The bottom of my feet

When it rains it pours; at least when it comes to my middle-aged man “ouchies” like the bottom of my feet.  I injured both of them about two months and they're healing slower than I'd like.  

My aching bottom feet announced their presence the following morning after a gym workout consisting of heavy barbell squats and a test one-mile run on the treadmill.  I hadn’t done much running up to that point choosing instead to do other tough anaerobic training for my cardio conditioning.

But I got an itch and tested my one-mile time on a safe treadmill surface and really put my pedal to the metal in a timed effort.  Seems like I ran a decent time but paid for it the following morning. I’m still paying for it with sore bottoms of my feet.

Once again when it rains it pours because recently I’ve also added another “ouchie” that’s keeping me on my major league disabled list.  It's something below my right knee that “arrived” almost a month ago as I was rising from a rock bottom position while doing a heavy barbell squat.

So maybe both episodes and injuries are whispers from my wiser power that I’m getting older.  Perhaps I shouldn’t be doing some of this tougher fitness training stuff.  But I've really enjoyed it and the challenges of testing my limits.    

“What’s the point” I tell myself when pondering the stuff I’ve done in my recent training past.  I’ve enjoyed chasing heavy loads in my strength training – well at least heavy for me.  These heavy loads are so seductive but just like a naughty lady of the night, perhaps they’re better left for someone else than me.

There’s one good thing about being on the disabled list; it gives me much time to ponder about this and that.

Is it time for me to throw in the towel doing this stuff and instead start improving my game of checkers?  How about joining Toastmasters International and mastering my public speaking skills? I could also start being a weekly regular at the nearby church bingo hall.

A big fat middle-aged man yawn and "heck no" is my initial reply to all three of these ideas!

Well I know Father Nature is a great healer but at this point in my life, He requires more time to do the wonders of healing me.  Waiting will test my patience and that’ll make me a better middle-aged man.

There’s always an upside lesson to be learned in a downside experience of a training injury and I’ve learned mine – I’m only as strong as the bottom of my feet.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Before I turn 100

This morning I read a news article about a man celebrating his 100^th birthday by taking his first parachute-assisted skydive.

Friends of this new centenarian asked him what he wished he had done in his 100 years of life.  He replied how he always wanted to jump from an airplane with a parachute.

“Foolish risk taker!” you quickly call him.  Not so because this centenarian gentleman wasn’t that foolish; he first got a green light seal of approval from his medical doctor.

This wonderful story is another example of how we should be careful what we ask for because we might get it.  I’m sure this Mr. 100 had plenty of time pondering his 100 years of life while taking his 13,000 foot parachute-assisted skydive back to safe ground on planet earth.

His moment of glory story makes me reflect on my long list of wild side things to do.  They remain unaccomplished because my time isn’t right or I’m too busy, or at least this is what I tell myself.

Maybe they remain unaccomplished because of my chronic fascination with procrastination.  Or maybe it’s because deep down inside there’s a little “Chicken Little” in me.  Well in another moment of middle-aged man denial, I conclude this latter self-perspective just isn’t true.

So what about all those risky things I’d like to do in my lifetime?  They’ll continue “sitting” because I’m in no hurry knowing most of them will get accomplished – either in dreams or realities - before I turn 100.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

They're good and gone

Time can be classified into three time buckets:  past, present and future.  My good times can likewise be classified as: good old days, good now days and good days to come.

You know your good old days as well as I know mine and we both spend countless hours telling countless stories about them.

Some of my pleasant good old days memories are about attending high school, buying and driving my first car, serving as a soldier in the U.S. Army, attending college, courting and marrying my wife and being a father to my little daughter and son. 

I probably enjoy listening to other people’s good old days stories more than telling my own.  Listening to my father’s stories during the last couple years of his life, for example, provided me much joy while adding to my own inventory of good old days stories.

Good now days are what I’m presently living.  Sometimes, though, the goodness of them gets blurred by crosses I carry in my rest-of-life journey.

Like watching my father die a horrific and painful death, struggling to meet the special needs of a sick wife, and little aches and pains shouting at me inside my middle-aged man body.  There are others but, when they surface and control my now being, I pretend they do not exist by swapping them with pleasant thoughts from my good old days or good days to come. 

The good days to come, for me, seem something I pondered more about when a young college student.  They were a “great high” particularly when they were a safe distance from what was then my now.    

