News and Coming Attractions.

Nobody ever accused me of being excessively bright or technologically competent. I have never figured out how to add a video and an internet link to a Facebook post. I will have to ask Mark Zuckerberg next time I am at his house for dinner. Nobody ever accused me of being too tightly tethered to reality either.

I wanted to add the video of last month's winner in the Let it Snow Jukebox and the link to this month's Head Above Water with more of the foolishness the wonderful members of the Head Above Water Nation have come to love.

So, here is the video announcing last month's winner. 

A song that, as far as I can tell, doesn't even mention snow. But, it has a lot of wind, rain, fog, and thunder. And it is a rockin' little number, too.

And here is this month's HAW (or #HAW, which has a nice ring to it, don't you think?).

The Wild Word, magic in the days of science.

Dylan makes his first appearance. It is from "Under the Red Sky" and I know there are people who say that anything after "Blood on the Tracks" is not really worth the time. But, I don't agree. In fact, I think "Time Out of Mind" and "Love and Theft" are two of the best albums ever made by anybody. If you can listen to "Standing in the Doorway" without feeling pain you haven't really lived, or at least lost.  But, that is not what I wanted to tell you.

What I wanted to tell you is; Tomorrow I am going to write a post about my wife. Who is not crazy about being constantly referred to as "my wife." She does, however, like it much better than being called "the wife." Though, I don't think, in all my rambling I ever used the term.

Not "the mountain" but "a mountain."

Anyway, my wife, who is a determined person, has picked a Fire Lookout Post in Montana for our next vacation. It is at the top of mountain. There is no running water, no electricity and you have to park a mile away. So, we are going to have carry three days worth of food and water up the side of mountain. And she is so excited. She hates using a treadmill, but now, she drags me over the treadmills, and raises the elevation and "climbs the mountain." You can see the smile on her face. And it makes me laugh.

But, more on that tomorrow, if "the wife" doesn't deep six the idea.

Fridays Workout, The Best One Yet.

Last night was the end of week (I am not sure, it was either 4 or 5)? at the gym. It was empty, which is nice, in a way. Rows of equipment standing still, watching me, waiting to see which one I would pick, you could hear the "oooh, pick me, pick me."

 
Working out in an empty gym is nice, it makes me feel dedicated, I could hear the theme song from Rocky playing in my head. I wish they would install a "heavy bag," it would make the image complete, a "speed bag" would do nothing to further the dream, unless you count the Marx Brothers Boxing Academy as part of the dream. When done properly a speed bag is art, when not used correctly it is a ridiculous dance, it looks absurd, and I am not even that good.

 
I used a treadmill, and an elliptical machine, and really pushed myself. I got my heartrate higher than any of my previous workouts, and held it longer. I don't care for exercise bikes, the traditional type is distasteful, but the recumbent kind is terrible. It feels silly, and unnatural, and I will only use them when the other machines are used.

 
Actually, my standards have become much broader. In the beginning there had to be a one machine buffer zone, which is still preferred, but not necessary. Last night I started on the elliptical machine, which was, I thought, my favorite, but moved to a treadmill, which now I know, is my favorite. Elliptical machines are good, but it does not seem as natural as a treadmill, picking 'em up and putting 'em down is the original form of transportation, and I am nothing if not a traditionalist.

 
Moving on to the resistance machines. I increased the weight, and pushed as hard as possible. More weight than any precious attempt. It was refreshing, invigorating, fantastic, and terrible. Straining, pushing, and trying to remember to breathe correctly. Inhale, exhale, repeat. Sore muscles, aching and stiffness, it was a glorious feeling walking down the endless staircase and across the miles of barren, salty, grey asphalt to my car. Somehow the soreness made the whole scene a little brighter.


Last night's podcast was "The Character Called the Writer" from Writing Challenges. I would like to tell you about it, but there were a lot of instructions, and a couple of pauses to write them down. Since I was in the middle of an "Arm Blaster", a particularly cruel portion of the workout on an elliptical machine, pulling with your arms until your shoulders and elbows ache, and your ego is bruised because you know it looks preposterous. 

Since I was the only one, it was probably ok. But, I didn't have a chance to write down the instructions. It reminded me of High School. Who had time to take notes while trying to blend in, not be noticed and facing the abject terror that the teacher may actually ask you to answer the question you didn't hear. Who had time?

 

 
    

One Month of Exercise, and Gathering Momentum.

Last night was a month of going to the gym.  And here is a little secret.  I am really enjoying the experience.  Today I said to my wife, "only one more day this week, and it is a gym day, so I can get through that."  You might be thinking, "hey, Tim, it is only Thursday, so you have two more days, I know you are awful at math, but this might be a new low."

