Today I warmed up using the BOSU ball as a wobble board, jumping on and off and doing step-ups with hip flexion, then plyometrics with jump rope, Ski Drill Planks, Walking Plank and power squats, taking 30 second break between each sequence. 

Then I worked my back on the free weights and machines - First, bench-style bent-forward lawn mowers in 5 pyramid sets with 40 lbs, a seated erector pull-down at 75, four sets of seated lat raises (in each of the four lift positions at 45 lbs each side). During longer rest periods I did the heavy rope in deep squat position to work my arms and lower back while standing on the wobble side of the BOSU.

To finish out I did bicycles and supermans on the soft side of the BOSU, giving my back a nice static stretch and cool down.

Tomorrow it's a bit of cardio followed by focus on the Gluteus Maximus, including:

Running Plank
Side Leg Raises
Backward Leg Curl-ups
Side Lunges
Forward / Backward Lunge
Ball Squats
Bridges (floor)
Cross-Leg Bridges
On the Ball Hip Lift
On the Ball Leg Lift
Dirty Dogs

Yoga Pose Cool down

Outdoors: Into the Gym

Outdoor, fair-weather running was my first and exclusive aerobic passion, and I enjoyed doing it for up to seven miles per run, five days a week. I luxuriated in the mental vastness I could enjoy on the outdoor trek, and each day there was something visually stunning to behold - Virga formations in the sky, the shadow of a hawk across the ground, the blaze of a sunset through spring trees, a fluttering mass of tiny yellow butterflies, a deer stepping out from a wooded stretch of road, or swirling snake tracks in the dirt through which I was striding. However, because the weather at times drove me indoors, and because the clay of Michigan back roads found my knees barking, I had to resort to the indoor version of running.

Crossing over to fitness machines was not something I was completely comfortable with - the treadmill was my logical choice at first, but I felt intimidated by a certain loss of control - would it be safe to run on such a machine at high speeds? Was it possible I might catch my shoe on the edge of the conveyor and fall?

As I eased cautiously into the activity, I watched how others handled high speed-stopping, an untied shoe, interruptions, or pushing a lot of buttons while going like a felon on a getaway. Some people seemed to do it while being able to check football scores, text and talk to the person next to them at the same time. Others just surged into the body mantra of forward motion, breathed and perspired, staring straight ahead. I did have a few mishaps (where I sprayed myself with my water bottle or caught the tread of my shoe on the edge of the spinning treadmill band), but over time I began to feel that utilizing the machines might help me to stay at a steady pace consistently - I realized that in using such machines I could mark my improvement, and of course the surface of the treadmill was more cushioned than the hard-packed clay and asphalt I had become accustomed to.

About a year into my indoor fitness endeavors, I had worked in the recumbent bike, the elliptical, the treadmill, the cycle, the spinning bike and the stair stepper into my rotation of aerobic workouts. I happened to be in the row of elliptical machines just behind the treadmills when a personal trainer and his new client approached the treadmill just ahead of me. I watched the client's reaction to the machine - her shoulders dropped back, her expression hollowed, and she swallowed hard.
"I've never used one of these before," she said with trepidation. She stepped onto the conveyor hesitantly, and the trainer guided her through the mechanisms and buttons that adjusted the speeds and levels of the machine. She held on to the handrails with a vice grip at first, walking slowly for a while until some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. At last she worked her way up to a quicker stride, with the trainer beside her urging her on positively throughout. It took me back to the moment I had experienced such uncertainty and newness, but watching the professional assisting the woman, I also felt the first telltale twinge of desire to become a personal trainer.

Activities I Enjoy

While I'll try almost anything athletic, I do have some favorite activities

Beach Frisbee / Beach running
Distance Cycling
Stand Up Paddle
Windsurfing
Rafting
Balance (Wobble Board) Routine / BOSU
Tennis / Badminton
Kayaking
Disc Golf
River Fishing
Weightlifting / Bodybuilding
Heavy Rope / Medicine Ball
Boxing
Yoga
Ultimate Frisbee
Jump Rope
Endurance Running
Hang Gliding
Mountaing Hiking / Mountain Biking
Snowboarding


 

An Odd Philosophy: "If it hurts, go in anyway, and work it out."

