Strength and Conditioning: You Should Try It

There's plenty of research on the benefits of cardiovascular exercise for your lungs and heart health.

There's also plenty of research on the benefits of lifting heavy weights for your joints, muscles, metabolism, and bone density.

I'm not here to tell you that lifting weights will help you lose weight -- even though it can. I'm not here to tell you that burpees will help keep your heart healthy -- even though they will. I'm not even here to tell you that overcoming your own limits will improve your mental health and make you feel great about yourself. 

Sometimes, people aren't motivated by amorphous "benefits." Kind of like how we know vegetables are good for us, but we still don't really eat them enough. 

I'm thirty-two years old. I have four children. I'm overweight, especially for how tall (or rather, how short) I am. I regularly go to the gym to lift heavy things and participate in some pretty grueling conditioning workouts: rowing, burpees, running, biking, bear crawls, box jumps, wall balls, hill sprints etc. I recently took my kids on a road trip from Iowa to Idaho for a family reunion without help from my husband or any other adult.  

After a day of 8 hours behind the wheel, I was stiff, but not sore. My knees and hips were strong enough to take that punishment with minimal complaints. 

Our first hotel room was on the second floor. There were no elevators. I carried the pack-n-play, the backpacks, the suitcase, and the baby up the stairs in a single trip, and I was fine. I had the grip strength, I could manage the weight, and I had the core stability to keep everything balanced. 

We arrived at our destination -- a cabin partially up the side of a mountain. I unloaded my car, pulling gear in a wagon uphill from a gravelly parking lot to the door. It was tough, but I could do it. 

I went on a hike with my aunt. It was a tough hike with consistent elevation gain. My heart and legs were fine on the way up. On the way down, I had the stability and strength to navigate the steep downward grade without much issue. The tendons in both my legs were aching, and by the time we got to the bottom, my calves, hamstrings, and quads were all equally burnt out, but not to the point of regret or injury. 

The following day, my brother-in-law, my two sisters-in-law, and my 10-year-old niece wanted to go on a hike. I was slightly sore from the previous day, but I also knew that movement would help that soreness more than rest. I suggested the same trailhead as the day before but with a different trail with more moderate terrain. 

The trail was less intense, but still had many steep places, especially toward the summit. While the increased elevation and thinner air were challenging for my companions, I did not notice any difficulty in catching my breath. The conditioning workouts at Sisu Strength Academy prepared me to hike at a much higher elevation without a decrease in oxygen delivery. Shortly before we reached the top, my hiking companions began to wonder if it was worth continuing on. I volunteered to scout ahead and was able to quickly run to the top, returning back down to reassure them it was not much further. My niece felt too tired to continue, so I was able to put her on my back and carry her for a good portion of the remaining distance. 

We descended the mountain, returning home for lunch. I was tired, but the kids wanted to try tubing the small rapids from the river that runs through the town of Lava Hot Springs. I agreed and we rented a tube. We thought we'd only go one time, but the kids were all clamoring to go again after our first run. Because we'd anticipated only going once, we had not paid extra for the shuttle to take us back up to the top of the river with our four-man tube. Well, there was nothing to do but carry it back. I slung it over my back like a turtle shell and held it up with both arms in the air. It was not heavy at first, but after a few blocks, I definitely began to feel the ache in my shoulders and upper back. But, I did it. We went down again, and it was a good time for everybody. 

I still had the stamina to make dinner, play some games, and make several trips to and from the car and up and down the stairs to the basement. 

The next day, we loaded up the car. More stairs and hotel rooms. More carrying tired children. More saying yes to swimming in the hotel pool even though I was pretty tired. More hours behind the wheel.

These sorts of things aren't unique to me. Anybody who follows a similar fitness regimen would have the same abilities, or honestly, better ones. At my gym, I'm not a headliner. I'm just average. 

What people don't talk about and what isn't apparent in before and after pictures is capacity. I didn't have limitless energy on this trip, and I certainly needed sleep by the time each evening came, but I felt so capable the entire time. I felt I could just continually keep tapping into the strength I've developed. I didn't need help, even if I might have wanted it. I could carry everything myself, even if it was uncomfortable to do so. I always felt like I had more in the tank. It's more than just physical strength -- it's mental strength as well. I was capable. 

You should try strength and conditioning because it's not just a box jump -- it's a painless mountain descent. It's not just a deadlift -- it's carrying a crate up a flight of stairs without injury. It's not just a strict overhead press -- it's hauling a heavy tube over your head for half a mile. It's not just a hill sprint or meters on a rower or calories on a bike or how many burpees you can do in a minute -- it's the process of incrementally increasing your capacity to breathe without a problem in much thinner air. Increasing your capacity to be useful. Ready for more.

Hard Changes

I've noticed lately that everybody has limits on things they are willing to accept, willing to do, and willing to change. 

I think actual self-mastery, however, comes from expanding your horizon on all three of those planes.

An example to demonstrate. I used to avoid drinking anything alcoholic solely because of my personal religious beliefs. 

Now that I am an adult and my spiritual views have been tested, I still avoid alcohol, but I would say religious reasons are not the main motivator anymore. I know my own weaknesses, and what vices I already struggle with. I don't want to need a drink to relax, to feel comfortable talking, to have fun, or to enjoy time with a friend. I don't want to risk the illnesses or side effects that can result. I could see myself needing it. I could see myself rationalizing because I am anxious sometimes or because I get overwhelmed. Because of my past experience, my risk factors for alcohol abuse are higher, and why should I test to see if that is true?

So, logic and spiritual convictions together have made a hard decision easier for me. I don't have to change something that I'm naturally excellent at doing. But, reflection has made me realize that I still have beams in my own eye. 

