Tuesday, January 29, 2008

A Take on the Herstory of Fitness and why I (heart) old people

Why not do away with retrospect and engage in a sort of non-temporal instrospect? I've been thinking about unilinear time and why it is that we always find our "reasons" and learning through hindsight. Reflecting on my lastest notes, I wonder how much of the modern fitness mentality takes root in the "Protestant work ethic" (try Weber) and in the notion of history as being unilinear as per biblical faiths as opposed to cyclical as it was for the Greeks/classical pagan tradition. I'm suggesting two very loaded concepts here, so allow me to shake it up and break it down for you kind and patient folks.

Looking most specifically at highly competitive athletes (which includes recreational, physique and endurance contingents) I can't help but ask myself if modern western consciousness, and specifically in this context, has derived the "no pain, no gain" paragidm from Weberian seeds. For myself, I know that in my peak of overreaching, I was battling against a narrative of my own making; the narrative of "If I am not fast/lean/strong/skilled enough, then...".
Chances are that most of us have developed a narrative as such with a densely ambitious "if" and a nebulously defined "then". For computer programmers, if/them statements are used in a causal manner to determine outputs. For us in the gym (let's reduce the training environment to just the gym for the sake of simplicity) there are consequences for not achieving, but aside from a common fear of mediocrity, that consequence remains largely unexplored for most of us. I would wager my weekly tea allowance that most women's "then" involves physique implications, but the underlying belief, whether the "then" concerns matters of strength, perfomance or aesthetics is a prolific valuing of a borderline ascetic work ethic.

If perfectionism and burn out are modern epidemics, then I would journey into Weber's ideas and pinpoint the transition from the Catholic Work Ethic to the "Protestant work ethic" as being a monumental moment for the shaping of the typical mind and modernity. In the case of fitness especially, I see women venturing toward figure and bb competitions and I sense that the high degre of self-abuse (masked as "discipline" by most industry media) and relentless efforts carry with them a sort of purity that embodies the spirit of this work ethic. So, then let's ask ourselves, why oh why (oh why oh why OH WHY) have we come to value leanness and the overuse of discpline a being a source of salvation from at least 2/7 of those darn sins? (I was thinking greed and/or sloth.) And what is so psychologically addictive about the "clean" feeling of a training output that is 1kj short of loss of consciousness. If humans were once hunter gatherers, did we actually stimulae endorphin synthesis from exhaustion or famine? My instinct tells me no, but I would be very interested to learn more about that.

I suppose the only logical trajectory this thinking can take is toward the second prong of my initial thinking: unilinear temporal consciousness. Now, I don't have enough brain cells to count on the number of times I or others have made a claim for getting "back" into shape. Allow me to wander aimlessly for a moment before completing that thought:
Why not consider the "reason" for an experience at the front end? Would this not cause injury or unexpected events in life to feel more valuable at the onset? Why do most of us insist on reflecting in the aftermath, rather than in the moment?
Now that I've created an incomplete foray, I return to my initial discussion which is somehow (though I can't find the definitive link) connected. The Greeks would tell us that we can know patters and change through cosmological metaphors; that history occurs in cycles congruent to those in nature. The biblical tradition veers toward a sense of history through revelation. For Pagans, it was the employment of reason toward understanding cycles, whereas for the Hebrews and Christians (and maybe Muslims, though I wouldn't presume to have the knowledge to include Islam in this generalization), there was a stronger emphasis on the promise of the future as a justification for the past and present. Both view of history offer increadible scope for discussion, but for our purposes, it is the more enduring of the two (the biblical notion of history) on which I am focused. If we are to look at the means through which to acquire a fitness end (that is, a goal) then we can justify some struggle for the promise of our narrative. In this case, the if/then goes something like this:
IF I lift weights and eat right every day THEN I will surely become healthier/more attractive/less prone to sinful behaviour. Hmm, wait a minute? Did you read that right? Yes, you did. I am making a (hopefully) provocative claim for the use of fitness as a religion alternative for overcoming, as I said, at least 2/7 sins. Whether or not we consciously view fitness as such, taken to an extreme, most sufferers of ED's or perfectionism-related behaviour will admit to having (perhaps unknowingly) pursued a path as deviant from "deviant" behaviour as possible. And what about the self-proclaimed non-believer? Where does he/she fit in? Well, if a certain theoretical viewpoint holds true, then non-belief does not exempt one from partaking in the consciousness of (most) western societies that has come to be influenced by these sources. What I'm saying is that religious or not, the ascetic values have permeated society and nowhere is this more apparent to me (at the moment) then from a glimpse of a photo of an underfed, overtrained fitess/figure/bbuilding competitor. This type of thing is vastly present in sports as well, but manifests itself in sometimes less visible forms.

On to the other matter at hand: old people. I have really come to value the presence of older community memners at the gym. In fact, of late, it is the older folks, more than the most attractive or strongest folks that I have come to admire. If longevity and quality in that is the name of the game, then it is truly in senior citizens that I find my hope for a healthy and happy life. Always cheerful, always grateful to be there, old people represent a true commitment to living well and living well into their vintage years. Because the ability to exercise in your later years is only possible through self-care and balance in the years prior, I am starting to think that old people have got this game pretty darn figured out.

As for me, my workouts are consistant and a joy. I think it may be a while before my brain can sustain any "bumpy" cardio like running, but weighted stairclimbing and walking is challenge enough! I'm playing hockey and coaching again, though both at a modified pace. I couldn't be happier to be back in the gym and after a few "false starts", I've reached a comforting conclusion:

I'm not getting back into shape; I'm getting back into me.


I wish you all healthy days, tasty meals and a full receptacle of winsdhield washer fluid.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

It took me a long, long time to realize that training ought to promote health and ought not to compromise it.