Inevitably, as a fitness enthusiast or active individual of any kind, you're going to hurt yourself; an avid, veteran windsurfer friend of mine pulled a groin muscle water skiing. Several of my Ultimate Frisbee teammates sustained various leg injuries in a single game. A seasoned weight-lifting buddy pulled his trapezius playing disc golf. As I trained for a half-marathon I pulled my sartorius.

I've often heard of people sustaining injuries that are far more slight who then take a long hiatus. For example, "My wrist was sore, so I didn't work out at all for a month." Then there are those of us who show up at the gym even though the tornado sirens are going off, quarter-sized hail is pelting the gym roof, and there's crazy purple lightning in the apocalyptic sky...

Early on in my fitness development, I was often guilty of overtraining, or stressing my joints and systems too hard with cardio sessions that were too long and too intense (doing the stair stepper for 70 minutes at level 20 regularly, for example). Not knowing the importance of slow, precise repetitions during weightlifting, I powered through some exercises like the Energizer Bunny. Consequently, I developed some 'creptius', the creaking, cracking or grinding noise you occasionally hear in your joints. Since cartilage doesn't have pain sensors, the crackling and popping didn't hurt, but I could tell that something was 'off' in the rotation of my shoulder or the bend of my knee.

Occasionally I did have discomfort beyond that of my usual recovery soreness - I 'pulled' something, and all the muscles around the affected area were feeling displaced. I did apply heat and ice just as I should, but from the very beginning I felt that there might be a way to undo whatever minor damage I'd done. For example, when I pulled a muscle in my back, I used a third to half of my usual weight for a back exercise and slowly, carefully worked the affected area. I *only* did this if it wasn't physically painful - *only* if it was uncomfortable, sore or 'feeling displaced'. In every instance, if I followed the rule of working out the affected area with care, deliberate slowness and much less weight, by the end of my training session the area felt warm, lubricated and more resolved. And I went home with the discomfort feeling markedly reduced - sometimes even eliminated. This may be, in part, a result of the natural chemicals our bodies release as we exert ourselves, but long after the endorphins of the workout assuaged, I still felt better.

In another instance, I have long been a sufferer of migraines. For me the condition is likely genetic, since my mother had the same crippling sort of headaches. Being healthy in almost every other respect, I was frustrated that at times a raging migraine would hit, confine me to a dark room, leaving me nauseous and motionless.
After the holiday season had gone into full swing last year, a former Boston College running-back and dear friend of mine asked me how I'd enjoyed my Thanksgiving.
"Oh, I was home in bed," I shrugged. "Migraine."
"Oh, if I have a migraine, I just come here." We were in the gym, of course.
I must have looked at him like he was from Jupiter, and immediately counted him off as insane. However, the next time I felt the trademark flimmering of lights in my peripheral vision (one of the precursors to a migraine), I was actually on my way to the gym for a workout. I chose an activity that would leave me stationary and stable (the cycle) and proceeded to kick back the migraine with a simple workout. I apologized to my friend later for thinking him crazy, and have since beaten off or diminished at least ten migraines with the simple 'go in anyway' attitude.

Reps (Repititions) and Sets

While I've heard of (and observed) a real variety of approaches to repetition and set in a fitness environment, for myself I have found the following three disciplines most useful in weight training:

1) The ascension set - increasing weight with the same number of reps in a series of three to six sets, or increasing the number of reps with the same amount of weight throughout.

2) The pyramid - an ascending and then descending number of reps in a series of sets, for example; bench press at 8 reps, 10 reps, 12 reps, 10 reps, 8 reps.

3) The fail system - doing as many as I can until I can't do any more repetitions. 
 
Having been confused as the personal trainer often in the gym a) because I'm so interactive and b) because I'm there so often, people frequently ask me how many reps or sets they should do, and I always tell them that this depends on what their ultimate goal is in training. While this sounds like an attempt at deflection to avoid giving a longer answer, there is a method behind it. 

As I have come to understand it, heavy weights at low reps produce a larger, more explosive muscle. The actual tears (or traumas) in the muscle are larger, creating the visible bulge that has made so many bodybuilders famous. However, smaller weights at lower reps produces more finite tears in the muscle fiber, and therefore yeilds a leaner muscle. With this in mind, I tend to do a lower weight for most training purposes, with reps in the 12 to 15 range, with three to four sets for each muscle group in my training sessions.

Women seeking to tone and trim their figure, or women wishing to do muscle sculpting to increase definition should follow this rep and set frequency.

