How To Tell If You’ve Overdone It At The Gym
1. You lift your hand to brush your teeth and decide it would really just be easier to bring your mouth down to your hand level instead of the other way around. Who cares if your head is in the sink?
2. You see that your hair needs to be brushed, but figure that if Meg Ryan can still pull off the messy look, you can too.
3. Simply wiping off the counter is painful enough that it makes you whimper.
4. Turning the steering wheel in the car hurts, so you decide to drive home a different way so you can eliminate as many turns as possible.
5. Your first thought in the morning is that you can't wait to go to bed at night.
6. When you go to put your pajamas on at night, you decide it might just be easier to sleep in your clothes since raising your arms above shoulder height feels like people are ripping the insides of your arms apart.
7. You've decided that swinging your arms when walking is optional.
8. Little elbows pushing off of your chest reminds you of the time you got the massage from the crazy Russian lady who you thought would kill you before she solved any of your back problems.
9. You decide to make for dinner only meals that don't require you to retrieve anything from the upper cabinets.
10. You have ibuprofen as your breakfast.
How do you know you've overdone it?
It’s In There-17 Months Post ACL Surgery
I've been making a concentrated effort to spend more time at the dojo the past few weeks. I usually attend classes twice a week, but I've been adding an extra class here and there. I've been on the cusp of recovering all the kata and knew that the more I worked on it, the more cobwebs I'd be able to shake off.
This week, I've been at the dojo every night so far. Big I had ju-jutsu last night, so while she attended class downstairs, I went upstairs and ran through all of the kobudo kata. I think I have finally reached the point where I'm able to stop beating myself up mentally for putting kata on the back burner during my injury recovery. It's in there. It's really, finally, in there again.
I'm back to that familiar place where I'm falling asleep each night after running through a couple kata in my head. I'm talking about karate to Mr. BBM non-stop. I'm excited about how my bunkai is coming along. Despite the fact that a couple moves are still a little difficult for me (probably always will be), like the jump in the one tunfa kata and the kneel down in one of our open hand kata, I'm finally at the point where I've run through things enough times to know that my knee is holding up. It is no longer a stopping point, at least in kata (as long as my teachers are willing to accept the fact that I'm probably never going to be able to land on my left leg after that one jump). I'm even running on the treadmill now without swelling up.
The first couple weeks back were rough. I felt undeserving of the belt wrapped around my waist. I felt awkward and uncomfortable. It would have been really easy to throw in the towel. I won't deny that I thought about it while driving home after a few rough nights at the dojo. But I was determined to get back to my pre-injury state. I gradually accepted that I wouldn't be the same ever again; but I wanted to get as close as possible.
My knee is far from pre-injury state. It sometimes feels stiff and awful after a workout or a night at the dojo. When I stand up from sitting, sometimes I limp a bit. I can almost always tell you when it's going to rain; my knee is more accurate than the Weather Channel. But I feel like I am settling into the post-injury me and it's going ok. I've accepted the fact that I'm not going to ever be able to sit in seiza without terrible consequences. I think I'll probably always have some tendonitis that makes kneeling down uncomfortable. I'm probably always going to mind long car rides when I go to stand back up again. I will forever be extremely cautious with both of my knees; but I am slowly but surely putting the ACL ordeal behind me and getting back to doing the thing I love.
It's about time.
Not the Only Girl With a Trainer Problem
This morning I got a message from my regular trainer. He wanted to know why I was "cheating" on him and had an appointment scheduled with the guy who bear hugged me on Tuesday.
I never scheduled an appointment with him, but apparently the guy put me in his book for 10:30 a.m.
Um, no.
When I agreed to let him show me some exercises, it was casual, like if I'm here, cool. If not, whatever. I was planning on not being around. I didn't want to be bothered again.
I immediately left a message for my trainer, the bear hugger's boss, and told him to cancel my appointment. It wasn't until this evening, on the way home from the dojo, that we were finally able to talk.
I went through the blow by blow with him and when I got to the part where he grabbed me from behind? First there was silence and then there was a staccato "What? He did WHAT?" I reiterated how it had gone down and my trainer was very upset. Apparently this isn't the first time that a woman has complained about this particular trainer being pushy and "overly sexual."
I told my trainer I didn't want to make a huge deal about it. I don't want to feel uncomfortable coming to the gym and being around that trainer. I told him I was letting him know because if that guy does what he did to me to someone else, they might have a sexual harassment case on their hands. I just wanted to make him aware.
He cut me off. "Girl, you just keep coming and doing your thing. You have nothing to feel uncomfortable about! You let ME handle him. I'm going to handle him."
I asked him if he could put a note beside my name in the computer that says, "All trainers-Leave her the hell alone." He said he would take care of it. Knowing him, I know he will.
