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Holy Lactic Acid!

Woke up this morning unable to move well—too many muscles filled to the brim with lactic acid. That fitness class yesterday worked just about every muscle group I have and today they are screaming at me.

I’m supposed to climb Mt. Bierstadt tomorrow with the boys—not the hardest mountain in the world but I need to do more than shuffle up it. Quit yer bitchin’, muscles! 



P90X, Old Fogie Fitness Class, and a Cry for Help

P90X is sweeping through my group of friends, a couple of whom are official trainers. I borrowed the foot-thick bundle of DVDs for a while and after doing the Yoga X routine, it sat and collected dust on my TV—silently accusing me each time I piled the latest Netflix and library movie on top of it. There’s just no way to jump around in the morning while the kids sleep a floor below me.

So, I tried the Total Body Workout at the rec center this morning. Felt like a lower impact P90X workout—muscle confusion and hopping around and such—except I was the only guy there and the second youngest. The barriers I had to overcome were these: gender scarcity and pride at first, then knee pain and atrophied muscles. I was able to dismiss the first two and focus on the movements—felt good stretch that part of my brain and focus it on pushing through the second two. 

The class kicked my ass, and it hurt so good. Just right for where I am physically. Came home to freshly baked banana bread and Psalm 86—both compliments of my wife. We read the Psalm three times Lectio style and ended with an prayer for help from the Orthodox prayer book my friend Scott Cairns gave me. Not sure about the theology of suffering in that prayer, but the words asking for help felt right.

The kids weren’t into the Lectio at all—surprise surprise…we haven’t exactly fostered a lifestyle or appreciation of spiritual or physical practices. But they did listen a little bit and Ameena recounted the story of David and Goliath (“David asked God for help to make Goliath dead. Then he swung a rock in his parachute and hit Goliath in the forehead with it”). Hard to focus kids on the spiritual lesson of that really violent, not kid friendly Bible story.

David asked for help. He still had to keep running for his life, so exactly how God answered his prayers is still up for debate. I guess his faith was strengthened in the way muscles are—stress, small tears, fatigue, and a little rest equals strength. My spiritual muscles are weak—maybe I am Acedic. I’m in the ring with Goliath. Lord have mercy.



Blobs on Wheels

Rode my bike home from work last week, following the South Platte River trail all the way up from Five Points to Littleton. I felt more kinship with other blobs on two wheels than fast, toned people my age and younger—they probably only have themselves to care about, and their chocolate lab, maybe a wife and a kid on the outside chance, but not four kids. Being toned and able to ride 20 miles in half a minute is their responsibility—it’s their duty.



The End of the Fat Era

After downing 35.8 ounces of Pepsi and snagging the last huge Soft & Chewy ginger snap, discussed my route to the river from the north end of Denver’s Five Points neighborhood with Leland. I’ve been telling everyone our 8th anniversary last week marked the end of the “fat 15”—15 years of graduate school and young parenthood, and 40 pounds later, I’m still convincing myself that I’m only “just over” the obese mark, which isn’t too bad, really, when the “overweight” spectrum is so skinny. However, I’m having a hard time keeping up with Malachi’s energy and want to get back to hiking mountains where I feel most like myself. With a Masters degree in public health, it was time for me to do an intervention on myself. Utilizing social networks and social supports was a key concept I learned, so telling everyone I know about my intentions sets me up for accountability…now I really have to do it.

With supreme outdoorsman foresight, I filled up one of my empty pepsi bottles with water, which I intended to drink after I finished off the backwashed pepsi (mine) in the other bottle. Pepsi is mostly water, so I figured it counted. Yep, that masters degree has come in real handy.