True, my friend, too true, all of the above, I am awful at math, it is only Thursday, and there are two whole work days left.  Let me explain my "reasoning" though.  Once the alarm succeeds in waking, and forcing me from the safety and comfort of a warm, wonderful bed that day no longer counts.  Since the worst part, the alarm, is over the rest of the day is just a walk down life's path to the next loving embrace of sleep.

I have this theory that we need to change the way time is measured.  Instead of the traditional passing of days, we need to measure it in Alarm Clock occurrences.  You see, alarm clocks are the number one cause of death in the "civilized" world, causing more stress related illness than morning production meetings, or dentist appointments.  Not that any society that uses alarm clocks should be called "civilized!"  Ungodly, evil things, the work of Satan, I am sure...  Ooops, sorry, I have a series of posts planned for my "More efficient method of measuring time, and its passing."  You will want to stay tuned for that.

Anyway, tomorrow is Friday, which is great, and a workout day which is great, too.  I really look forward to the exertion, and work.  Exercise carries its own rewards, helps reduce stress, and it just makes me feel better.  I take the stairs at work more, and bring vegetables in my lunch.  I have become the kind of person I used to ridicule.  And, I don't care.

Last night was "Siege Warfare" from "Ancient Warfare Magazine" and a long run on the treadmill.  It turns out that sometimes the forces inside the city won because the surrounding army would run out of food.  This was surprising.  Most times you read about the besieged people starving, maybe that makes more compelling history.  Often negotiations ended the siege long before either side had a chance to run out of most things, and if negotiations failed both sides employed espionage to win the day.  What the world needs, really, is more history podcasts.  Somebody should look into that.

My oldest son, who has been going to the gym for quite a while told me I should push myself a little harder when using the resistance machines.  He feels that 10 repetitions (reps to us workout guys) should be all you can accomplish, that if you are not straining to get the last one, there is not enough weight.  So last night I added twenty pounds to everything.  I found out my oldest son can be a jerk.  When I was done my sides ached, and my arms and legs were like lead.  But, this morning, I feel really good.  Maybe he isn't so bad, after all.

But, enough about me.  What did you bring for lunch today?

Fridays with the Treadmill

Last night was Gym night, and honestly it is getting better. It is not getting easier, because each night I push a little harder. I have raised my target heart rate, significantly, and maintain it longer. Which means working until my lungs burn, and breathing is difficult.

Don't, ever, under any circumstances, let the machine, in this case a treadmill, dictate your workout. Last night, thinking it was time to take the next step, I chose "Zone Training" and the machine asked me for my age, I typed in fifty five, (not my real age (ok it is my real age)), and there was an odd noise, and a slight shake, the treadmill had laughed, softly, maliciously, and the digital display offered a suggestion for a target heart rate, which was about 115. After pressing the "OK" button we started, the treadmill and I were off.

With the program choosing the pace I was free to choose a song. In this case "Bright Lights, Big City" by Them, a band Van Morrison was with during the Sixties. I bought the album "Still on Top – The Greatest Hits" from Amazon, and this song was on there, along with one of my favorite versions of "Baby Please Don't Go."  It is a great song. In fact, I have decided to collect different versions. There are probably dozens of artists who have recorded "Baby, Please Don't Go," and I am on a quest to find all the copies that appeal to me,. Let me know if you have a version that you enjoy.

Anyway, the machine started slowly, letting me warm up. Then it increased the speed and steepened the incline, and I when I took my hand off the heartrate sensor to wipe the sweat from my forehead. it flashed,angrily and obnoxiously enough to cause a seizure, "REPLACE HAND ON HEARTRATE SENSOR!" I did, and the machine upped the speed, and the incline. Soon, the incline was as steep as possible.  It was like running up the side of a building. Van Morrison was spelling "G L O R I A, Gloria" in my ears, and it was miserable, not the song, the workout.  The song was great.

When I hit the target heartrate, gasping, sweating, lungs, legs, and oxygen deprived brain burning, the machine said "New Target Heartrate 136"  I think, my vision was a little blurry, it might have been the sweat pouring down my face.  The machine was giggling, shaking malevolently, or maybe I was having tremors it is hard to say. I pressed the button that said "Cool Down" wiped the sweat from my face.  After my heartrate dropped into the seventies we did it again, the treadmill and I, repeating it two more times. The first attendant told me to do that, she called it interval training.  And my wife told me she was serious about exercise, and very knowledgeable about training.

After a stop to clean the treadmill, hey we are not animals after all, and a refreshing drink of water, I was off the resistance machines. Last night I kept track of what I did, using Wunderlist. When it becomes more impressive I will post a screen shot on here, but now it looks kind of wimpy, and painfully small. But I did add another machine with "leg extensions," Though I know I need to work harder, add more weight, and push a little more, I feel good about that.

