The problem of being a PT god wannabe

I have a karate workout partner who constantly reminds me, “Know who you have in front of you.”  I can follow this tenet in the dojo, on the street, and in the classroom.  Unfortunately, I lose that perceptive when I look in the mirror.  Being in shape has always been a part of my life.  I ran track and played baseball in high school, ran track in college, and then entered the Army where physical training (or PT, as it’s known in the Army) is a part of every duty day.  When I retired from the Army I wanted to stay in shape so I joined a gym, began a serious weight lifting regimen, doubled down on my karate workouts, and (most of the time) tried to watch what I ate.  And, to be a bit vain, I’m in pretty good shape for a 55 year old. 

Unfortunately, when I read workout magazines, I forget I’m 55.  Best I can figure, my ego thinks we’re still 25.  You know what ego is – it’s that ugly little troll that lives under the bridge between reality and self-delusion.  And it’s ego that reads a workout that calls for three sets of 10 reps using this much weight, and says, “We can do that.  No problem.”  And it’s ego that makes us run excitedly to the gym over lunch and push, pull, sweat, and grunt through that workout.  (OK, to be honest, that last set of 10 sometimes turns into 8 reps.  Or 6.  Or even 4.  But that’s it.)  When I’m done, I feel tired and rejuvenated and happy with what I’ve accomplished.  And, even better, ego has been served and retreats back under that bridge.

And then I wake up the next morning.  I roll out of bed, wondering if that creaking is coming from the bed frame or from me.  I walk stiff-legged to the bathroom, holding my arms out in front of me and groaning like the Mummy from old horror movies.  I have to sit to do my business because I can’t bend over far enough to lift the seat.  (Sorry for that mental picture.)  Ego, which the day before was all part of the team and thought lifting all those weights was a good idea, now wants to know what the hell I was thinking. 

I try to wear polo shirts and loafers as much as possible because buttoning shirts, knotting a tie, and tying shoes are a bit more than I can handle in the mornings.  My arms refuse to function properly, whether due to a buildup of lactic acid or simply due to a desire to punish my stupidity, I don’t know.   Fortunately, my coworkers are full of great ways to avoid the inevitable stiffness and soreness the next morning.

The first suggestion was to lie in a tub of 60⁰ water for twenty minutes.  Now how the hell does hypothermia prevent stiffness??  Seems counterintuitive, especially because the stiffness would be the end result of rigor mortis after I have a heart attack from dropping my butt in a tub of 60⁰ water.  Scratch that suggestion.

The next suggestion was to increase the amount of protein in my diet.  The hypothesis is, your body gets sore because you’ve torn muscle fibers during your workout.  By adding extra protein to your diet, the body repairs those fibers more quickly, thereby decreasing the S²  problem.  So, a couple of 12-egg omelets later, garnished with 10-ounce ribeyes on the side and washed down with a protein shake made from Myotein powder, just left me with stiff arteries to go along with my still-stiff muscles.  Scratch that suggestion, too.

Another friend suggested caffeine as a stiffness reducing elixir.  So I started drinking coffee and tea throughout the day.  The result?  Now I’m awake all night so I get to feel that stiffness and soreness even more.  Plus, who can drink coffee or tea without a cookie or 12?  Kinda defeats the purpose of going to the gym in the first place.

I was told to add ginger to my orange juice.  Have you ever tried OJ w/ ginger?  (Which reminds me of the old OJ Simpson joke:  Have you heard OJ has a new webpage address?  It’s slash, slash, backslash, run, escape.)  I was told to drink lots of Gatorade after working out.  I was told to drink more water, flushing the lactic acid out of my body.  That one did work a little bit:  I was up every half hour Mummy-ing my way to the bathroom.  Maybe that little extra work kept the muscles looser; I don’t really know.

Finally, I hit upon the right answer:  It’s not how many reps you lift, it’s how much weight you’re pushing.  So I’ve hit upon the perfect compromise.  I’m now going to focus on lifting 12 ounces six times a day.  It won’t help keep me in shape, but at least I won’t care.

Thanks for reading, and if you have any ideas on how to avoid feeling stiff and sore the day after a workout, let me know.