I'm getting a free work-out out of it with my trainer; and I trust that I won't be having any more awkward martial arts conversations at the gym.
I'm tempted to arrive with my nunchaku so if he gets anywhere near me, I can just start swinging to create my safe zone. Then again, he'd probably think they are cool and tell me he's a 9th degree black belt in "brass knuckles" or something. On second thought, I think I'll leave the nunchaku at home.
What All the Martial Artists Warned Me About
The gym gods were all aligning against me today. I should have skipped; but instead I got Lil C ready and got on my way. I only had an hour before the Kid Zone was closing so I had to hurry. The first main road I turned onto has a speed limit of 35. Big I's school is located along this road and during certain times of the day, it's a school zone with a 15 mph speed limit.
I was following another car. They were going faster than I was going, but the cop pulled out of the school parking lot pointing meanly at me with his lights flashing. Fantastic.
Meanwhile I'm sure all my neighbors are driving by. The only people who use that street are people who live in my neighborhood. The officer approaches the car and he's an older man. I take off my sunglasses, turn the radio off and hope that Lil C is pouting. He lets me off with a warning for going 25 on a road where the speed limit is usually 35, but the school zone lights had just turned on. I did not see them flashing and swear they had turned on right after I entered the school zone. As I'm getting finished up, a police SUV pulls up behind the cop car with his lights on too. What? He thought he needed back-up or something? Maybe they planned on busting me for not registering my hands as deadly weapons or something.
I directly attribute the warning without a ticket to Lil C looking adorable in the backseat with her little lamb stuffed animal sitting on her lap, and to me wisely deciding to turn off the T.I. I was listening to when he approached.
I should have known right then and there that my workout was doomed.
I arrived at the gym with about 40 minutes to squeeze my workout into and got started. I did higher reps and less sets and tried to blow through the sets as quickly as possible. I kept noticing one of the new trainers sort of following me around. He seemed to be trying to get my attention but I had my headphones in and I was doing my best to appear invisible.
It was when I got on the dip machine that he came over and started talking right in my face, ignoring my headphones. I couldn't just ignore him so I pulled one out. He was critiquing my form. Apparently, I needed to adjust the machine a little better. Normally I would have, but I was in a rush. I had 15 minutes left and I still had two arm exercises and abs to do.
I thanked him for his help but he didn't stop there. He wanted to show me how to do it properly. I began thinking about another guy from my dojo who joined the same gym. No one ever bothers him, he says. Why do all the trainers bother me all the time? Why did all the crazy people always want to talk to me on the bus when I lived in Pittsburgh? I'm guessing the answer is one and the same.
Then I was distracted from these thoughts as we got into the conversation that every martial artist dreads, the one I've been warned about, similar to when you say you're an English teacher and people ramble off some Shakespearean quote and ask you to name the exact play, Act, line and character. . .
"I haven't really seen you here before" he said. (My God, I'm thinking, I finally know what super power I would choose if I could have one. I'd be invisible!)
"Yeah, well, I've been on a two week break from the gym and you look brand new. That's probably why. I've been coming since October."
"Oh, well what do you normally do for your fitness routine?"
Here we go, the hard sell for a training contract. Been there-done that.
"Well, I go to karate a couple times a week, and come to the gym mainly to rehab my knee."
"No way, you do karate!" he says excitedly.
"Yeah," I say looking at my watch.
"How long have you been doing karate?"
"About five years now," I said. (I should have said, "I started yesterday.")
"I LOVE the martial arts," he said. "I'm like an 8th degree black belt in wrestling" (I'm assuming there is added emphasis on the "like").
"Really? I didn't know they had black belts in wrestling" I say.
"Wow, that's so cool that you're a girl and you do martial arts," he chatters on.
"Uh-huh."
"So what would you do if I threw a punch at you like this?"
He throws a slow punch that stops about 12 inches from my face.
"Nothing," I said, "that punch is of no threat to me."
"Well what if I would do this," he says, throwing two punches that both land about 12 inches from my face.
"Nothing," I said, "your punch is still like a foot away from me."
I check my watch and tell him how I'm trying to squeeze in a quick workout, but he doesn't get the hint. He walks behind me and grabs me in the middle of the gym in a bear hug from behind. I'm sort of shocked that he would just wrap his arms around some girl he doesn't know, but I just stand there knowing what's coming next.
"What would you do if I did this?"
"Well, you are doing that, so if I thought you were going to hurt me and you weren't just screwing around, I would drop into a solid stance and first distract you by stomping hard on your foot. I'd probably start trying to loosen up your grip by getting my elbows moving. Then, I'd probably use a heel-butt kick to your groin. I'm guessing by then you would probably let go. You're shorter than I am and I have long legs so it would probably work. Then, as you're doubling over in pain, I'd elbow you in the face as hard as I could trying to hit you in the eye, nose, or chin. Or, depending on how you're gripping me, I might just drop down and elbow you in the groin on the way down."