Like, for example, when I was a sophomore in college and my blue sky peaches and cream good days to come were a couple years away from being put to reality tests.  Pleasant thoughts about my good days to come were plentiful then and greatly contributed to a euphoria I regularly experienced.

My thoughts about living out the golden years of my life, I suppose, should provide a similar euphoria but thus far that hasn’t been my case.    Time will eventually tell and one day when I’m sitting in a rocking chair during the 11^th hour of my life watching time go by, I may have a different perspective than now. 

So which of these good times is my favorite?  This is  a question I recently asked myself.  After some private reflection, let me share I'm not sure.      

There’s a natural attraction I have for my good old days and I believe the older I get the more this natural attraction will grow.  Maybe that’s why I enjoy listening to older people’s stories about their good old days.  They seem to share their stories better and they’re more enjoyable listening to than telling my own. 

However, just like the expression “The devil is in the details”, my pleasant yesteryear memories of my good old days may really be “deceptive in their distance.”  Their deception may undermine the goodness of both my good now days and my, hopefully, good days to come.

A friend’s perspective may have said it best when he recently shared that the good old days are good because they’re good and gone.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

“It’s the least I could do for you Cuz”

This one is too funny and good to be true but apparently it is.

Canadian medical researchers have found a way to put healthy people “poop” into pills that can cure serious gut infections.  Researchers tried these pills on 27 patients suffering from serious stomach infections and they were cured after strong antibiotics failed to help.

Modern-day fecal research has come to rescue these poor souls walking around with serious belly aches.  The good news is this new method is “cleaner” than giving sufferers fecal transplants.  Now before you tell me I’m full of crap, read more about it and then draw your own conclusions.

Apparently, there’s an infection known as Clostridium difficile – often called an abbreviated “C. diff” - hundreds of thousands of Americans get every year.  So serious is this infection that about 14,000 will die from it.  This infection causes bad nausea, cramping and diarrhea.  While expensive antibiotics can kill these bacteria, they also destroy good bacteria in the gut thereby leaving it at risk to future infections.

This new pill method involves a donor stool processed in a lab to take out food and extract bacteria and then clean it.  The resulting “clean poop” is then packed into triple-coated gel capsules so they won’t dissolve until reaching the intestines of the sick person taking them.

Unlike certain pills and vitamin supplements such as fish oil that can cause unpleasant mouth odor, one medical researcher shared these “poop pills” will not give you smelly fart burps because their contents aren’t released until they’re well past your stomach.

So sufferers can breathe a sigh of relief and save their gum for better occasions like before giving their spouses a big kiss.

You should do your own research and drawn your own conclusions on this before running to your neighborhood drugstore the next time you have a big belly ache.

There’s always been this benevolent side to me wanting to make a significant contribution in the lives of other people.  Maybe this new research finding is my call to step up to the toilet plate. 

They say charity begins at home.  I don’t think my wife could stomach my help of this kind if she ever got a belly ache but I could reach out to close relatives suffering from pain in their gut.  Like my favorite cousin known as “Big Al”. 

The next time he gets a big belly ache, maybe I’ll give him some fecal gel capsules personally made by me, hand them to him and tell him to take two and call me in the morning.

If he calls the next morning sharing he now feels better, I’ll respond by saying “It’s the least I could do for you Cuz.”

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Who are you?

It’s no well-kept secret - my daily encounters with the bathroom mirror.

This daily morning ritual has been the subject of several of my favorite middle-age man written reflections and discussions with many who give me the courtesy of their ears.

Without a doubt, my favorite one-liner reflection is that every man who looks in the mirror sees a 16-year-old kid.

For those who take me too seriously, know that I’m not alone.  The late great radio and television comedian Jack Benny was known for his character of being age 39 years regardless of his actual age.

The late great Spanish artist Pablo Picasso once said at age 76 years, “Everyone is the age he has decided on, and I have decided to remain 30.”

I may be overstepping my boundaries to include myself among these famous people, but to exclude me doesn’t leave me alone for there are many other middle-age men – and women – who adore and marvel the mirror image reflecting back at them from their Fountain of Youth bathroom mirror.

Do I suffer from narcissism, megalomania, egocentrism or some other personality disorder made up by those characters known as psychologists who take joy in classifying crazy people like me into well-described buckets of personality disorders and mental illness? 

