Iron

For a good portion of my life I’ve been lifting weights. Now, I’m not bulky or muscle-bound by any stretch of the imagination, but that’s not really why I lift. Yeah, the increased muscle mass, no matter how hidden under fat, increases my resting metabolism, which enables me to eat more (though increasing age is chipping away at this). Yeah, it’s a good stress reliever, especially as I’m gritting my teeth banging out the final reps of a set. But what I like about it most is the confidence it instills in me.

My father was a math teacher and a high-school football coach. When I was about eleven or twelve, he took me and my brother down into the basement and taught us how to lift. He would sit there, spotting us, nodding approval or correcting mistakes in form immediately, as we went through a half-dozen or so exercises. When we were done, we’d parade upstairs and (at my father’s command) flex in front of my mother, who ooh’d and aah’d with pride. That felt foolish to me, but a lingering feeling of confidence sprouted deep down within me.

The main problem I have is consistency. As a youth, I’d lift mainly by myself, mainly after school, no doubt with incorrect form and a completely horrible diet, a diet at odds with my goals at the time. But that didn’t stop me. Laziness did. I always had trouble being consistent: working out every other day (and one day a week off), working in some cardio, eating properly (high protein and good carbs, plenty of water), and plenty of rest. To illustrate: once, in my early twenties, my friend and I did a full heavy-duty workout. Two hours of heavy lifting followed by a two-mile jog. Then, being still early on a warm summer night, we went out and each bought a six-pack of beer and a pack of cigarettes. Is it any wonder I don’t look like Arnold?

In my early thirties I relocated with my then-fiancée to Maryland and had to find a job. I found working out instilled much more confidence in myself than anything else, such as pep talks or affirmations or goal lists, whatever. Two years later we came back up north, and I continued lifting as I progressed through three more jobs. I was devoted, and was dieting much more effectively to aid my workouts. By 2003 I was lifting five days a week, each day working an alternate upper and lower body part. Also, I starting running with a buddy and did my first 5K in twenty years. At 35, I was definitely in the best shape of my life since I was half as old.

Then, life happened.

We bought a house, we had a baby. I fractured my tibia, had a hernia, and had two procedures to correct atrial fibrillation. I’ve been on serious medication for the past two years. Bills piled up, as did stress. I stopped lifting, and my body promptly reflected it. I gained twenty flabby pounds, lost all my stamina, succumbed to insomnia and emotional eating. It was official: I was a physical wreck.

Back in the end of March I had my second ablation therapy, and that very night in the hospital I knew I was cured. I still have a little three- or four-second flutter in my heart once a week, but it’s nothing compared to what it used to be. Nothing at all. So, I started lifting again. And after only four workouts (of the type I would have laughed at five years ago) I’m seeing immediate results.

Immediate results.

I feel extremely confident, happy, buoyant almost, like I can reach out and do just about anything. True, this feeling only lasts a moment or so until my retrobrain reaches out and squashes it with negativity, but at least it’s there. And after only a little over a week I look better and feel stronger, more flexible, more powerful. I’ve had a couple of good nights of sleep this past week, and I’m a more relaxed person.

This is a trend I’d like to continue.

My “re-acquaintance” workouts are short and simple. They only take me twenty minutes. I go to the basement, put on a CD, and do two sets of six exercises. Every workout I go up one rep, that’s it. No pressure to break any records here. After all, I’m no longer an immortal teenager and don’t want to bust a limb. So I do some one-arm curls, pushups, leg dips and calf raises, wrist extensions and crunches. That’s all. Five more weeks of this and I’ll revise the workout to cover six different exercises for the same body parts, and continue again for another six weeks.

That’ll take me to Labor Day. What I’ll do then, I don’t know, as we’ll have a baby soon after. But even with a crying Really Little One, I still need to keep doing this. I’m granting YOU the authority to keep me honest. Really. I’d rather trudge down to the basement, sleep deprived, and swing some weights around than devour a bag of cookies or slug down two Foster’s oil cans. At least, in theory (winks).

[Why did I title this entry Iron? See here.]