It holds a fond place in my heart as the keystone building for the College I attended. I went to English classes there my sophomore year. I was initiated into my sorority in its Great Hall. In its chapel, two dear friends exchanged their wedding vows. And on graduation day, I rang its bell.

Now I live in town (Williamsburg, VA) and walk past the old gal fairly regularly. Though I’ve changed a good bit since the old days, she hasn’t. Apparently, a building that’s so important, so central, so meaningful and so beloved that it’s called the soul of the University is greatly respected and receives a lot of attention.

That attention has been much needed as the Wren endured a lot over the centuries.

Restoration after three different fires.

Renovation as times and buildings changed.

Renewal to ensure the soundness of walls and foundation.

Preservation to sustain structural integrity.

All of these distinct approaches, applied at the right times, are why the Wren Building still stands and still supports the college community it was built to serve — in so much more than a ceremonial capacity.1 Newly arriving students enter through it and soon-to-graduate students depart through it. It lives and breathes life into the University.

This got me thinking about my building, call it a body, that has carried me through life this far. And how, over the years, my care and tending of it has met different needs and served different purposes, not so different from the Wren. It got me thinking about how times change and how time changes us.

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When we are young and something gets injured, we get it fixed, to “restore” it to full function. Ice on the sprained ankle, a cast on the broken bone, a few stitches on that nasty cut. Everything can be repaired when we’re young. Why am I surprised when I hear the teen athlete tell her father, “Don’t worry dad, If I tear my ACL, I’ll just get it fixed.”

What the teen doesn’t know but the dad does is that when we fix something surgically, it isn’t good as new. It has undergone some renovation. The surgeon may have put everything back where it belongs, perhaps re-attached what’s come undone or even introduced a new piece in place of the damaged one. If all goes well, it still works but probably not quite like the old one did.

So, the body adjusts to the renewal, by reworking how it moves. This happens unconsciously, as one side is favored while the other side takes up the slack. One side grows stronger as the other weakens. One part leads while the other follows. All naturally. All unconsciously. All, by design. We are creatures of instinct, after all, programmed to save energy by doing things the easy way.

And before we know it, there are parts, long neglected, that are in need of preservation work. The foundation has shifted, the mortar has crumbled, the roof leaks. If this sounds like the building you’re walking around in, you’re far from alone. This is aging in all of us.

That’s, I guess, why I found the work at the Wren Building so reaffirming. This building is centuries old; leaks, cracks and shifts are expected. But because she is so beloved, the Wren is worth preserving. Fine artisans and qualified engineers, architects and craftsmen surveyed brick by brick and stone by stone to shore up the weakened places. The places time had worn. The places under the facade where destructive forces might seep in and pull her down.

What a lesson this is for us who have arrived at a certain age and brought with us the workings of a lifetime. We operate under no misconceptions that our physical can be restored to the self of our youth. Renovations — new knees, new shoulders, new hips and the like — we hope can get us by… as long as there are no complications and we keep doing those exercises prescribed by our physical therapist.

But, at some point it comes down to preservation.

Preservation: the activity or process of keeping something valued alive, intact, or free from damage or decay.

Hey, they invested $14 million in the Wren building to render her safe and sound for generations to come. Alive. Full of life. Still teaching. Still hosting. Still welcoming.

Some things, by their very nature, deserve our reverence and respect. We don’t preserve them in formaldehyde, rather we treat them with special care and handling, because they’re important, central, meaningful, beloved. Because they’re worth it. As we are.

So many thanks to you, Sir Christopher Wren Building for reminding me of just how beautiful our history is when it’s cared for with loving hearts and by loving hands in a community that remembers it well and carries it forward.

It holds a fond place in my heart as the keystone building for the College I attended. I went to English classes there my sophomore year. I was initiated into my sorority in its Great Hall. In its chapel, two dear friends exchanged their wedding vows. And on graduation day, I rang its bell.