How curious. While I understand abstractions easily, it took so much time to grasp such an elementary truth. n some ways, I am more of a simpleton than I thought.

One must be able to train over the long term for training to be beneficial to one over the long term.

How we train. How we treat the environment. The key with both is the pursuit of sustainability.

There are not many things. There is one thing. Again, in one way or another, all is a unity.

"getting back into me". Yes.

Focused and fierce. That was the comment. This was the picture.

Anonymous said...

I of V

He didn't keep many mirrors in the house.

Too much truth. But he looked this time, long and hard. There were lines in his face and he couldn't remember how they got there or when.

His face, his features were proof enough. Time had passed. The seconds leaked into minutes that flowed into hours that rolled like a wave into days and months, cresting into years.

"God what a perfect mental image", he thought. It's like flowing water. Exactly. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly always imperceptibly. "That's b/s", he said to himself. He just hadn't taken the time to notice. Now, "it" was here. "It". The present. His life. The culmination of everything that he had been, done and achieved up to this moment.

He looked harder into the mirror. The face that looked back at him was so disgusted that it couldn't even laugh. He hadn't amounted to much.

He had always heard people talk about how time was whipping by. He had never felt that time was moving slowly or quickly. He had never bothered much about time at all.

He just was. In the moment. For the moment. Moment to moment. He never hurt anyone, always tried to be a decent person. It had felt like the right way to live. If it was wrong, why didn't it feel wrong at any point in all of those years? Why hadn't someone told him? What was he supposed to do now?

He turned away from the mirror. Enough hard reality for today. Enough "truth".

He felt cold and sick. Worse, he felt helpless.

What he had been thinking about, prior to his brief visit with the psychotherapist in the mirror, came racing up to the fore again - like a helium filled balloon released from a child's fingers.

Everything around him was different. More than that. It had evolved, become more. More textured, deeper, self-aware, connected.

He had always been able to dodge truths that were too hard to deal with. But this one backed him up in a corner and kept slapping him in the face.

India had changed. Priya had changed. He had not.

Anonymous said...

II of V

He was still decent, still kind, still handsome (he was beautiful and turned heads wherever he went - something that had always bugged Priya, not that she would ever admit it).

Those were the things that drew her to him so many years ago. Why, wasn't it enough now?

"Why couldn't you have just grown the F*** up"?

She didn't say it. She screamed it. He felt, FELT, the years of pent up rage and frustration coming from her. Like driving at 200 and being slammed into a brick wall.

It was brutal to hear. He didn't know how it could get worse, or if it would.

It did.

He had reasoned with her, been super calm and told her that she was being unreasonable, irrational and "hormonal" (that pathetic tactic that males have recourse to when they know they have nothing left).

She fought. She yelled. She argued. He didn't realize what a blessing that was.

Until there was...nothing.

It wasn't a matter of not responding. She wasn't ignoring him. He really didn't understand, at first.

"Great", he thought. "Silent treatment". And she was ragging on him for being immature.

But it was more than that. Deeper and more pervasive. Understanding seeped in. As if his mind was dry earth that had just been kissed by drops of rain.

He became saturated. His seeping understanding giving way to a torrential downpour of truth.

He had seen it before, had done it before. He just didn't realize that he was looking at the same thing. Albeit in a different way.

When he was younger, he and some buddies had gone into the teachers' parking lot at school and had unhooked Mr. Govindaswami's trailer from his car. He wasn't a bad guy, just the unfortunate target of a juvenile prank.

They had unhitched the trailer but left the cable loosely tied. It only looked connected. When "vindaloo" drove away, the trailer went with the car, at first. It came loose soon. The car moved forward, the trailer back. It hit the driver's side of another teacher's car. Ms. Kumar, a really great teacher was just getting out of her car when the trailer hit the open driver's side door and slammed it shut. Ms. Kumar's leg had been in the way and it was taken clean off, right at the knee. The door actually closed.

He hadn't seen that coming. Ms. Kumar died a few days later. "Vindaloo" killed himself out of guilt. No one figured out that he had anything to do with it.

It had bugged him at first. He got over it. He was young and handsome. Girls, parties and life were ready distractions.

Disengaged. Like the car from the trailer. And now, like then, he had done it.

Priya had taken her equity out of their relationship. Talking, responding, screaming, arguing are all expressions of caring - caring enough to listen, to tolerate, to think, to integrate, to question, to reflect, to respond.

She didn't care enough to say anything anymore. It was her way of saying that he was no longer worth it. She had literally divested herself.

She used to say, in quiet and intimate moments "you're my home, I live in you".

He never really got it. Never felt like he knew how to respond...properly. So, he always stayed quiet, smiled and hugged her tight. It was reasonable, affectionate and genuine. "It'll do", he had always thought. It always had. Seemed like it anyways.

He didn't know.

He couldn't have known that what was in his calculating mind and not in his heart, would come out in his touch and scream "he doesn't get it and doesn't feel the same" at Priya every time he gave her one of these "embraces".

Invested. Deeply. That's what she had meant.

Now, when he spoke, no one was there. Not for her anyways.

Anonymous said...

i see and still i dont ..

i happened to pass by and notice that how a lovely woman is turning into a hockey stick wielding fitness freak. i dont have a say but i sincerely hope that it remains a passion and not a priority in life.

umm.. i was alive then dead ... been through an ice age but still managed to grow a green little bud at the first ray of sunshine. i guess that's life.

i am so glad to see an intellectual in making .. and a little surprised about the filipina .. where did that fighting spirit came from??

by now atleast one would realise who i am ...

my name means small ..

never been .. never will !!

(does that rhyme with .. my name's bond .. james bond ?? )...

smile ..will ya !!