Men wishing to do the same may do so at higher weight ratios, since most men have a greater upper body strength than women. 

Men and women wishing to bulk up skeletal muscle can do as few as 3 set of 3 reps or 5 sets of 5 reps. The key in my experience is to assess your level of fatigue and recovery after each session, and to watch the visible effects that will undoubtedly reveal themselves in your muscular definition.



 

 

The 7 Laws of Training, as Explained by the International Sports Science Association

First is the Principle of Individuals, which simply presents the idea that if a hundred people tried the same training program, each one of these hundred people would respond differently. I subscribe to the belief that a person's environment, attitude, mood at the moment, their diet in the past week, their current stress level, and their physical ability all play into the applications of this theory.

Second is the Overcompensation Principle is based on stress response, and is described as 'nothing more than a survival mechanism' programed into our human genetic code.

The Overload Principle is one that I have integrated into my own weightlifting regiments; I began training at home years ago, for example, using hand weights for rowing exercises that were three pounds. Now I use 40 pound weights for the same exercise. I have hit upon periods of plateau when applying this principle, but by integrating new programs and provoking muscle confusion, I have found I can surmount the athletic obstacle.

The SAID Principle (which stands for Specific Adaptation to Imposed Demands) is rather uncompromising, focusing on one training objective at a time. It is theorized that such training in one area will affect abilities in other areas (example: focus on aerobic fitness will diminish strength in anaerobic fitness).

The USE / DISUSE Principle is comprised of a stress / rest approach, where hypertrophy and atrophy occur in trained and 'detrained' muscles. The detraining effect has demonstrated what is called 'the law of reversibility', where muscle memory will allow you to retrain and regain skeletal muscle more quickly after detraining.

The Specificity Principle involves both neuromuscular adaptations and technique functionality. Basically, if you are training for a marathon, you focus on endurance running, rather than cycling or the stair stepper.

The GAS (or General Adaptive) Principle is made up of three stages; the 'alarm' stage, the 'resistance' stage and the 'exhaustion stage'. The General Adaptive Principle suggests that there should be periods of high-intensity training followed by low-intensity periods of training. The stress of high-intensity is traumatic, and the lower-intensity period allows your muscles to heal. While some athletes and trainers have expressed that the law of reversibility (from the USE / DISUSE Principle) creates undesirable atrophy within the General Adaptive Principle. However, I believe that by developing a consistent training schedule, with the proper frequency and with short periods of rest, progress can still be observed.

There are myriads of other Systems at work in the fitness world today, including:

The POF (or Positions of Flexion) (hitting a muscle from three positions creating a full range of motion)

HIT, High Intensity Training 
A. Superslow
B. Heavy Duty

Body Contract Training

Bulgarian Power Burst Training

Hardgainers System

Supersquats

Bigger, Faster, Stronger

I have had some experience with many of the above programs, and currently I *loosely* follow the schedule below: I use the term 'loosely' because I will adapt the schedule as my body communicates its needs throughout a given week of training. For example, if I try a new squats routine for my legs workout on Wednesday and I'm due for a hard cardio (which involves my legs) on Thursday, I'll do an arms workout on Thursday instead, and give my legs a day of rest.

Monday: 10 -15 minute cardio, Chest and Abs
Tuesday: 30 - 45 minutes cardio, stair stepper, level 16
Wednesday: 10 - 15 minutes cardio, Back and Shoulders
Thursday: 30 - 45 minute cardio, cycle, interval training from level 10 to level 20
Friday: 10 - 15 minutes cardio, Arms and Abs
Saturday: Rest Day
Sunday: 10 - 15 minutes cardio, Back
Monday: 10 - 15 minutes cardio, Legs and Abs
Tuesday: 30 - 45 minutes cardio, Stair Climber
Wednesday: 10 minutes cardio, Chest and Abs 
Thursday: 15 minutes cardio, Legs and Balance Routine
and so on...

The biggest rut I've seen athletes get into is the comfort zone. If you just go through the motions of a program and don't integrate other things into it, your body adapts and you hit a plateau. I find I naturally cycle through favorite workouts and exercises, and after a while I phase them out or put them on the shelf for a while. 