In fact, I feel good about myself, there is a euphoric lift from exercise, and I am glad I started. This was smart. If you are thinking about trying it, you should, trust me, I am no athlete, but am so glad I started. You will be also.8

Workout # 3, Another Step in a Long Walk

Yesterday was day three at the gym.  It was my first feeble attempt at circuit training.  Unfortunately, when I got there my treadmill was taken, it isn't technically mine, it is just the one I used on my first two visits.  And, here it was, working someone else's lungs to the point of exploding.  Without even glancing at me as I walked through the door.  It was with a heavy heart that I moved to an exercise bike.

I turned on "Genghis Khan" from the "In Our Time Archive: History."  A podcast from BBC Radio 4.  Sitting down I started peddling and listening to the articulate, measured British voices talk about the bloodthirsty ruler.

An exercise bike is a unique machine, it has buttons that control levels of difficulty, and buttons that have cryptic labels, "Calorie Burn," and "Hills."  I tried all of them.  Some of them had immediate and obvious effects, and some of them seemed to do nothing.  There was a fan button, and it turned on a fan.  I used that.

 I did "interval training."  Raising my heart rate, and then slowing down, and then starting over again.  Until my legs hurt, and my breath was ragged, but, I kept working.  It was rewarding.

Moving from "Interval Training," to "Circuit Training," was made difficult by the addition of a meddlesome woman, moving from machine to machine.  Similar to a bee, flitting from flower to flower, never stopping, never landing, just staying in each place long enough to be in the way.

Here is the odd part, it was the same woman who was using "my treadmill."  Well, not technically my treadmill, but she was the one who started my session so poorly.  Now she was trying to ruin the end, too.

Being a keen observer of human nature and patterns it was not difficult to notice that she would use a machine for the briefest time, buzz over to the non toxic orange based cleaner, and flit back to the machine.  She would spend minutes disinfecting the machine, seat, handles, arm rests, any part th9at she may have had contact with.  She worked much harder cleaning than exercising.  Exercise is exercise, though, and she was exercising, and the machines sparkled.

Waiting, and watching, an ambush predator, the Eastern Green Mamba of the small, private gym.  As soon as she made her move toward the spray bottle, and small damp towel, I leaped on a machine and started pulling the handles back, like a mania.  After reading the instructions, and adjusting the weight,  of course.   I am not sure what the machine was called, but it worked my shoulders, and back and felt good.

Meanwhile, the treadmill interloper hovered relentlessly, bottle in one hand, towel in the other.  Cleaning the machines on either side, you could hear the high pitched buzzing, and sense the anger.  Through my earbuds came the story of Temujin, whose Father was poisoned by the Tatars, after which he was abandoned on the steppes, a harsh, forbidding place.  It was a rough way to start life.

His family was attacked and his wife was kidnapped.  He survived, and formed a kinship with other nomads of the Steppe, and eventually avenged the attack on his family, liberated his wife, and stomped the livin' bejesus out of the people who made the mistake of attacking him.  He grew up to have the largest contiguous empire in history.

And, I thought, what would the Mighty Khan do if he were being kept from working out by a germaphobe with a bottle of cleaner, a small towel smelling of slightly rotted citrus?   Would the Flail of God wait patiently to use the Lat Pull Down machine?  Would he have used an exercise bike if someone else was using his treadmill?   Would the conqueror of most of China and the Middle East wait patiently, sipping water, and pretending to catch his breath when he wanted to work his deltoids?

Probably not, from what I understand he was not very patient, or understanding.  Mostly, he seems to have been a man of action.  But, I waited, and I worked my shoulders, I don't know which parts or muscles, or any of the technical stuff, but it felt good.  I will go back, Monday.  Genghis Khan and I are not the type to give up.

A New Me, Round 2 (or Tim Vs. The Machine)

Last night I went back, back to the gym, back to face my slothful, sedentary existence.  Monday, I had a dental appointment (just a routine cleaning, checkup, and lecture, (no cavities, if you were worried, I was)) so it was about 3:00 PM when I got to the gym.  Yesterday it was about 4:30, so there were a lot more people.  Young, fit, athletic people.

These people were unafraid of technology, mechanical equipment, or looking silly in the gym.  They have clothes to accent their fitness, to emphasize their athleticism, to boast of their youthful, healthy lifestyles.  These are people who jump onto a fitness machine, and bend it to their will.  It is a tool, and they use it.  Their relationship with fitness equipment is slightly different than mine.

They leap on a treadmill, stationary bike or resistance trainer, unafraid, and take off, a jet powered thrill ride to good health.  I approach slowly, trying to stay downwind, cautious, until I am close enough to grab on, and wrestle it into a draw, hoping it doesn't kill me.

