Pumping Irony

Craig Cox, EL’s managing editor and resident geezer, explores the joys and challenges of aging well.

Monthly Archives: June 2010

Experience Life Magazine

I May Be Crazy, but . . .







I’m not a guy
who visits the doctor very often (if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it), but I do
enjoy reading about the Big Medical Breakthroughs that seem to surface in the
newspaper every week or so. It’s comforting somehow to know that there are
folks out there working 24/7 to cure the various horrific diseases that afflict
the populace.

 

Last week’s Big
Medical Breakthrough was a story about researchers who have discovered a more
reliable method to diagnose Alzheimer’s. In case you missed it, you can read
about it here
. It seems that every pharmaceutical company is experimenting with
a new drug to cure what everyone agrees is a terrible disease (I’ve seen it up
close in my late father in law, and it’s not pretty), but the key is to
diagnose it and treat it in its early stages. Trouble is, doctors aren’t very
good at diagnosing it (which validates my view above, thank you very much).

 

So now comes Dr.
Daniel Skovronsky and his company, Arvid Radiopharmaceuticals, with what
everyone seems to agree is a promising new process to identify Alzheimer’s.
Here’s how The New York Times
described it:

 

Dr. Skovronsky thought he had a way to make scans
work. He and his team had developed a dye that could get into the brain and
stick to plaque. They labeled the dye with a commonly used radioactive tracer
and used a PET scanner to directly see plaque in a living person’s brain. But
the technology and the dye itself were so new they had to be rigorously
tested.”

 

So, just to review: If your
doctor thinks you may be displaying symptoms of Alzheimer’s — which doctors
admit they really can’t identify with any reliability — they would just inject radioactive dye into your
brain
(emphasis is mine) to see if just maybe their hunch was correct.

 

Now I don’t know about you,
but I grew up at a time when radioactivity was considered kind of a dangerous
thing. We didn’t stock Geiger counters in our kitchens or anything like that,
but even as a schoolchild I knew that if I ran into a stranger on the street
corner who asked me if he could inject radioactive dye into my brain I
should run home right away and tell my mom.

 

I searched the Times story to see if maybe the reporter
might have raised the tiniest bit of concern over a process that involves injecting radioactive dye into my brain
(emphasis mine again — sorry) but found no such reservations. After all,
Skovronsky had tested his dye:

 

“Hospice patients were going
to die soon and so, he reasoned, why not ask them to have scans and then brain
autopsies afterward to see if the scans showed just what a pathologist would
see. Some patients would be demented, others not.”

 

The dye worked, much to
Skovronsky’s delight. And I’m happy for him — I really am. He was able to show plaque on the brains of those (now
dead) patients who had Alzheimer’s. But, unlike the doctor and his co-workers,
I’m not breaking out the champagne just yet. In fact, I think it would be fair
to argue that if you really wanted a reliable indicator of whether someone was
not quite playing with a full deck, you’d just ask him if you can inject some
radioactive dye into his brain. Those who politely decline, I would venture,
still have all their marbles.

 

But what do I know about
modern science? Maybe injecting radioactive dye into someone’s brain is not as
big a deal as I think it is. Maybe I’m just kind of wimping out on the whole
radioactivity thing. You know: Man up,
dude! Take your radioactive dye in the brain like the rest of us, ya big baby!!
It could just save you and your loved ones from the heartbreak of Alzheimer’s
in your old age. Or not.

 

All that may be true, but
while I’m still relatively lucid, I think I’m going to steer away from Dr.
Skovronsky’s approach and keep going to the gym (had a great workout last
night, BTW; still sticking to my post-it note plan described earlier). As noted
in our “Build a Better Brain” piece from a few years back, that seems to be
the most reliable way to stay sharp.

Experience Life Magazine

If the Shoe Fits . . .







OK, so after
last Monday’s meandering rant about my tendency to meander around the gym with
no particular workout program or plan, I’m happy to note that on my next trip
to the gym I came equipped with not just an idea of how I might punish myself,
but with an actual crumpled-up post-it note on which was scrawled the names of eight
specific, punishing exercises:

 

Kettlebell
swings

Renegade row

Shoulder presses

Sidebridge

Glute bridge

Weighted squats

Tricep
extensions

Weighted lunges

 

Many of these I
had never before attempted, a fact that became painfully obvious at some
inopportune moments (as well as the next morning). Plus, to make the workout
even more distinctive, I decided to try wearing my Vibram FiveFingers barefoot
running shoes. 

