God Bless You, Old Lion

There's a slogan I've been seeing a lot on Facebook lately. "The lion does not trouble himself about the opinions of sheep," or words to that effect. I find it arrogant and disrespectful. I have pretty low self-esteem, but even I can't imagine how badly you have to feel about yourself before you find comfort in the thought that you are the lone, brave, strong creature surrounded by flocks of cowards and followers. And the Lion deserves better.

I was born under constellation of the Lion at the end of a hot July in Pittsburgh. I've always been inspired by the fire of the Lion. The sharp eyes. The rippling shoulders. The sandy color. The strength. Devotion to the Pride. I've always wished I could be more like the Lion of Summer.

But today is March 1, and there is another Lion on my mind. Ferocious. Powerful. Deadly. And dying. Whenever I picture March coming "in like a lion," I never see the mighty hunter, leader of the Pride, dreadful and courageous, standing on a rise roaring out his claim on everything he surveys. The Lion of March is an old lion. A few weeks ago, he could freeze the world with a low rumble from his mighty chest or a puff from his nostrils. Not long ago, a swipe of his giant paw brought whole cities to a standstill. Today, he is still dangerous. There is still power in those broad shoulders, but there is grey under the chin. His vision is still sharp, but he has to squint a little to see into the distance. There is still power in his stride, but he rises stiffly. He is still the King. But no longer the King he once was.

Last night, I was feeling pretty agitated. I had left the house early that day with an ambitious list of tasks... things that I had chosen and that mattered to me... and seemed to hit roadblocks at every turn. Procedures. Attitudes. The things I wanted were so simple. The people I needed to help me were so unwilling. Finally, I went home, too angry and frustrated to trust myself in public. I know when my temper is close to boiling. I start swearing to myself. I've learned that if I don't get away from people pretty quickly once that starts, I end up saying things that are stupid and cruel.... sort of along the lines of "the lion does not trouble himself..."

So I went home. Locked the door. Grabbed the ice cream. Screw it. I'll get drunk in a minute. Right now, I'm going to eat. Whatever the hell I want. As much as I want. I don't care.

I was angry. I wanted to hurt someone... so I decided to hurt myself.

I really don't know what changed my mind. I've been working on a new habit. I've been keeping a food diary. So without really thinking about it, I took the open half gallon of Mint Chocolate Chip and the spoon and walked to my computer to log them. Curious, I entered the value that would add the calories, fat, sugar, from half a gallon - 8 cups - of ice cream. And I stared at the number. Just under 3000 calories. Just about what I burned during my last Marathon. Was I really that angry? Did I hate myself that much? Enough to erase a Marathon's worth of progress in a 20 minute binge of self destruction?

It wasn't the sheep's opinion I had to worry about, you see. It was the lion's. It was my own opinion.

I put the carton back in the freezer. Chopped some peppers and onions. Cooked some beans and rice. Printed the workout I had decided to put off till the weekend.

After supper, I went to the gym. Treadmill. Weight room. Stationary bike. Almost two hours worth. Around 1600 calories burned. As I walked out into the corridor, drenched, with my clipboard in one hand and my empty water bottle in the other, my soaked towel draped over my head, a woman said something to me that I didn't hear. Headphones. I pulled them out and said, "Sorry? What?"

"I don't know how you do it." She looked like she might be around thirty five. Very pretty. Very heavy. Was she somebody's mom? Was she here on a Friday night to watch her kids play basketball, or to try to keep her New Year's resolution, or just to be someplace besides home alone? I didn't ask.

"I don't have any choice. I can either do this, or die a fat old man."

I didn't add, "like my father." But that's what I was thinking. I may be an old lion. And I may be so filled with anger and hate sometimes that I have to go hide before I bust... but I am not ready to die.

Not yet.

So, roar on, you old Lion of Winter. The weather prophets say you have a few more good fights in you before March goes out like a lamb. Bring 'em on. Don't give up, you old Lion.