Now I live in town (Williamsburg, VA) and walk past the old gal fairly regularly. Though I’ve changed a good bit since the old days, she hasn’t. Apparently, a building that’s so important, so central, so meaningful and so beloved that it’s called the soul of the University is greatly respected and receives a lot of attention.

That attention has been much needed as the Wren endured a lot over the centuries.

Restoration after three different fires.

Renovation as times and buildings changed.

Renewal to ensure the soundness of walls and foundation.

Preservation to sustain structural integrity.

All of these distinct approaches, applied at the right times, are why the Wren Building still stands and still supports the college community it was built to serve — in so much more than a ceremonial capacity.1 Newly arriving students enter through it and soon-to-graduate students depart through it. It lives and breathes life into the University.

This got me thinking about my building, call it a body, that has carried me through life this far. And how, over the years, my care and tending of it has met different needs and served different purposes, not so different from the Wren. It got me thinking about how times change and how time changes us.

Share

When we are young and something gets injured, we get it fixed, to “restore” it to full function. Ice on the sprained ankle, a cast on the broken bone, a few stitches on that nasty cut. Everything can be repaired when we’re young. Why am I surprised when I hear the teen athlete tell her father, “Don’t worry dad, If I tear my ACL, I’ll just get it fixed.”

What the teen doesn’t know but the dad does is that when we fix something surgically, it isn’t good as new. It has undergone some renovation. The surgeon may have put everything back where it belongs, perhaps re-attached what’s come undone or even introduced a new piece in place of the damaged one. If all goes well, it still works but probably not quite like the old one did.

So, the body adjusts to the renewal, by reworking how it moves. This happens unconsciously, as one side is favored while the other side takes up the slack. One side grows stronger as the other weakens. One part leads while the other follows. All naturally. All unconsciously. All, by design. We are creatures of instinct, after all, programmed to save energy by doing things the easy way.

And before we know it, there are parts, long neglected, that are in need of preservation work. The foundation has shifted, the mortar has crumbled, the roof leaks. If this sounds like the building you’re walking around in, you’re far from alone. This is aging in all of us.

That’s, I guess, why I found the work at the Wren Building so reaffirming. This building is centuries old; leaks, cracks and shifts are expected. But because she is so beloved, the Wren is worth preserving. Fine artisans and qualified engineers, architects and craftsmen surveyed brick by brick and stone by stone to shore up the weakened places. The places time had worn. The places under the facade where destructive forces might seep in and pull her down.

What a lesson this is for us who have arrived at a certain age and brought with us the workings of a lifetime. We operate under no misconceptions that our physical can be restored to the self of our youth. Renovations — new knees, new shoulders, new hips and the like — we hope can get us by… as long as there are no complications and we keep doing those exercises prescribed by our physical therapist.

But, at some point it comes down to preservation.

Preservation: the activity or process of keeping something valued alive, intact, or free from damage or decay.

Hey, they invested $14 million in the Wren building to render her safe and sound for generations to come. Alive. Full of life. Still teaching. Still hosting. Still welcoming.

Some things, by their very nature, deserve our reverence and respect. We don’t preserve them in formaldehyde, rather we treat them with special care and handling, because they’re important, central, meaningful, beloved. Because they’re worth it. As we are.

So many thanks to you, Sir Christopher Wren Building for reminding me of just how beautiful our history is when it’s cared for with loving hearts and by loving hands in a community that remembers it well and carries it forward.

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Yesterday, as I rested between sets, they got my full attention. I really need to make that last rep count, I thought. It should be tough and maybe even make my muscles shake in the effort. That’s what I need to get stronger.

If I’m honest, I’ll admit that strength training has generally taken a backseat to cardio for me. Until now. Now exercise scientists are stating clearly what we should have been saying for decades, especially to those who have accumulated a few decades: building strength is not optional, it’s essential.

Walking for fitness is NOT ENOUGH. You need to be strong enough to stabilize your steps, lift you over impediments and prevent you from falling.