 

A couple of
summers ago, I pulled on these skin-tight, toe-isolating rubber-backed foot
gloves and took them for a spin around a nearby soccer field. It was cool to
jog around without worrying about puncturing my feet on some foreign object,
but after a while it became clear that my toes lacked the rugged individualism
necessary to thrive in their own confined space. They seemed to prefer hanging
out together.

 

Anyway, I’ve
been reading a lot about primitive workouts lately, and the whole idea of
scampering along woodland trails without the hindrance of modern footwear is
pretty intriguing. So, in the spirit of mixing things up, I sat down on the
bench in the locker room and began coaxing my communal toes into their own
individual habitats. This is not as easy as it might sound. The FiveFingers are
tight — really tight — and my toes are not easily separated. So, I’m sitting
there like a 2-year-old with his first pair of gloves doing my best to line up
my recalcitrant toes with their prospective new homes and recalling with some
fondness the ease with which I can normally slip on a pair of sneakers. I’m
also thinking I could use a good pedicure — but I’ll spare you the details.

 

After much
persuasion, all 10 little piggies seemed to have found a home, and I strode confidently
out into the gym. An easy 10-minute warm-up on the EDM got my heart pumping a
little and I moved over to the stretching area where I secured one of those
too-thin yoga mats and consulted my list. The big toe on my right foot was
throbbing a bit already, declaring its desire for freedom, but I launched into
a lively set of kettlebell swings nevertheless. This is, by the way, just a
terrific cardio workout — it never fails to get my heart rate up into the 140s.
I highly recommend it. The renegade row? Not so much. I’d seen this move
described in an upcoming issue of a certain fabulous health and fitness
magazine
and figured, How hard can that
be?
The idea is to basically get into pushup position while holding onto a
dumbbell in each hand and simply lifting the dumbbell to your chest a few
times. What I discovered was that it’s not that easy when the dumbbells refuse
to remain stationary. Mine were maybe five-sided, but it would’ve helped if
they’d been square.

 

Shoulder presses
are old hat to me, though I felt a little feeble after my renegade rolls. And I was able to work through
three sets of side and glute bridges, which are basically modified planks. Weighted squats (I used a 40-pound dumbbell) are just plain killers for me,
and tricep extensions — especially while standing — always leave me pining for
more leisurely pursuits. But nothing sends me reeling like any type of lunge
activity
. I like to think it says something about my tranquil nature that I
avoid lunging at all costs, but
anyone who happened to catch a glimpse of me wobbling all over my mat would’ve
simply concluded that I have a no sense of balance. And they would be correct.

 

I have enough
difficulty remaining upright while lunging without any weights in my hands, but
put a couple of 25-pound dumbbells in my mitts and I’m all over the place.
(Note to self: Yoga might be a good idea.) And I’m not making excuses, but by
this time the aforementioned big toe is not at all happy with its surroundings and
I’m wondering whether I may need an emergency pedicure by the time I rip these
stupid anti-shoes from my oppressed feet.

 

Still, it’s a
helluva workout I’ve just completed, and I’m feeling jazzed enough to crank out
a couple sets of one-legged pushups before heading back to the locker room to
liberate my toes.

 

This all brought
up an interesting question for me that had nothing to do with pedicures: Is
this sort of programmed, non-machined and weight-roomed routine a better
workout than what I’ve been doing all these months?

 

To answer that
question, I consciously reverted to my old routine when I hit the gym last
night (with real shoes, BTW): 35 minutes on the EDM followed by a whole bunch
of push-and-pulling on the resistance machinery. The verdict? Get back on the
mats. It’s way more interesting and it’s going to work way more muscle groups
than anything I can do on the machines. Yeah, I’m going to look pretty foolish
from time to time, but what’s new about that? I figure as long as I can wear
real shoes I’m good.

Experience Life Magazine

I Wonder as I Wander







A while back, I
read a quote from His Holiness the Dalai Lama, who was asked something about
what one needs to live a satisfying life. His response: “Routine.” I was
thinking about that last night as I was bouncing from one station to the next at
the gym. I really need to settle on a specific routine rather than wandering
around so aimlessly.

 

It’s not that I
don’t have some idea of a regimen. I always do about 30 minutes of cardio on
the Elliptical Death Machine (I’ve been avoiding the stationary bikes lately
for some unknown reason — oh wait, I know why: They’re even more boring than
the EDM) before descending into The Pit or wandering among the push-pull
machinery. And I almost never
stretch, if almost never doing something can be seen as part of your routine.
And though I always leave the gym feeling more awesomely manly than when I
entered (who doesn’t, right?), lately it feels like I’m not really moving in
any particular direction.

