a brief interlude

I will write and publish "part the second" at some point but meanwhile I want to explain the private joke in part the first *and* brighten your Monday with pictures of a hot guy. Because, y'know, full service blog n' all. Okay, if you are one of my hetero male or gay female readers, maybe pictures of a hot guy aren't going to make your Monday any sunnier. Semi full service blog. God.

Mikey Lowell.  Who is Mikey Lowell? Well, he's the former Red Sox third baseman known to the rest of the world as Mike Lowell.  And though I always think of, and refer to him, as Cuban, the unimpeachable sorce of all knowledge which is wikipedia informs me that though his parents were from Cuba, Mr Lowell himself was born in Puerto Rico and has always considered himself as Puerto Rican. That's me told, then.

A few years ago, a friend of mine was discussing some new seats the Red Sox were putting in on the third base side of the park and the exorbitant price they were going to charge for said seats.  Being me, I said, "Pffft. I would only pay that for baseball tickets if they included Mike Lowell performing cunnilingus on me in-between innings" and a private joke was born. Let me make clear, before that conversation I had no particular sexual fantasies about Mr Lowell. He was one of my favorite Sox players and a good-looking gentleman, but he only got drawn into my little sex joke because those seats were on the third base side and so was he.  (Imagine if the seats had been in right field. I could have made that joke about J.D. "Nancy" Drew. It's too horrible to contemplate.)  As time went on, however, and the joking reference was perpetuated amongst certain of my friends,  I indeed started thinking of Mikey with lustful intent and he became one of my celebrity boyfriends.  (Oh, hush. You know you have a list of celebs you would do, no questions asked, if the chance arose.) I also started calling him Mikey for reasons that are unclear. Lulz.

Anyway, here are some pictures so you can see what we're dealing with here.

Smirking.

Bro hug of happiness.

Holding a trophy.

Glamor shot.

Admit it, you'd do him.

Oh, alright, here's his beautiful wife. Fine.

And just to prove that some things improve with age like fine wine:

Young Mikey Lowell was kinda geeky looking. He needed the salt-and-pepper goatee to fully come into his shmexiness.  (Hetero male readers, is that cheering YOU up? Ahem.)

xoxo

"i just wanna hit shiz. and possibly people." part the first

Big doings in the malevolent andrea/Bitty Bro world, kids.  No secret I haven't been getting to the gym much of late.  Part of this is that I've mostly been working six days a week at two different jobs, both with horrible to semi-horrible commutes, for the past almost-three months.  Excuses, excuses, right?  Time was, I'd have made it to the gym even so. But I seemed to have lost my mojo.

Being an analytical sort, I carefully sat down the other day and considered just why that might be.  Part of it is that my gym (which was extremely conveniently located to my OLD job) is now in the opposite direction of my two new jobs. I'm simply never in the neighborhood anymore and if I have to go past my house to get there after a 12 hour day, you know I'ma end up on the couch, not the weight floor.  Secondly, there's the fact that after my surgery last year, I was never able to completely get all my strength back.  Oh, I got back to my previous weights on some lifts and close on others, but I certainly wasn't smashing PRs.  Since what I enjoy most about lifting is/was feeling strong and badass, this took some of the joy out of it.  Thirdly, the new gym management that started busting me for squatting barefoot and otherwise enforcing other heretofore not-enforced petty gym rules also took some of the joy out of it.  Time was, that ghetto Y felt like home to me. Then suddenly it didn't.

With all these extremely important insights (lulz) in mind, I made two decisions. First, that I just have to find someplace closer to my two new jobs to work out and, second, that I have to find something that's a new challenge, something that's gonna reignite my passion. (Because you know I think working out is supposed to be fun, not some grim chore you grit your teeth through.)  And thus I started googling.

My first thought was crossfit. Now, in some circles in which I hang, crossfit is roundly mocked. Sometimes for good or semi-good reasons: kipping, Paleo diet cultism, cultism in general, badly coached Oly lifts leading to spinal injury, etc.  Sometimes for no good reason: "we're just better than you are, nyah nyah."  I was willing to look past the kipping and the Paleo diet. Besides, one of my online weightlifting pals switched to crossfit and she still looks awesome and is strong as boool.  Mr Google found me a crossfit "box" walking distance from one of my jobs and a stone's throw from Fenway Park.  It costs $270 A MONTH. See, kids, that's two weeks worth of groceries or a freaking car payment or, in laymen's terms, more fuckin' money than anyone should pay to go to the gym EVAH unless it includes Mikey Lowell showing up nekkid to "coach" you. Next!  (There were more reasonably priced, if still expensive, crossfit boxes on google, but none of them were convenient enough in location to make them irresistible.  So, next!)