I wonder if I’m a modern-day Narcissus - that Greek mythology character renowned for his beauty - attracted to a pool  where I see my own reflection in water and fall in love with it.

Heck no in my most private thoughts but that’ll never prevent me from having fun fooling all those naïve enough to take me seriously.

At this point in my life, there’s no way I see a 16-year-old kid when looking in the mirror.  Rather, these daily morning encounters have me looking at my mirror image and asking the very tough question, “Who are you?”

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Burying an old friend

Our home is now a gluten-free sanctuary after I promised my wife that I’d support her gluten-free eating lifestyle. She’s been eating a gluten free diet now for about seven weeks after discovering it gives her significant relief from the chronic pain associated with her auto-immune illness.  

        

A church friend emphatically told her she must go gluten free and she heeded her friend's advice. 

You would think her medical doctor would have made this connection but he didn’t.  She’s not alone, we’ve learned, and if you visit any cyberspace forum where people with auto immune conditions share their experiences, you’ll learn of many instances in which their medical doctor failed to make a gluten/disease connection.

Gluten-free eating is popular nowadays and may even be considered faddish by some, but for those who have suffered chronic pain and other medical conditions and now have relief since going gluten-free, it’s a godsend. 

Discussing auto-immune conditions, gluten intolerances or gluten-free eating is beyond the scope of what I’m sharing; rather, I’ll share how life is going for me living in a gluten-free sanctuary.  It’s been a little bumpy with less than one week under my belt but I’ll adapt and survive.

While I’m not personally committing to a lifetime of gluten-free eating, I’ve committed to doing so for the next month and then we’ll see.  But I have committed to a lifetime of living in a gluten-free household so I’ll have to eat my gluten somewhere else if and when I do.  This shouldn’t be too much of a problem for me with a little planning.  I could have a gluten goodie while driving to work or at a restaurant if I decide.  We’ll see.

But until then, I’ll need to be mindful of relapses and temptations like, for example, when going grocery shopping and walking past the aisles loaded with gluten goodies.  Will I be like the recovering alcoholic walking past a neighborhood bar and glancing inside while getting a whiff of that familiar scent of a wet bar rag?

Will I salivate when walking past a bakery or doughnut shop and drool all over myself?

Sure there are gluten free equivalents that I could buy and enjoy but succumbing to those fake substitutes seems to defeat a higher purpose.  So, for the time being, I’ll stay away from them.

While images of buttered biscuits, toast and flour tortillas dance in my mind’s eye, I hope to be strong and positive focusing on the joys they provided me in my past, rather than being mournfully sad like burying an old friend.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

To whip George Foreman

Today I had an opportunity to exchange comments with a young man I know. He's a college student who shared how it wasn't easy being a Republican in a college class on environmental law with a professor who's a self-proclaimed Democrat.

I shared with my young friend to remember something my son learned the hard way - that his left-leaning professor controls the grade book.  He who controls the microphone gets the last word.  In this case, the professor's grade book is his microphone and his last word is the letter grade he gives my friend.

I remember once attending a comedy show during which someone in the audience tried getting funny and wise-guy-like with the comedian. The exchange was fun listening to while it briefly lasted until the comedian verbally-spanked this wise guy into silent submission. The comedian controlled the microphone and got the last word and so will my friend's college professor.

My final middle-aged man words of wisdom to my young friend was that sometimes the quiet approach works best in heated debates and discussions.

I've learned that if you give a good private audience to a foolish person and let him or her speak long enough, he or she will eventually lay many golden foolish eggs that will then allow you to cook and deliver a plate of late-in-the-fight knockout punches and win the debate match; sort of like Muhammad Ali's rope-of-dope technique that he successfully used to whip George Foreman.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

It was fun while it lasted

Gracefully aging is not always a smooth trip and in its journey we sometime hit a rough spot on the road that leaves our car of life with a few dings.  That’s been my recent discovery after spending some time this past year looking in the mirror.

These views are not the familiar front-facing ones that never disappoint and always please me with illusory images in my mind’s eye of my 16-year old kid alter ego.  Instead, they are rear and top views using a hand-held mirror with my backside facing the larger bathroom mirror.

And what am I seeing from these vantage points?  I’m seeing a middle-aged man who is losing hair on the top of his head.  It’s not very visible to most but nonetheless it’s a biological commotion in motion.  I wouldn’t go so far to say that I’m going bald; that’s too drastic of a statement yet, but it’s fair to say – and read my lips – “My hair is thinning and I’m losing hair.”  "Yikes!", yells this distressed middle-aged man.