 

Plus, I don’t
like the feeling of standing in front of the dumbbell racks with no real clue
of what I’m going to do next. All around me, gigantic guys in sleeveless shirts
(if you’ve gone to all the trouble of getting a tattoo . . .) are muscling up
impressive poundage as if each particular exercise actually fits into some sort
of plan, and I’m standing there
scratching my head, trying to remember the difference between a Bulgarian Split
Squat and a compound row. The last thing I want to do is imitate what some
freak of nature next to me is doing with those 60-pound dumbbells or
impulsively slap a bunch of iron on a barbell and find myself hideously
overmatched.

 

Several months
ago, I had a pretty decent free-weights routine going: barbell squats, dead
lifts, bench presses, tricep extensions, bicep curls, and overhead dumbbell
presses. But the barbell squats killed my knees, the deadlifts hurt my back,
and one gracious P.T. suggested maybe I should modify my approach for the good
of my overall longevity. She was right, of course, because I’m still alive, but
I’ve been kind of lost in the wilderness since then.

 

I could seek out
one of the other kind P.T.s (she’s since moved on) for advice, but that’s not
really the cut of my jib. I like to figure things out for myself, especially
when it comes to endeavors such as gym wandering, during which I prefer to stay
under the public radar (yes, I know, I’m writing a blog about it, but try to
ignore the incongruity; if I can, so can you). Besides, I have hundreds of
articles about workouts in the magazine’s archives I can draw upon, if I so
choose. But then, of course, who wants to wander around the gym carrying some
Xeroxed pages from the magazine? Where would I put them while I do my Bulgarian
Split Squats? And who’s to say I could accomplish even a poor rendition of a
Bulgarian Split Squat?

 

Anyway, you get
my drift: In order to do something different at the gym, I need to arm myself
with some new information — and then actually follow those directions. It’s a
tall order for a guy who’s sort of come to the realization that the biggest
draw at the gym is its flat-screen TVs–where else can I catch The Biggest Loser or Sports Center? The only TV at my place
is controlled by my 22-year-old daughter, and I pity the fool who gets up in
her grill while she’s watching Numbers.
But, maybe it’s time to push the envelope a little. I’ve got nothing to lose
but my self-respect.

Experience Life Magazine

Questions and Intentions







I’ve been having
a little trouble getting to the gym lately, so a recent article in Science Daily that delved into the
mysteries of motivation caught my attention. The piece describes some
interesting new research at the University of Illinois that suggests we should
be asking ourselves whether we’re
going to get something done rather than telling
ourselves to do it.

 

“The popular
idea is that self-affirmations enhance people’s ability to meet their goals,” said
Professor Dolores Albarracin. “It seems, however, that when it comes to
performing a specific behavior, asking questions is a more promising way of achieving
your objectives.”

 

In other words,
when I got ready for work this morning I’d be more likely to squeeze in a
workout after work if I questioned my ability to do so. At least that’s what
the research indicates. You can read all about it here. That’s not how I tend
to operate, though – at least not consciously. Take this morning, for instance.
I had a good night’s sleep and woke up feeling like I could conquer the world,
so I’m thinking, Hey, why not squeeze in
a workout tonight?
– which is different from thinking, Geeze, am I ever going to get to the gym again? and also not quite
the same as, By golly, I’m really going
to go to the gym tonight!

 

While the U of I
researchers found that questioning one’s ability to achieve a goal rather than stating their intentions was more
likely to spur their study subjects to positive action, my approach this morning when I stuffed my gear into my backpack
sort of falls into a gray area between declaration and doubt. It’s more like a
vague intention than anything else. And maybe that means I could get waylaid
between my office and the locker room by the slightest distraction, like an
invitation from My Lovely Wife to meet her at our local bistro right after work.

 

Which raises an
interesting point: When was the last time I went to the gym without letting MLW
know what was up? And was that in the form of a question or an assertion? This
morning, it was simply an announcement: Hey,
I’m going to hit the gym after work.
Does that make it less likely that
I’ll actually follow through? Should I call her and ask permission as a way to fuel
my motivation? Should I suddenly begin pretending
to doubt my own intentions so I’ll be able to fight off any inertia (that
doesn’t seem to be weighing on me at this moment) and go work out like I have
every intention of doing anyway?

 

That ought to be
enough questions to get me through several workouts.