I realized I have a comfort zone of changes that I find acceptable. I choose goals that are already within my grasp of what I might enjoy doing. I dismiss other changes as being too extreme, too limiting, too uncomfortable, too challenging. Why would I want to do that? Sounds like a way to never have any fun. It would be too difficult for me. We're all going to die anyway, so might as well die having a good time.

People rationalize themselves away from making real changes all the time. I just need to take it easy. I'm just not good at sports. I could never get up that early. I'm just an introvert. I'm not good at taking tests. I'm doing fine with things just how they are. They set goals within the confines of their comfortable limits. Sometimes you take baby steps toward a better path. Those steps are good and useful. But when the path suddenly requires more, demands conviction, demands commitment -- you stop walking and just march in place. And then you wonder why you never seem to be getting anywhere.

Self-mastery comes from the perspective that you're never finished progressing. When the path gets steeper, you dig deeper.  There's always something better you can work toward. There's always more you can demand from yourself. Sometimes when we say to ourselves, "I can't possibly do more here," we really mean, "I can't comfortably do more here." Then we decide that this program or goal or journey just isn't working for us, and we look for something more comfortable.

This isn't to say that the only discomfort that has meaning is physical. Of course, the application to the gym environment is obvious. You might go every day and see no progress because you continue to do what is comfortable.

But other things in life push us. 

I think parenthood is one. Dealing with children can be very uncomfortable. It can be exhausting, painful, annoying, and require a great deal of purposeful focus and personal reflection. It requires self-control. Approached well, parenthood can be transformative simply because you're always in an uncomfortable place that forces you to get better -- if you let it.

Dealing with an injury is uncomfortable. You can face it in a way that allows you to grow from the experience. Dealing with mental illness is uncomfortable. You might have to do a lot of extra work to function when you're trying to improve that area. It certainly would be more comfortable to lie in bed than talk to a therapist. But only one of those will mean progression. 

Try challenging what you're used to. Try pushing yourself to do something you don't really feel like doing. Try giving up something that you're still holding onto that's holding you back. Try adopting something that you don't like doing but that you know will be good for you. Try lifting heavier. Try going to bed earlier. Try waking up earlier. Try drinking more water. Try stretching even though you hate mobility work. Try going for a walk even though it's freezing outside. Try reading a book that challenges you. Try talking to someone you don't normally talk to. Try going deeper into that squat. Try something you think you're too old for. Try changing how you speak, how you think, and how you react. 

You might think it is too hard. You're probably right. You'll probably fail.
But maybe try doing it anyway. It's the only way to keep moving forward.

The Year of Unseen Work

I always feel anxious around New Year's Day. I struggle with winter, and January first always marks the start of what is (in my opinion) the worst month of the year. It's dark, cold, and in some ways, punishing.

I have never looked back at the end of a year and been proud of my accomplishments. I always, instead, feel like the year was wasted in days, weeks, and months of thinking that tomorrow, or next week, or next month, maybe I'll finally get it together. Then, inevitably, the week passes, the month passes, the year passes, and here I am the same old me -- still struggling, still treading water, still wondering when I will actually do the things I hope I will do. 

But then, another part of me pushes back against that.

This year was different.

I had a baby. That baby took more from my body than I ever gave before, and I have been spending weeks and months working to rebuild strength and come back from injuries. All the old insecurities and weaknesses returned -- including my old friend bulimia, which constantly tells me that I don't belong, that my body is worthless, that people will overlook me and forget me and judge me because of how I look. 

I think you'd have to actually have an eating disorder to know what it is like to constantly fight one. Even if you don't actively act on disordered eating tendencies, the voice is always there in the back of your mind. You just always have to be stronger than the voice, which takes so much self-control. That self-control comes from a finite source, and it draws from other areas, leaving you feeling like you're always fighting but accomplishing nothing. 

This year, more than any other year, I've made progress in diminishing the "eating disorder" voice. I think it is working, but I can tell you it has been a lot of mental work. 

I've also been trying to resolve a lot of past struggles that go back to childhood. It's been hard to uncover painful memories, re-experience them, and then resolve them. It's been even harder to dismantle the comfortable memories that I did have, seeing the pain that lay just underneath them. I think that the experiences I had growing up made me independent, tough, and able to work through discomfort. The stronger the wind, the tougher the tree, after all. Although trauma gave me great sea legs, I found myself walking on dry land as an adult after a childhood navigating rough seas. I was struggling to adapt, to understand people, to understand myself, and to know what was normal and good. I have a cynical streak I cannot shake. I have trouble getting to know and trust new people. Near-constant anxiety is a familiar companion. 

I can say that I am starting to know what it's like to walk on land without falling over. That confidence came with a lot of emotional pain and, again, a lot of draining mental work. 

So, even though all the things I wish could have happened this last year didn't really happen, here are some things that did happen:

• I kept a new baby alive and loved with more patience than I believed I possessed. 
• I turned a corner from believing that I was a failure in a lot of areas of my life to hoping that even when I don't measure up, I still have value.
• I was diligent about recovering from both physical and emotional injuries, even though it takes a long time and really isn't fun. 
• I got better at keeping my things organized.
• Clark and I celebrated our 10-year anniversary, and even though we aren't perfect, my relationship with him is the best thing I've created for my life and the life of my family. 

Unseen work is often thankless, and it takes effort that can't be neatly photographed and posted for quick likes and shares. The unseen work is scary, uncomfortable, and messy. It deals with the stuff that nobody wants to talk about. It takes brutal honesty and seeing yourself for how you really are, instead of how you hope you are. It takes seeing other people as they really are, and not how you hope or wish they will be. 

It's foundational. It might not ever really end. But if I ever want to run up a mountain, I've got to learn how to walk on dry ground. 

Happy New Year.