Because every time you find the strength for one more hunt, one more fight, one more shout over the frozen ground that tells the world that you aren't dead yet... you give this old lion hope.

Roar on, Old Lion.

#427: Reflections on the Birth of the Fat Man

Near the end of 2007, I found myself in the hospital with phlebitis in my right leg. It scared the hell out of me. That Christmas, I decided that it was time to stop paying lip service to getting fit. Blood clots had killed my father, and put my mother in the hospital for days. I was on the express train to the same fate. I stopped writing sermons on "Pennsyltuckian" and created a new blog: one that was to be more honest, and more spiritual than all my self conscious preaching could have ever been. "Fat Man Running" made its debut early in 2008. Pennsy's fight for life had begun.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Fat Man Running - the adventure begins

Today I am beginning a new blog project I'm calling Fat Man Running. I have avoided posts about myself because ... oh, I don't know. Maybe I just want to feel important and smart. It's easier to be cosmic than to be real.

Anyway, I've decided to break that policy in order to journal an adventure that I hope will last for the rest of my life. Mrs Pennsy and I joined a gym yesterday.

Let me put this into perspective - I am 47 years old, 6'-4" tall and weigh 374 lbs. That's a body mass index of 45.5. That number is not an accident. It is a consequence of a lifetime of choices - some good, mostly bad. A lot of destructive habits produced this body, and I sort of hope I can change the results by changing my behavior.


I will still bloviate about God, the Universe and All That in this space. My relationship with my Creator is one of the primary reasons I have started off on this adventure. I'd sort of like to be able to tell God that I did something with the healthy, strong body I was blessed with besides filling it with chocolate and potato chips.

Actually, there are several things I'd like to be able to do. I'd like to live long enough to retire, for example.

So off I go. Maybe my story will inspire someone else, as I have been inspired. I certainly hope that by putting myself "out there" I can develop a sense of accountability to someone - even if no one else reads. I really want to succeed this time.

Peace,
Pennsy

1/13/08, Rainy & Cold
374 lbs
Treadmill walk
1.25 mi
0:25 min
180 Max HR

#388: Exercising Together

The Loneliness of the
Long-distance Runner

I am learning the beauty of exercising with somebody else. I like the solitude of running alone. It gives me a chance to meditate without the distraction of other runners who are usually pulling away from me into the distance. I like hitting the weight room where the most complicated conversation is usually a grunt of recognition of a request for a spot. Still, there is joy to be found in numbers.

The Club with the Worst
Initiation Ever

My first and most important attempt at working out with a group was with my LIVESTRONG at the YMCA class. I signed up because they offered me a free 12 week membership, but before long I realized the power and encouragement that comes from working out with people who celebrate and uplift one another. People kept telling us how inspiring we were. I don't think they realized how much we inspired one another.

The Striders were kind enough to
wait for Pennsy so he could be
in the picture

I kept reading about how finding a running club can help you, and I found John's Striders: a local group affiliated with Lexington's John's Run/Walk shop. I joke that I don't really run with the Striders, I run behind them. But even in the back of the pack, I find people who struggle and overcome. My first time out with them was on a 13 mile run among horse farms. Three of us trailed along together for most of the run. Both my companions from that day have now finished marathons, and I look forward to joining them. Other times, I only see my fellow Striders in the pre-dawn darkness before they leave me to trot along behind on my own. Just knowing they're there can draw me along through the end of a tough run. And of course, there's my friend Bob who runs with a nasty limp and a pacemaker keeping his wounded ticker going. You'll find us chatting in the morning mist while our speedier companions inspire us. Cardiac Bob and Cancer Bob: Someday, we'll make a buddy picture.

ZUMBA!

The YMCA has shown me a whole other world of exercise thorough the dozens of classes that go on there all day, every day. My membership gives me free access to most of them, and I have really come to enjoy dropping in on whatever class is going on when I have an hour free before or after work. I've taken spinning classes, which kill my quads in a way that running never has,)After a spin on the treadmill, I enjoy Yoga classes with a Buddha-like instructor who is equal parts forest nymph, giddy cheerleader, and Zen master. Pilates always challenges me, and I really like the fact that I can do a little more each time I get on the mat. TRX give you an awesome workout, and I use the term literally. I am in awe of Coach Carrie and my classmates as they fling themselves through movements that leave me panting on the floor in a puddle of my own sweat. And if you don't like Zumba, there is probably something seriously wrong with your soul.