So, there I was at the gym, not professionally, but personally. Just Wendy, working out, and bent on challenging myself. Warmed up on the rowing machine… cranking those last 5 pulls. Then a few sets with the free weights; the 8-pounder was more than my wonky wrist extensors are used to, but the 5-lb weights were already in use by someone else and I didn’t want to wait. Finally, cycled through sets on my weight machines of choice. I vary them but always include the leg extension, hamstring curl, abdominal rotation, lat pull and upright row,1 because I can’t get the same workout anywhere else.

All the while I am surrounded by grunting and groaning, weight stacks clanking and slamming, and annoying people skittering past, some stopping to greet one another or exchange pleasantries. For the most part, though, the folks here are getting it done.2

Yep, people in the weight room mean business. They’ve accepted the challenge to do just a bit more today than they did yesterday. They abide by the sign.

I try to, but between sets my mind wanders to heavy things beyond the weight room. Honestly, I’m finding life presents a lot that challenges me these days…. but does it change me? That’s when it hit me like a 100 lb barbell. What if I looked at those challenges like I look at the weight plates? Not as enemies to avoid, but as friends come to test me and perhaps improve me?

• What if… Instead of avoiding the person or the topic, I engage?

• What if… Instead of declining the out-of-the-blue invitation, I accept?

• What if… Instead of automatically disqualifying myself, I apply?

• What if… Instead of waiting to write/query/propose, I submit it?

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Life is full of weighty things. No need to heft the whole stack. But I could just dial up the resistance a tad more than last time — in the name of self-improvement. That’ll recruit a few more fibers, attract a bit more blood flow, tune up the muscle machinery, and if I supply enough effort, maybe even convert a few satellite cells into brand-spanking new type II muscles fibers.

Of course, life does have a way of interrupting workouts and upending good intentions. We go on vacation, or get injured, or work gets busy, or a deadline looms. It’s so much easier NOT to go to the gym. Before we know it, our muscles are mushy; we’ve lost what we worked so hard to gain.

Our life’s workout can be the same way. When life gets heavy, it’s so much easier to choose the path of less resistance. To gather with friends who are easy to be around. To make excuses rather than plans. To stick to what I know I can do, rather than risk a rejection. To enjoy the comfort food in the frig rather than cook fresh. To hire out rather than do what I can do myself.

We’re so human. Maybe that’s why we need a sign.

What better than a World Cup to inspire a change?

I was thinking about all these things when I tuned into the Men’s World Cup game, USA vs Paraguay. (Spoiler:) The US Men looked terrific, scoring more goals (4) than any US men’s team ever has in a World Cup game, winning 4-1.

I just love the opening kick-off when the crowd counts down the seconds… 5, 4, 3, 2…. ROAR! Hey, if that was me kicking off — with the wind at my back and decent direction and not a single opponent in the way — that ball would roll straight into the goal. SCORE!

Well, that’s not how it goes in these games. That ball ricochets from player to player at the slightest touch! The bending pass sent with just the right spin. The 100-mph shot deflected at the last second by the brush of the goalkeeper’s hand.

Yes, these athletes have done thousands of hours in the gym pushing huge weights to earn those massive quads, but what wins games in the end is touch and timing.

How did they learn that? By challenging themselves — and each other — day after day.

It changes you.

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Addendum: Friends, you are amazing

Some of you reading this (thanks for getting this far) don’t need anyone to remind you to add challenge to your life. You have plenty already, and it may have been that way for a while now. Maybe your health betrays you. Or your age is making things harder. Or you live with someone whose needs make your life more demanding. For all of you, the weight room is the furthest thing from your mind.

Friends, I see you and you are amazing.

You have life’s weight stacks piled a mile high and every right to grumble, gripe and complain. But you don’t. Instead, I see you choosing to let life make you better. Your strength is undeniable. Your example is World Cup worthy.

Hey, cardio can wait. And anyway, studies show that positivity may work just as well.

In fact, after a while you can’t even really feel the grip in your hands. Those layers of skin, laid down one on top of the other, protect the skin underneath. Built up over time, they’re even sort of a badge of honor. Hard worn roughness earned in the battle you’ve done with a set of clubs unleashed on a golf ball.