In a row of 5 treadmills, I had the far right machine, and on the far left were two young people each using a treadmill, between us two were unused.  They were, from the way it sounded to me, sprinting, at a breakneck pace, running as though demons were chasing them, pushing the machines, and their bodies, to the limit.  To my keenly trained ears, and well honed sense of reality, these people were running for their lives.  Here is the crazy bit, despite the fact that they were sprinting in an all out assault on some sort of record for speed and endurance, they were having a spirited, lively conversation, laughing, and enjoying the heck out life, and each other.  All at a heart stopping, lung destroying dead run.

Atilla the personal trainer

On the other side, more young people were using resistance trainers to make themselves even more muscular and well defined.  Lifting enormous piles of weights with ease.  Muscles contracted, mountains moved, big, toothy smiles, light, cheerful, happiness, and joy, it made me a little nauseous. Weren't these people supposed to be working out?

I raised the incline, and increased the speed, and looked straight ahead.  Listening to "Attila Cometh"  by Mike Duncan, for his "History of Rome" podcast.

It seems Attila and his brother Bleda had made a big mistake driving into Persia.  It was a costly, unsuccessful campaign, and the Hun population was not pleased.  Turns out people have been complaining about the government for hundreds of years, who knew.  Anyway, he decided to make a little extra coin by kicking the livin' crap of the Romans, and he did. Constantinople (the Eastern Roman Empire) made this much easier, having sent legions of troops to the Western Roman Empire (Roman Empire Light) to battle the Vandals in North Africa earlier, turns out this was a big mistake. Anyway, the Huns won, the Romans agreed to pay them a lot of money every year to not invade them, and life went on.  Who can resist a story with Vandals, Huns, and Romans?  I can't.

It was pretty intense for me, I went farther, faster, and higher than Monday, and my legs were rubbery, and my breath came in gasps, and I slowed down.  But, I took the advice offered so freely on Monday, and did it again.  "Interval training" is what she called it, torture, and deprivation, and pain is what I was thinking.   Honestly, though, I feel pretty good about myself  (which is more than Theodosius (emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire) can say, more on that later).

So, I will be back on Friday, to show all of those kids how old people can still get up and go, as long as it isn't too high, or too fast, or too far.

Working out with the Oldies, way back to 438 AD

Yesterday was the day.  It was kind of frightening.  It is a room full of machines, I am not comfortable with machinery.  But, a resolution requires some sacrifice.

Fluorescent lights are activated by motion detectors, which is a little creepy, a high tech solution to energy waste, and I am not very comfortable with technology.   But, a resolution requires some resolve.

The smell of antiseptic cleaner was subtle, but there, leaving the nagging question, is that really necessary? What kind of germy people were using these machines, exhaling, and grabbing with bacteria covered hands, you could almost hear the staph infections skittering across the floor, I am not really comfortable with germs, and infections.  But, a resolution requires some stupidity

A treadmill was a good choice, not much risk of looking foolish walking, right?  There is a whole row of treadmills, lined up neatly, facing the window, which looks over the street.  But, the panel was filled with buttons, and words, and choices, so I asked for help.

Since I was the only person, stupidity would have been magnified, and letting a machine outsmart me would have been a source of great mirth at the next meeting of physical fitness coordinators.  She explained the machine, it was not really difficult, this button starts it, this button speeds it up, or slows it down, this button raises or lowers the incline, and, all important, this button stops it.

Great, but there were a bunch of buttons, and lights, and things, what about those?  I didn't ask, maybe it is best not to know, maybe she would say, "don't worry about those, fat boy, you can't handle those buttons."

So, we started, me and the machine, and it was good.  I walked comfortably for a while, listening to a podcast, about Rome, which is a lot more interesting than you might imagine, at least it is a lot more interesting than I imagined.  Soon I realized that it was too interesting, and I was there to "work" out, so I pushed the button to increase the speed.

"Hey, this is good," I thought.  I was working, and it was good.  So, I raised the incline, and it felt good, the pace was pretty brisk, and the angle was, well, not flat, anyway.  After raising both again it was better.  I went for a while, working, and breathing, and feeling pretty good about myself.  Not quite so good about Romulus Augustulus (more on that later), though.

After cooing down, I stopped, a little sore, a little winded, and very happy that I had started.  I asked the attendant about combining some resistance training, and she said that was a good idea.  But, most important she said was to keep trying, anything was better than nothing, and she recommended "intervals."  Which, from her explanation, sound devilish, and difficult, but I will give them a shot.  She finished with the advice, "Anything is better than nothing, so don't give up."  And, it hit me, starting was important, but continuing, that is where the difference lies.

Tomorrow, I am returning, with a renewed vigor, a better plan, and a Visigoth podcast, or maybe something about Vikings.  If you know any good podcasts about Vikings, Visigoths, Vandals or Huns, please let me know, before Wednesday.