 Solitude? Yeah, right

Then there's the pool. I've always found swimming to be the most solitary of sports. I splash along with my awkward strokes, goggles fogged, barely finishing each lap while some 80-year-old in the next lane does her Esther Williams impression for what seems like miles at a time. Then, Mrs P started taking swimming lessons.

Swimming lessons were a part of my childhood. Every summer, the kids in my hometown would gather at Dormont Pool where patient grown-ups taught us to put our faces underwater and blow bubbles. We gradually progressed, year by year, to the diving boards on the deep end. Mrs P never got that chance, Now, in our dotage, we are sharing the experience of her learning to swim. She meets with Mr. Ted on Saturday mornings, then we go to the Y together a couple times a week so she can practice. Yesterday, we shared a lane. I swam my labored laps while she practiced her drills. It won't be long before she's a stronger swimmer than I am. She loves the water. We've finally found an exercise we can enjoy doing together. Last week, we even took a water aerobics class. She laughed like a child, and I fell in love with her every time I saw her chlorine-soaked smile.(She has taken to devilishly pinching my bum under the water, which is also a plus.)

It doesn't have to be like this...

If you're reluctant to exercise with someone else because you're embarrassed about your body, or worried that you won't be able to keep up, or for some other reason, I encourage you to get over it. I remember the shame of high school gym class, but I have found that grown-ups are much more encouraging. Nobody's ever made me feel bad about myself because I can't fold my legs like a pretzel or cycle for an hour without collapsing across the handle bars. There is joy out there alone on the open road, but there is joy in the mirror lined walls of the exercise studio, too. The only way to keep exercising is to find something that's fun. And there is fun to be had in the company of other people who are fighting for their lives, just like you.

Peace,
Pennsy

#352: Living STRONG at the Y

On Monday, I started "LIVESTRONG at the Y" a pilot program at the Northside Y sponsored by a grant from LIVESTRONG. The program is designed to give survivors a chance to move, try different kinds of exercise, and learn the ways that physical activity can help them to beat cancer.This video is a very touching introduction to the work we're doing. There are a team of trainers who work with us. We are 8 cancer fighters in various stages of our battle. Some have been cancer free for longer than I. One woman had a radiation treatment this morning, before she came to the gym. The thing these folks all have in common is that they are all funny, courageous, and unsentimental about the disease. Fighting cancer, and living life are serious business for us, and we are eager to do both with more vigor and joy. We meet twice a week, and I have a feeling you'll be hearing a lot more about the group in the weeks to come.

Today, we did some gentle physical assessments. How long can you balance on one foot? How far can you reach your arm? What are your measurements? How much does a quick 6 minute walk affect your heart rate? Simple stuff. Once we were finished, I had to wait about an hour-an-a-half for Mrs P to pick me up, (we're down to one vehicle right now, due to a non-injury fender bender.) So, I went to the weight room.

What a nice facility! They had some machines that I've only seen on YouTube, and a couple that I hadn't even seen there.

Of course, my favorite station was the power cage. I flew to it like a bug to a zapper. It had been so long since I felt a real barbell resting across my shoulders as I dipped down into a squat. How long since I slipped 45 lb plates onto a bar and felt their heft as I lifted them off the hooks? I watched my eyes in the mirror as I squatted up and down, up and down, chest up, eyes up, squat down, press the heels into the floor, the rhythm of the movement leading me on as I breathed in to go down, then hissed the air out to go up. Three sets of 10 at 135. Not impressive by any standard, but it felt so good to be back under iron.