What else have you always wanted to do, Andrea? I asked myself. What other fitness endeavor would a.) make you feel strong and badass and b.) is something that you would have been too shy, unsure of yourself, and intimidated to try when you were a young woman?

Well, kids, as I expressed it to my friends...I just wanna hit shiz. And possibly people.

I googled some martial arts type places, but I knew, from my son having taken kenpo karate for several years as a kid, that that wasn't exactly what I was looking for. The whole belt system...taking tests, being judged and graded...just not what I wanted in my workout.  I respect that and I think it's awesome in instilling discipline etc etc in kids (or other people that have a problem in that area) but my whole life is awash in self-discipline.  I know all about hard work, delayed gratification, working towards a goal, blah blah fucking blah. I don't need that in my gym life. I just wanna hit shiz. And possibly people.

Mr Google provided me a boxing gym.  A boxing gym with something like 40% female members and testimonials from Shawn Thornton, the Phantom Gourmet guy, and a few Red Sox wives.  Including Mrs Mikey Lowell. (Who, obvs, must be a former, not current, member since they live in Florida now, but how is that not fate?  Apart from the fact that I'm a few years too late to punch her in the head and yell "I want your hot Cuban husband, bitch!"  Kidding, kidding.  I'm willing to share.)  Where was I?  Oh, yeah, said gym is also a little over a mile walking distance from one of my jobs and a reasonable T ride from the other.  My only sticking point was the fact that nowhere on their beautifully designed website was there any indication of how much it cost.  I could only imagine that it might be even more than the $270 crossfit place. After all, Shawn Thornton, Mrs Mikey Lowell, and the Phantom Gourmet guy aren't exactly the kind of clientele one runs into at the Ghetto Y. Nevertheless, I signed up for my free introductory lesson...

TO BE CONTINUED

donut? blunt object or not?

Oh, hi. Still alive.  Have had things to say but no time to say them, and then when I do have time, I've forgotten what I was all excited and/or irritated about. Today, however, my irritation is fresh in mind and thanks to the miracle of free wifi on the MBTA commuter rail, you get to hear about it.  Say "thank you, MBTA!"  Note: if you live in Boston, that will probably be the first, last, and only time you utter that sentence. Ahem.

I'm kind of stumped on a title here. I'd like to go with Oh, Fuck You, but y'know, I hate to show up with blatant profanity when nice people have me in their blog rolls. So we'll see what shows up up top by the time I press "publish."

What's got you pissed off THIS time, Andrea? you ask. Well, kids, here's the thing.  In the last couple days I've read more than one person saying, either of their own volition, or in repeating what their coach or trainer has told them, or what some well known fitness model/figure competitor has said in an interview that "a bulk is no excuse to get fat or eat whatever crap you want."  My gut reaction to that? See profanity above. But, no. To put a finer point on it, my reaction is no one needs an excuse to get fat.  Getting fat is not a crime, a faux pas, a lapse in etiquette or judgment, a moral failing, whatever. It doesn't need to be excused. One doesn't need forgiveness or permission.  Having more adipose on one's body than these fitness models, trainers, or gym rats think is acceptable is not your problem.  You wanna gain 25lbs on your bulk, that's your business, kids. And whether you choose to take off some of that adipose with a diet afterwards or not, and how aggressively you do or do not do that, well, that's your business too, kids.

We won't even go into what I think about people deciding what you have their permission to eat or not?  Hint: if you're not my mother and I'm not under the age of 12, shut the fuck up about it.  Or I'll throw a donut at you.   A stale one, so it hurts.

Those don't look stale, they look effin' awesome.  Just saying.

xoxo

don't believe your eyes + a NEW gym complaint

First of all, an oldie but a goodie.

Next time you get depressed because you're comparing yourself to the people in the supplement ads/fitspo or because you've been working out faithfully for 8 whole weeks yet you don't look like those success stories you see online or in the infomercials or because you've been taking progress pictures in your underwear with your cell phone camera in your poorly lit bedroom and you just look at them and go "meh", think of this video and realize real life and bullshit are two different things.

Now, on to gym complaining.

Those, people, are gym towels.  At my gym, you ask the nice person at the front desk for one and they'll happily hand one over.  Once you have this rectangle of white terrycloth in your possession, you can do several things with it. You can put it on a bench or machine you are using to absorb your sweat. That's a good thing.  You can lay it down on the mat you are stretching on, because lord knows how often the gym cleans those things.  That is also a good thing.

Or you can use it for its most traditional function: you can use it to dry yourself off after going in the pool or taking a shower.  Why, yes, it will soak up the H2O clinging to your body. There's no need to walk about the bathroom area of the locker room letting yourself air dry and leaving quarter inch deep puddles of water on the floors of the stalls or in front of the sinks for other people to step in and for the gym employees to have to wipe up.  Grrrrrr.  Dry your goddamn feet and legs off, bitches, and don't drip everywhere. Do you do that in your bathroom at home?  I doubt it.