It wasn't that long ago that, as a newbie middle-aged man, I sported a mullet badge of honor just for kicks. While never topically-endowed like the late great Freddy Fender by any stretch of my imagination, I wore an eccentric mullet royal crown that brought me much newbie middle-aged man satisfaction.

But that was then and this is now and despite my best efforts of being in denial and talking myself out of what’s happening, I must confess that my hair is thinning and I’m losing my hair.  Where will it all end?

Will I be the next Yul Bryner, ready for a leading actor role in a 21^st century remake of “The King and I”?  Or maybe I’ll be qualified as a 21^st century version of the television ad character known as “Mr. Clean”.

The opportunities are endless proving that there are blessings to be found in the crosses we carry.  This whole experience may not be like stepping on dog poop but rather finding my next diamond in the rough.  The ball is in my court and it’s up to me to make the best of it.  I truly believe that in the darkness of the night the stars shine the brightest.

I’m ready to go with the flow, to be content with the biological deck of cards that God has dealt me, and to find goodness and gratefulness in all the other things going on in my health and wellness journey.    

The best way to sum up my thoughts about my disappearing thick head of hair is to say that it was fun while it lasted.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

Pierini Lower Body Dumbbell Complex

I'm a person who goes to a gym to do his fitness training because I generally do better than training at home.  Late last year, however, I purchased a pair of rubber-coated 35-lb. dumbbells and discovered the wild and crazy workout world of dumbbell complexes.  Lately, I've been doing these dumbbell complexes at home in my garage on non-gym training days and they're doing their job of keeping me on my toes.

A dumbbell (or a barbell) complex is a type of strength circuit where you complete two or more exercises with a dumbbell back to back with no rest and where the dumbbell does not touch the ground until all exercises have been completed.  You have completed one round or set once you've performed all the exercises that make up the complex.

A typical complex prescription will consist of "x" number of exercises that you perform for "x" repetitions for "x" rounds.  Sometimes a weight is prescribed or the number of minutes that you should perform the complex.  It's a general rule that you should scale all complexes to take into account your abilities and conditioning so that your efforts are productive and safe.

According to the website of Istvan Javorek, he was the first in the world to develop the concept of dumbbell and barbell complex exercises and asks that you "give credit to the creator."  There are a number of dumbbell and barbell complexes that bear his surname and a quick search on YouTube will allow you to view a demonstration of them; they're all good.

My good friend, America's most decorated and successful Olympic weightlifter Tommy Kono, recently commented to me upon learning that I had dumbbell complex fever that the great bodybuilding legend John Grimek used to perform complex workouts many years ago and that there's nothing new under the sun.  So this begs the question of who is the creator to whom credit should be given.  That's not for me to answer.

Well I've currently got dumbbell complex fever and have designed several of my own versions tailored to my middle-aged man abilities. The criteria I use in designing my dumbbell complexes is that I like ones that consist of five different exercises where each exercise is performed for five repetitions for one round.

I like my dumbbell complex to consist of five rounds with a weight and intensity that requires me to work very hard to complete all five rounds in 15 minutes or less.  This makes me work in my anaerobic heart rate zone of about 90 percent of my maximum heart rate.  It's hard work but it doesn't take long to finish and then I'm done.  I probably spend more time psychologically preparing myself for the hard work than the time it takes to do the hard work.

So let me introduce you to one of several dumbbell complexes I intend to share with you in the near future. This one works my lower body and provides a nice core challenge because it consists of exercises you perform with one hand.  I call this one the Pierini Lower Body Dumbbell Complex #1.  Why #1?  Because there's a #2 that I've designed and will share with you in the near future.

Here's a video demonstration of it for your viewing pleasure:

Give it a test drive and tell me what you think of my Pierini Lower Body Dumbbell Complex.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

My latest anaerobic cardio conditioning closer

Well how time flies when life gets in the way.  Among other things, my Dad died in May 2013 and I had a three-month sabbatical of no training.

I'm back on the fitness training saddle but off from where I was before I took that time out.  But I'll be back and hope to start adding new content here.

Here's a new entry of one of my anaerobic cardio conditioning closers that I do at the end of a strength workout.

Give it a try and let me know what you think of my latest anaerobic cardio conditioning closer.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum