye on us and guided us to some decent times - and a lot of fun.

But school? I don't remember any REAL coaching or training going on at my schools.  We were left to our own devices to either succeed gloriously or fail miserably.  It's no wonder I hated PE and gravitated toward classwork and teachers that challenged and coached my brain (Thanks, Mr. Z!).  The thrill of physical accomplishment stayed back in grade school.  I lasted one season on my high school swim team and felt real pleasure at turning in my team suit.  As soon as gym class wasn't mandatory, I filled those elective hours with classes which caused me less discomfort and embarrassment.

I was on my way to becoming a loner athlete and didn't even know it.  As an adult I found that running allowed me to get the physical activity I craved and I could run alone.  The thing is...again, no coaching/training/teaching.  I got through thousands of miles and what I have to show for it is a few dozen medals, a calcified left achilles, and poor upper body strength.

Since starting CrossFit, I've discovered what attentive coaching and encouragement looks like.  I'm gradually getting stronger.  My fifty six year old body's creaks and aches aren't as pronounced but I have the confidence to grunt and groan louder than ever before.

Sometimes we have to make some noise to make some moves.

Today I ran 6 X 200s.  (The prescribed workout was 6 X 400s.)  I'm able to scale down as a beginner and sometimes I really need that.  I'm not intimidated by the accomplishments of others in the class because I'm not comparing my accomplishments to theirs.  They're concentrating so hard on their  workouts that they're not judging me.  I'm not intimidated by them, I'm inspired by them.  Even more than that, I'm enjoying being part of a bunch of people running around outside with a beautiful sunrise to light our way.

I wear my glasses for most workouts. (Safety first!)  My hair gets curlier as the workout progresses.  I wear the shorts and shirt that is the most comfortable and I haven't thought about how my socks look.  Not once.  I wear a bandana as a headband and I sweat.  A lot.

It seems I'm experiencing recess all over again.  I get to be outside and I'm trying new activities.  I expect to master some of those skills.  I'm re-learning how to be social, encouraging, and competitive all at the same time. Rather than doing quasi-dangerous things, I'm doing challenging things and I have someone coaching me to make sure I do them as safely as possible.  If I want to lift heavy, I know I'll have someone to spot for me.  Succeeding gloriously now means finishing a workout.  The only way I can conceive of failing miserably would be not to participate but using a superlative combined with the word "fail" seems middle school dramatic so we won't go there.

Option Not Taken

There was always the option to punk out.

No, not really.  No matter how intimidating the workout looked, I was there.

Push that sled 25 meters and push it back.
Pick up that 50# ball and carry it 50 meters.  Then carry it back.
Sprint 200 meters.

Start all over again.

Oh, do all of this outside in the heat and humidity - on an asphalt parking lot.

Go!

I have eliminated caffeine at least 4 hours prior to a workout.  I thought that might help me with the sensation of my heart pounding out of my chest and also with the very dry mouth.  Nah.

It's not caffeine. It's adrenaline.  I'm fighting and flighting my way through workouts more intense than any I've ever done.

No punking out.   My heart will beat as fast as it needs to and I'll fill my lungs with the air they require.  My dry mouth is a sign that my chemistry is doing what it's designed to do.  To me, the most outstanding aspect of Crossfit is that I'm learning just how hard I can push myself.

So that's easy enough to say about the physical aspect of starting a new program.  It's not quite so easy for me socially.  When a task is completed, there are high fives, fist bumps, pats on the back.  After that sled/heavy ball/sprint workout, a woman remarked that I'm strong.  I immediately joked about my previous marital history and how it made me stronger.

???

Maybe it did but I didn't need to shrug off a compliment by putting myself down.

Lessons learned.   I like it!  Now, I must remember to say this:  "Thanks!"

I'm no punk.

Waiting for the Rain

So this is supposed to happen later today.

Supposed to.  We've been waiting for it all day.  I was done with my Hermann Park walk by 7:15 AM.  I straightened my place, did a little paperwork, and watched an episode of Breaking Bad. (I'm rewatching the entire series because a friend is watching for the first time and this way I can remember what he's talking about.  Binge-watching is fun but my retention is awful.)

I read a couple chapters in a novel and then took off my glasses.  I thought I'd lay down and take a nap.  That lasted about 10 minutes. It's Saturday and it's not 100 degrees out.  Why was I wasting a perfectly good low-traffic day in Houston?  I got up and got myself over to the Arts District in the 6th Ward.  I'm not buying now - at least not planning on it - but I like to know who's out there with what.   I like to touch base with my artist friends.

I accomplished all of that and then some.  

If you're looking for a way to while away a couple hours, the Sawyer Yard area is great. We have a real gem there.  I cut my collecting teeth at Winter Street so it will always be my first love.  It's not slick.  The air conditioning is iffy at best.  It has character.  I gathered 3 hugs but passed on several offers of wine and cookies.  (Priorities.)

The newest addition to the complex (The Silos) is housed in an old Success Rice plant.  The lighting is wonderful and the studios are new and polished.  You can still smell the paint.  You can also catch the faintest aroma of rice.  Passing through a connector hall, I was suddenly in my mom's kitchen - on those days when we had instant rice with ground beef and ketchup.  Not a great meal but a wonderful memory.

The rain can do it's thing and I'll be happy knowing that I spent some time with myself and with a few friends (old and new).  I'm back home with a cup of coffee and my own art collection.  Not a bad way to spend the rest of the afternoon.  If you're ever in the frame of mind to meet some local artists - even better, to support some local artists, let me know.  We'll do a Second Saturday together and I'll introduce you to my friends.  

The Heaviness of Fear

Today I completed the 2 week On Ramp class at CrossFit Central Houston. I'm amazed at the amount of learning and change I've undergone in the past 2 weeks.  I've been sore in places I didn't know could hurt.  I'm drinking more water and my diet is much cleaner.  My clothes are fitting better.  My sleep is deeper. Now comes the hard part.  Even with coaching and encouragement, I'm super-hesitant to jump into classes 2 or 3 times a week.  I trust the coaches.  I observed them observing me and I listened as they explained how I can do things better.

I've learned about proper use of equipment and body mechanics.  I've also learned a lot about my state of mind and how it can help or hinder my progress.    

Fear.

It's heavier than any weight in the gym.  It offers more resistance than the thickest of elastic bands.  It looms higher than the highest of pull up bars.

Twice this week I was close to tears while working out.  

The first time, I was feeling a kind of euphoria - I guess.  (The runner's high mostly eluded me in my years of distance running.)  Toward the end of Monday's workout, I was having fun.  The rowing machine is in my wheelhouse.  I felt comfortable with deadlifts.  I was getting the swing of kettle bell swings.  My heart rate was up and I was soaked in sweat.  It felt great!  And then I realized I felt like crying.  Huh?

Today we learned the Clean lift. Let me back up a bit and say that we started off with Wall Balls.  That exercise requires a start from squat and powering up to throw a medicine ball above a painted line on the wall.  Flexibility is something I've steadfastly ignored through my years of running.  Performing a squat is tough for me.  Really tough.  I was moved back to air squats so I could work on my form and depth.  Great!  Or, not.  Ego rears it's ugly head at the most ridiculous times.  I am working hard to allow my gratitude for coaching to outweigh my fear of embarrassment. 

So we move on to the lift.  It's hard, people!   These movements don't come naturally to me.  A major portion of the lift is allowing the bar to move through potential energy and then finishing with kinetic energy.  The control freak part of my brain wants to JUST MOVE THE WEIGHT!!!  Not exactly efficient.  This is a great lesson for me, though.  Muscling my way through the lifts (and through life) isn't good for me.  I want what is good for me.  Awesome!  And now I feel like crying again.  But I don't because I'm just not going to.

Finishing the class, we were given general information on membership.  Fear sat with me in that room.  Here was my verbalized question:  "Does anyone ever repeat On Ramp?"  The answer: "Some people do."  The coach followed with encouragement to keep working, go to classes...step up and face the challenge.

I'm going to let Fear have it's place here.  It exists.  It's been my near-constant companion for over 50 years.  The thing is, it's not beaten me yet.  I can't muscle past it but I can work smart and get the job done.  I'm looking forward to exploring the feelings associated with this new endeavor - emotional AND physical feelings.  

Now where did I put that foam roller?