Okay, I feel better now. Venting about rude people is so therapeutic.

xoxo

the gospel according to Bitty Bro

In our last installment, I said "I have this issue where I will initially believe whoever the latest internet guru is, then start questioning why their advice is any better than any of the past internet gurus' (contradictory) advice, then I just end up doing what the fuck ever I want to do anyway."  (Quoting oneself--first sign of being a douche?)

This got me thinking. I do however have a few firm beliefs about diet/exercise/the human body that I have stuck with for at least a few years and from which I cannot be swayed, evidence or not to the contrary. Want to know what they are?

1.) Stretching your fascia is much more important than stretching your muscles. Think about it. Your muscles are shrink-wrapped in fascia. You can stretch them all you like, but if the fascia around them is restricted, they ain't going anywhere. This is why I am such a big proponent of stuff like myofascial massage, yin yoga, and foam rolling. Happy fascia means a more pain-free body.

2.) As topical anti-inflammatories go, arnica is the shiz.

3.) NEAT--or rather lack thereof--is why Americans are fat.  I have a friend, a powerlifter, who has a physical job that requires a great deal of walking.  She usually records over 20,000 steps a day on her bodymedia fit and has hit 30,000.  (The average American takes around 5000 a day.)  She also requires well over 3000 calories a day to maintain her weight.  Her always-dieting friends drool with jealousy when she posts up pictures of the, like, entire pizzas she eats, but the fact is, if we were all taking 20,000+ steps a day, we could be eating a lot more calories without weight gain or health consequences.  Unfortunately, a lot of people by necessity or choice or a combination of both live lives where they drive to work, sit at their desks for 8 or 10 hours, drive home, then collapse in exhaustion in front of the tv or computer, lives where they don't have the opportunity to walk for transportation, or would never think of it. Meanwhile, they live in an environment where there is delicious, high-calorie food everywhere. So they are either miserably dieting all the time or they are putting on weight. A lot of public health campaigning seems to hinge on eliminating or resisting the delicious high calorie food. Fuck that. Delicious food (and beer) is delicious. We'd all be better off, physically and mentally, if we were burning enough calories a day that we could eat delicious food unscathed. It's not food that's the enemy, it's the sedentary lifestyles we are either forced into or choose.

4.) However, since most Americans are sedentary, the easiest way to lose weight is to cut the hell out of your carbs.  Carbs are not the devil. When you work out a lot, carbs are actually really necessary and helpful. But if you don't need them to fuel your workouts, you can cut out all/most of the grain-type carbs and lose weight pretty painlessly. Hell, if you actually go keto, you won't even be hungry. And if you're sedentary, fat, and insulin-resistant, it'll even be good for you.

5.) Whatever you do for exercise/fitness is better than doing nothing. You will never see me sneering at "cardio bunnies."  I have mad respect for the 70-something aqua aerobics ladies and the little old guys at the Y who sit on the exercise bikes occasionally pedalling but mostly talking.  I don't mock crossfitters and their kipping.  Run, jog, walk, hike, bike, swim, play soccer, play tennis, play basketball, do Jillian Michaels vids, go to Pilates, go to vinyasa yoga, do Bikram, do MMA...whether or not it's anything I do or would ever do, if you are a physically active person, I respect your efforts to take care of your body in ways that give *you* pleasure.  Anyone who thinks their way is the only way needs to bite me.

And thus spake Bitty Bro.

xoxo

fitness blog frauding

I counted yesterday.  I worked out a whole nine times the month of August and twelve the month of July. This is contrasted with my normal average of eighteen times a month--which only includes weight training, which I track. At times that I've been really working on my fitness, there are sometimes cardio-only or yoga days along with those eighteen weight sessions. Needless to say, neither of those things happened this July or August.  I don't think I've actually been to a yoga class since March and I can't remember the last time I went to the gym for an extra cardio day.

Pitiful.

OTOH, there's something to be said for being a bad example.  Or at least an imperfect one.   Just as I think it does some kind of a service for me to post pictures that make plain that I do *not* look like one of those twenty year old girls with their fitspo tumblrs and perfect cellulite-free asses, it may be a service to say, hey, I value my fitness and I love working out, but sometimes life gets in the way...AND THAT'S OKAY. Working out only 21 times in two months hasn't led to losing all mah gainz.  Working out only 21 times in two months hasn't made my muscles fall off and I can still sprint to catch a bus. (If I'm not wearing flipflops. Damn flipflops.)  Perfect is the enemy of good. Etc etc.  

