Jazzing it up – at the gym, at the Lanc

Saturday mornings have been ‘get a move on’ times for me for a long time.

Years ago, they were ‘long walk day’ for me and my golden retriever, Gerard Manley Hopkins. We lived near a conservation area and explored nearly every inch of it.

Hoppy was the gentlest, most Zen of dogs – until he discovered a taste for groundhogs. Rodent murder became a frequent distraction on our otherwise beautiful nature hikes.

After Hoppy went to heaven, and I moved to Toronto, I used to work most Saturday mornings (the good ol’ bad ol’ days in my past corporate life). I bought a treadmill, though, and would race through a half hour workout before walking a few blocks to the office.

When I left that job, I got a gym membership and did a cardio class at 9:15 every Saturday morning for nearly a year.

Then I began the marathon walking training, and Saturdays were ‘long walk days’ again, starting at ungodly hours, capped with a group ‘breakfast’ (think fat, carbs, and caffeine) often at noon or later – this for a couple of years.

When I moved out of the city, I found myself with another dog, my spirited Cairn named Banco, (her previous owner’s son, an acrobat in Cirque de Soleil, named her after the Cirque show Saltimbanco) and Saturday mornings became big walk day yet again.

I still walk the dog every day – she likes to get out several times a day or more in her ideal universe – but my daughter, who’s moved back home for a little while, often does the long hikes on the weekend.

That’s because I hang out at the gym with Stefan most Saturday mornings now. This Saturday ‘move my body through space’ thing is a pattern that works for me, it seems. I sit – a lot – at work, at this computer, in the car, at movies, reading.

So I am glad that somehow I’ve managed to acquire a habit that’s actually good for me. It’s Saturday, time to shake the booty.

I will say there’s a difference between Stefan Saturdays and long, leisurely walks through the woods with a happy puppy. They’re also different from the 15, 20, 25k marathon training walks, strenuous as those could get.

Sometimes I still can’t believe that a 30-second dead-lift can make me feel like I’ve just done a flat-out, hard-core aerobics class or three, but that’s how resistance training goes.

Today’s movement agenda was Pyramid Redux. Bombdiggity plus.

Dead-lifts: 105 lbs, then 115, then 120. Today, I did all the 120 lb reps (8), unlike the crash and burn of last time. I did pause for a bit half way through last set; wrangling with inner excuses, I expect.

Stefan started to move in, ready to ‘motivate’ me but I waved him off. I was going to do these damn things today even though they felt impossible.

And I did.

I also made a *lot* of noise – I think if I were a professional tennis player, I’d be Monica Seles and the Williams sisters rolled together, emitting a cacophonous symphony of grunting and other exhalations at every hit. Also, my face looks a lot more contorted than Monica’s much of the time – beauty in the gym I am not.

Barbell bench press: 45 lbs, then 50, then 55.

I did tell Stefan during a break that I was afraid of dropping the bar on my chest and he said the rib cage would mitigate the damage.

He was not Mr. Sympathy today. (He’s always there for me – I think he just wanted me to step up a little more today, turn up the mojo and turn down the fear chatter).

I remember thinking during the last few reps of the high weight, ok, this is what people mean when they say push through your limit, don’t give in, do *not* drop this – it will hurt. Stefan spotted me and I think I completed all the reps.

Rows: 60 lbs, then 70, then 80.

Lunges: 0 weight, then holding 10lb weights (dimes) in each hand, then 25lb weights (quarters). Stefan said these last ones would be tough; they were; did ’em anyway. High five.

Then we did that rubber-band walk twice across the width of the gym. Less St Vitus dance today, more like a real exercise.

Face the Music – the good kind: It’s Dixie time!

After showering off 14 gallons of sweat, I went to the Lanc in Waterloo, still serving up Dixieland jazz every Saturday as well as southern barbecue now. Do you *know* how hard it was for me to walk away after the music and not stuff myself with pulled pork? Harder than barbell presses.

The Saturday movin’ and groovin’ kept going here, though. This music is happiness on a stick – and everyone, from age 6 to 80, was smiling and dancing (in their seats or on the dance floor).

We finished the day with a New Orleans jazz parade through the bar. I had to join – it’s Saturday, right?

This video clip is a parade from before (same band) but you get the idea.

Dancin’ away from the pork…

 

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