"Well, I'd try to take you down" he said, "before you could do that."
He was inches shorter than I was and he wiggled around a bit, apparently trying to take me down, but I continued to just stand there. He finally let go. I was mentally heel-butt kicking myself for even mentioning karate.
"So you said you were rehabbing your knee. What's wrong with it?"
"I had ACL reconstruction" I said.
"Want to come in on Thursday and I'll show you some good exercises for it?" he asked me.
"As long as you promise you're not going to try to sign me up on a training contract and you're planning on showing me something I don't already know."
"Nah, I won't do that (he is so lying), but hey, can you teach me some karate stuff some time?"
Why an "8th degree black belt in wrestling" would want me to teach him some karate is beyond me.
What I should have said? "Sure, but that will require a $149 enrollment fee, plus $40 per 20-30 minute session. Can I sign you up now? Let's sit down and talk about it. It will change your life, the way you workout. It will change your body."
Instead, I told him I had to get back to my workout.
Invisible spray-someone invent it and send me some pronto.
The Kids That Keep You Up At Night
During my first year of teaching, I had a lot of challenging students. When you have an 18 year old driving to 9th grade and at least five kids who have probation officers, you know you're going to have some rough days. A quick scan of my class lists gave some of the veteran teachers chills. What a way to start off as a new teacher.
One of the students the veteran teachers warned me about was taking 9th grade English for the second time. As they started to tell their horror stories about Rob, I tried to block it out. I didn't want to have any preconceived ideas about my students. I wanted to give them all a fair chance at success without me walking in there with an expectation that they were going to be a nightmare for me.
It turns out that the student they warned me about became one of my favorite kids. He didn't turn everything in on time. He sometimes acted aloof in class, but there was something about him that I liked. He was no kiss-up and wasn't going to pretend that he appreciated Shakespeare to try to make me happy. He was as he appeared, and sometimes he was just not interested in being in class.
I was called to multiple conferences about this particular student during the year. I would listen as each teacher went around the room relaying horror stories about him and telling his Mom how he was going to fail, yet again. When they got to me, the room got very quiet. I had no problems with him. Although he was a straight C student at this point, he caused me no trouble at all. I just would have liked him to put a little more effort into his assignments. Behavior wise, I had no issues with him. It seemed that everyone else did.
About mid-year, we did a poetry assignment and what he turned in was not a typical poem. It was a rap that he had poured his heart and soul into. I couldn't have been more thrilled. He didn't try to duplicate a "roses are red" poem or plagiarize one off the Internet like many of my students did. What he turned in was authentic. It was also a bit raw and used some serious slang, but I liked it. I happen to like and appreciate rap. It was a turning point for him in the class.
Soon, he was writing journal entries about how he wanted to become a rapper. He was bringing in new songs for me to look over on a regular basis. Then, he brought me a demo tape that I still have somewhere. I thought it was awesome. I told him that what he was writing was poetry. I used his own work to show him examples of rhyming, alliteration, and the poetry patterns he was creating throughout his work. Suddenly, he had a new appreciation for English class.
His teachers continued to talk in conferences how he was disrespectful and inattentive; and then I would gushabout how talented he was and how once he saw the relevancy to his own interests, he became invested in English class and in his work. The other teachers just stared at me in disbelief. I was the only one who could see the good in this kid. I thought it was a real shame, and I think a lot of it was because many of those teachers walked into that classroom on the first day, knowing how he had been the year before, and assumed he was going to be the same disrespectful punk. I expected better from him, and he rose to the occasion.
This semester, I had a "Rob." He came from a rough background, lost his dad and two of his friends to drugs and suicide in the very near past, and although he was rough around the edges, I really liked him and saw a lot of potential in him. When I met with him mid-semester and told him he had a D and too many absences, he asked me if he should withdraw from the class.
I told him he needed to attend regularly and work harder! I spent so much time that day pointing out all the good in his work and telling him that I just needed to see more of it on time. He attended every class for a while and then he dropped off again. I was so disappointed. This weekend, as I sat grading final portfolios, it came time to grade his. He was missing his final paper, and two other major assignments that he had the entire semester to complete. Had he completed even one of the three assignments with any care, he would have been able to pass the class with a D-. Instead he failed.
I don't know whether or not he'll be back next semester. It's the kids like this that keep me up at night. What will he do if he's not in school? Will he follow the route his friends took and get involved with drugs again? Will he be able to straighten himself out and find the motivation to succeed? I found a way to get to my 9th grader many years ago, but as a teacher, you can't reach them all. This is one that slipped through the cracks; and I'm as disappointed in myself as I am in him.
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