 

My Personal Supplements List

For any person with an active lifestyle, supplementation is of incredible importance. As a woman of 38, as a body builder, and as a vegetarian, I have to follow a strict and consistent supplementation schedule. First, I have to be sure to ingest 60 to 75 grams of protein within the 16 wakeful hours of the day. A significant percentage of this protein is derived from:

Pea Protein, by Now Foods  24g per serving
Whey Protein Isolate, by Biochem - 20g per serving
Pumpkin Seed Protein Powder, Omega Nutrition - 18g per serving

Other daily supplementation includes:

Flax Seed Oil, Tablets - for Omega 3
Gingko Biloba - promotes peripheral blood flow, increases cellular glucose
Green Tea Antioxidant - scavenges free radicals
Bilberry - an excellent anti-inflammatory  
Vitamin D3 - as a preventative against osteoporosis, for neural health 
Chelated Iron - to regulate iron levels in vegetarian diet and female hormonal fluctuation
White Willow Bark - a natural alternative to Asprin
BCAAs, by USPLabs - for faster recovery and to aid in post workout recovery soreness

I also take a chewable Elderberry and Zinc tablet to boost immunity (or if I'm in the presence of others with an illness). If I'm feeling under the weather I also take Beta 1,3/1,6-D-Glucan in 100mg capsules, enhanced with Astragalus Root (all products available from NOW Foods).

Early On

Tessmer Road

The fresh, misted and heavenly mornings found me trotting dutifully down the winding clay back roads of Southeastern Michigan, past cheery old barns and through tree-lined swells of greenly fragrant landscape. I ran nearly every day, taking multiple routes and varying the length of each exertion. I absorbed the visual and sensory banquets of each new turn in the road, but soon found a favorite routine and locked into the joy of it.

Tessmer Road was a clay farmstead route on the far west side, often dotted with deer tracks and swept with hawk shadows. I loved the laughing of the crows and the infrequent motorists. The pleasing, mysteriously sinuous ghost shapes of little ground snakes wound through the soft dirt. Evening exertions revealed the bright, iridescent burn of sun dogs flanking the descending sun as its fierce blaze cut through high cirrus. Butterflies hovered in astounding, fluttering masses over breadths of nodding grass, and the little winged creatures engaged with me in a sort of curious dance as I surged along through them. Deer stepped out of the woods flanking the road, their antlers winking with dew, and their eyes huge, knowing and spiritual. The leaves and the branches stretched out in a canopy overhead, and the sky seemed to throw open an embrace into which I ascended, my spirit aching with a sort of overflow that clicked me into place with a great, ancient host of energies. Insects whirred in golden beams of light fractured by the stark up-reaching branches. Flowers blazed, and dazzling, pungent perfumes hung on the air. My breath and my body became a steady mantra, a forward rhythm that poured along faster and faster beneath the trees, past the quaint, sprawling homesteads. The oddly pleasant odor of horse manure, the broad, enveloping brow of the sky, and the climb and fall of the hills pulled me onward. The wind laced itself around me, and as my pores seeped sweat, I found I craved the cool, centering sensation of my skin against the air.

How it Began

Miles

It all began because of a dog, really; a little Jack Russell-Chihuahua named Miles. I was 35 years old and living quite contentedly in a Victorian-era historic farmhouse on Knight Road, on the westerly borders of Ann Arbor, Michigan.

The original hardwood floors echoed the many lives the structure had lived, and the high walls and sweeping doorways held in their histories a deeply positive, luminous energy. The original staircase at the forward foyer ached and groaned, but the beautiful dark wood of the stairs was a joy to feel underfoot. The grounds were in excess of seven acres, surrounded by a density of wild trees, and the sky was prone to the most stunning sunrises and sunsets I had ever experienced. Sandhill cranes stopped off in surprising numbers in the fields to the east, Coopers hawks wheeled in the breadth, and dragonflies spun in stunning swarms at dusk. Deer grazed by the dozens beneath my bedroom window in the misty mornings, and crows brayed bold and beautiful from the roof of the big red barn behind the house.

I shared the place with several people; a car salesman, a master carpenter, a waiter, and a medical records professional. The rumble of a Harley Davidson shook the garage and everything else on Sundays and any day it was reasonable to ride. Sometimes the thunder of six or seven motorcycles gathered in the driveway, and every window trembled in its pane. Grandchildren visited a few times a week, and kept the place jovial. There were animals as well, a decidedly aloof, moody Calico named Belle, and a rutted old sage of an English Bulldog named Buster. My housemates had a broad, pleasant and stable network of friends, and many of these folks had pets as we did. So occasionally, animals from other households came to us for looking after while their people went abroad.