Then the dead lift. My favorite movement in the weight room. Load up the bar. Catch it in an alternating grip, one overhand, one underhand, to keep the weight from rolling out of your fingers. Dip your knees and feel the weight up your arms and across your shoulders. Eyes up, chest up. The a light hiss of breath as you push down into the ground and pull the weight up your legs to your hips You stand like a derrick with the bar across your front. It hangs there for a moment. Your hands are hooks at the end of taught cables. Then you slide your butt back, keep your chest up, and lower the weight straight down your legs. Bend your knees as the bar passes them. Wear long pants, or your shins will be sorry! The bar slides easily toward the ground as nearly every muscle in your body works together to control its decent. The edges of the 45 lb plates tap lightly on the mats of the gym floor, then the big muscles in your legs and butt and back "reverse engines" to push your body up, pulling the bar with you. 3 sets of 10 @ 135 lbs. I've lifted more, but it's never felt better.

I did some work with the dumbells, and did some woodchoppers at the cable machine. Then it was time for a cool down walk on the treadmill, and some time in a comfy chair working on lines and watching folks swimming laps. That really looked good. I don't think I'll be going to the Y without my swimming trunks again.

I haven't been going to the gym because I really wanted to run, and I didn't want to spend all my time working out. Today reminded me how much I love the feel of the bars, the clang of the plates, and the smell of steel and rubber and sweat that just seems like home to me. I had never set foot in this gym before, but I was welcome and accepted at once, when they saw that I was a member of the fraternity. I knew the secret handshake. I wiped off the bench when I was finished. Some kids came in from the basketball court to do bench presses. They wandered carelessly between lifters and mirrors. They joked. They jostled. They leaned on machines they weren't using. They pushed out some lifts, then ambled away again, leaving a wake of youth and testosterone. We lifters acknowledged one another silently. "Posers," we seemed to be saying with our nods and eye rolls. Real lifters are respected in the weight room, no matter how little iron they can move. We know one another without having to say a word. We share machines. We offer to spot. We leave things the way we found them. I didn't learn any names, and barely shared any words, but I made a handful of new friends today. We met in the weight room. We're going to be working out together for a while.

And it feels great.

But man, are my glutes gonna be sore in the morning!

Peace,

Pennsy

#349: A Special Opportunity for Bluegrass Cancer Fighters

I met today with Melissa Bellew, a personal trainer at the Lexington Northside Y on Louden Ave. They have a grant from LIVESTRONG to develop a program to help cancer survivors get back on their feet after treatment. I am participating. It's a chance to help build something that might be of value to cancer fighters like us for many years to come. Here's the text of her email, explaining the program... Pennsy

I have a unique privilege to frame the start-up or pilot program at the North Lexington Family
YMCA called "LIVESTRONG at the YMCA." This grant-funded program
provides a 12 week, FREE, exercise & personal care program for cancer
survivors, including a Y membership for the survivor's family during the
training & discounted rates thereafter. The program covers exercise,
holistic health, nutrition, group exercise classes, weights, yoga, pilates,
zumba, & other disciplines. This program's goal is to help survivors
regain health, thus increasing survival odds, and bridge the gap from
post-treatment to daily living.

The pilot program looms with a start date of July 11, with the possibility of a
week postponement to attain ten survivors for the pilot. After the pilot
& its subsequent tweaks, the 12 week program will remain on the Y's
programming schedule.

We have four participants to date & need more. If you know anyone who
might qualify for this program & would help us in the pilot by
participating & offering feedback, please send them my way. The class
will meet on Mondays & Wednesdays from 2pm - 3:30p. You can use my
email (mdbellew@hotmail.com) or call me at the Y at 859-258-9622.
Also, any callers could ask for Chris Andrews, North's Wellness Director, at
that same number. Please ask the caller to say that they are calling
about the "LIVESTRONG at the YMCA" program. I would need to
organize an intake interview & assist the person in getting some release
forms signed by doctors.

If you know a cancer survivor in the Lexington area, let them know about this program. If you live somewhere else, give your local Y a call. They may have a similar program in the works.

Peace,
Pennsy