That's not to say I don't feel better (bettah!) when I'm getting to the gym more often, but that's as much a function of getting to the gym more often equating with more free time and less stress as it is with the actual benefits of exercise.  I think.  Did I just commit heresy?

You know what I'm like.

Meanwhile, I just starting reading (okay, skimming) this book.  I think it's gonna fix all the problems with my body, except, y'know, I don't really want to follow his advice. Lulz.  I don't want to squat without pointing my feet out.  I don't want to refrain from crossing my feet and bending my knees when I do pullups and dips. Waaahhhhhh. It's too hard, mommy.  Anyway, I'm gonna read it all and then I'm gonna see if I can implement at least some of it.  With my documented problems with authority, I have this issue where I will initially believe whoever the latest internet guru is, then start questioning why their advice is any better than any of the past internet gurus' (contradictory) advice, then I just end up doing what the fuck ever I want to do anyway. Which is probably why my hip is killing me on and off lately.  Whatever.  I've made it to the ripe old age of 50 without any knee problems and, despite that previously unrecognized congenital abnormality of the spine that was noted incidentally on my abdominal CT scan last year, no major low back problems, so my pointing-out-y feet can't possibly be fucking me up that badly, can they?  Sigh.

If anyone's actually read and put into practice Supple Leopard yet and/or followed the website, please give me your feedback in comments.  Have you really fixed all your aches and pains and stiffness, and improved your athletic performance?

xoxo

let's talk about old people!

Oh, age. One of my favorite topics to rant about discuss.  I saw a birthday card yesterday (did not buy, because all the birthday cards I buy have either wiseass jokes or cute animals [or both] on them) that posited the question "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?"  Oooo, deep.  See why I didn't purchase it?  Where's the sarcasm value in that?  N E Way, the answer in my case would be, like, 33.  I sorta kinda refuse to believe that I am any older than my mid-30s, all evidence to the contrary.  It's a mild shock every time I look in the mirror and see a tired old lady looking back at me or put my old-lady hands on a younger person's skin and observe the difference.

Mired in self-deception as I am, I am also brought up short when same-age friends actually think of themselves as old. A very good friend recently had to buy a new washer and dryer. The decision was fraught with drama for her because a.) money is tight and b.) she's not good with big purchases anyway. So she was asking me all kinds of questions about whether I was happy with the washer and dryer I bought back in, oh, 2006.  She was particularly interested in whether I liked my front loading washer.  She was a little leery of them...because, maybe, it would be hard to bend over to load and unload as she got older. Wut?  Luckily, she's a very good friend so I didn't have to pull any punches.  Dude, WTF? I asked.  You're buying this washer/dryer in 2013, so that sucker is not gonna last 30 years, and if you're worrying about being able to bend over to unload it ten years from now when you're 61, maybe your efforts would be better expended making sure you stay in shape enough to bend over to unload a washing machine rather than buying appliances that will be easier to use when you're decrepit.  I felt the same way I feel when I see people in their 50s or 60s in online home improvement forums (shut up, it's a vice) who refuse to buy houses or condos with two floors because they don't want to have to go up and down stairs as they get older.  Fuck that.  If I move out of this house, which has three floors including the unfinished basement, I swear I will buy a condo that has more than one story, just so I make sure I'm going up and down flights of stairs every single day of my life till I'm 95 or dead.  Use it or lose it! What do people not understand about that?

You'll be happy to know my friend saw my POV. She admitted that maybe she was overly influenced by all her elderly neighbors in her condo complex and that she probably ought to talk to younger people more often, hahaha.

^^^ That's the face I see when I look in the mirror these days, but damn, I can unload my washing machine and run up the freaking stairs.

Meanwhile in another online forum, someone made a tangential remark that BMI was actually well-correlated with health in younger women but not older women.  Tell me more! I said. But the commenter did not come back. Another poster took it upon herself to look it up for us, and apparently, in women over 60, BMIs over 25 are actually recommended.  Further research seemed to indicate that fatter old women are less likely to break a hip.  BRB, I said, on ten year bulk...  But it led to an interesting discussion.  Okay, maybe you're less likely to break a hip if you're overweight, but what about the health consequences of abdominal fat, which post-menopausal women are more likely to have?  And can it possibly be good to suddenly put on a bunch of weight in your late 50s/early 60s just to get over that BMI 25 mark, if you've been sitting at 20 or 22 before that?  And how does having more muscle mass and a superior body composition to the average over-60 sedentary person effect any of this?  That last question seems crucial to me.  What is the population of the women in these studies?  I'm betting they draw more from the pool who are afraid to bend over to get their pants out of the laundry than the minority who are still running up the stairs.

In summary, blah blah blah.  Wear your sunscreen and use eye cream every day, kids, or you'll look like me and lolcat.  And remember to keep the door of your front loader open so it doesn't get stinky in there.

xoxo