The little Jack Russell-Chihuahua wasn't too sure about his abrupt change of surroundings, and he growled as ferociously as he could from the safety of the crate he had arrived in. But I instantly loved the little creature, and gradually worked my way closer to him, leaving a treat I knew he couldn't resist nearer and nearer to his nose. When at last he snapped up the morsel from my fingers, his little eyes clicked up to me. His flanks shivered hard, but his whip tail swung, curious. I opened the crate, and encouraged him to come out. He did.

First, I took him out the sun room door in my arms and let him run in the fenced pasture beside the barn, realizing quickly that Miles was essentially a coiled spring coated in fur. He never stopped moving, and in his smallness and quickness he found a gap in the fence, and I nearly lost him. I was out of shape, but my legs carried me along after him fast enough to snatch him up from the ditch beneath the willows along the roadside. The first proper walk on a leash proved that 'Miles' was indeed a good name for the little pooch, but, as I raced along breathless after him, the thought occurred to me that 'Dash' might have been a more suitable moniker.

I had never been what I would call 'athletic' in my life, and by the time we huffed it back to the house, it crossed my mind that I should perhaps be writing my last will and testament - I felt, truly, as if I was about to expire, and we'd only run a mile, maybe less. But my adoration for the little dog found me breezing out the door with him again and again, until we were doing a steady four walks a day, and going further and further each time. As I watched him bounce along on the roadside ahead of me, his tongue lolling and his sweet spirit bright, my feet came along with a quickness that felt oddly satisfying. I liked to run too. My lungs flashed with the fresh air. My heart beat its merry little drum in my chest. I was sore afterward, and my calves burned, and the soles of my shoes seemed to be smoking, but as Miles wagged his tail, I could only think of going out into the sunshine again, and off we went.

I began to look forward to the deep, cleansing inhales required to exert my little friend, and began to enjoy the way my body exalted the effort it took. By the time Miles went home to his family again, he and I had gone quite a few miles indeed. I ached to see him go, knowing that I would always remember the brief and affectionate time we'd been friends. Even though his leash was no longer hung by the door, and even though I no longer had to make those four journeys a day, I found myself craving the quickness of motion, remembering the pull of wind around my body, and seeking the flashing, rhythmic surges of energy that fired off in my muscles as I ran. I realized that in just a few short weeks, something completely unexpected, exciting and life-altering had been set in motion.

From then on, running became a daily ritual, and, being very early spring in the Midwest, the air kept to a chill. But the juxtaposition of the cold air against my happy heat was a bliss. My breath raced in faint, swirling vapors as I exhaled, and my feet felt sure and strong beneath me. I extended the lengths of my runs quickly, surprised to discover that in very little time I was covering a startling distance. As I left for work in the morning, or when I came home in the afternoon, I found myself smiling at my vacant Filas where they lay in wait by the door. They were an integral part of something that I was swiftly falling in love with - something difficult but rewarding, that I had begun to crave.

Then one day, the broad, sweeping calm of the sky that usually unfurled itself over the rooftop looked surly and ominous, and raced with scudded bands of heavy cloud. Rain fell in diagonal shrouds beyond the budding trees in the west, and a disconcerting crackle of thunder severed the stillness. I pulled on my running pants and picked up my shoes. It was time to run. No excuses. Then, as I flowed along in air heavy with the scent of an oncoming storm, I envisioned myself beneath a tree, which suddenly took a searing hit of lightning. I realized that I would have to come up with an alternate plan.

The closest gym was an Anytime Fitness, which I was familiar with because it shared a parking lot with a Whole Foods knock-off called Plum Market, where I frequently bought organic apples, overpriced coffee and 'natural' toothpaste. There was also the thrift store I frequented for toe socks, flip flops and the occasional sweater. The gym was in the far corner, across from a Chinese restaurant called Panda House. Ben, a youngster made of abs and biceps, quads and calves, with a brief crash of curly black hair on top, met me with a smile as I came in through the door.

After a quick glance at the equipment I was signing up, explaining that I was a runner - well, at least I had been for the past few months - Ben was enthusiastic, and I appreciated the general energy I received from the folks who were pounding the treadmill, spinning the recumbent or hefting up the weights at the rear. I was satisfied, knowing that I had an out whenever thunder struck.