That battle taught me how to … Hit down on it to make it fly high and stop short. Hit through it to sweep it off the grass. Strike it inside-out to bend it left, outside-in to bend it right. Move it forward in your stance for longer clubs, back for the shorter ones. And, oh my, how it does feel good when you hit it on the sweet spot and it flies straight and true, effortlessly.

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Yep, there’s a lot more to striking a golf ball than just making contact, and I taught it to myself on “shag hill,” where I camped out with a bag of old balls which I hit, retrieved myself, hit and then picked up again. On repeat, all summer long. So much cheaper than half-full buckets at the range: $2 for a small, $3.50 for the large, back in 1972.1 But Dad, seeing my dedication and maybe getting a whiff of a college scholarship in the making, bought me the “unlimited plan” at the driving range so I didn’t worry about the cost.

You better believe the twelve-year old me was a fixture on that range. Nobody got their money’s worth like I did. I loved practicing. No pressure. No scorecards. No coaches watching you or crowds following you. Callouses were my welcome companion, and after a while, a downpayment on the trophies I began to accumulate in local tournaments.

One year I even completed the Manor Country Club Grand Slam — winning the mother-daughter tournament, the father-daughter tournament, medalist honors and the junior club championship all in the same season. The rest of my family made good use of the “unlimited range plan” too, that year.

My play got the attention of the golf coach at the College of William & Mary, who invited me to come play for the team. Of course, I did. And in the Fall of 1979, I stepped into a whole new world. Where everyone I met was better than me: higher achieving, more accomplished, more capable, and way more experienced with how the world works. I didn’t have callouses to protect me from any of those.

And now that academic demands loomed large and, OK, other opportunities presented themselves, I spent less time on the range and more time doing other things. In short order, even my hard-earned callouses melted away. And so did the consistency of my swing. But I was on scholarship, so I carried on.

I tried swinging harder, hoping to hit it as far as everyone else. I couldn’t.

I tried more rotation, hoping to extend my swing arc. It did, sort of, but mostly it created torque which I didn’t have the hand strength to sustain. I developed a sharp pain at the base of my right pinky finger. Not awful, just annoying. The kind of pain you shrug off when you’re 19 years old, figuring it’ll get better.

And it did so long as I didn’t shake hands with anyone — which, of course, you were supposed to when you were introduced to your playing opponents on the first tee. Cleverly, I just made sure to hold my scorecard in my right hand when we were introduced so I could avoid the painful compression.

It never even occurred to me to report the pinky pain to my coach or the athletic trainer. I would manage it. Shorten my swing. Hold the club more securely. And just settle for hitting it straight, keeping it in the fairway, and getting up and down in order to post a decent score for the team.

This worked pretty well. My teammates were rockstars and my mediocrity didn’t hold them back. We even won a National Championship my sophomore year.

Tip ‘o the club to Mary Ellen, Mary, Deb, Tracy and Coach Lambert. I owe them all a great debt of gratitude for being in my corner over those tumultuous college years.

No one was ever the wiser about the pinky.

Until… forty years later when I developed pain in my forearm every time I played tennis or pickleball.2

“It’s tennis elbow,” everyone said. And they had plenty of advice about how to manage it.3 I tried the recommended straps and stretches and resting and icing. Nothing helped. The Ortho sent me to Physical Therapy. Two treatment courses and a home program didn’t make any difference. The pain always returned.

Finally, I succumbed to further evaluation by MRI. And wouldn’t you know there had been quite a lot of damage done to that elbow over the years. Some permanent. Some treatable. All of it avoidable, had I just paid attention to that annoying little pinky problem and gotten it checked out by someone who could help.

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We think callouses are our friends. “They toughen us up.”

We think pain is our enemy. “Just fight through it.”

Neither is true.

Callouses cover things to mask the hurting. The cycle of constant abrasion and healing is a defense mechanism that works well for a while, but it’s not a good long-term strategy. Pain is meant to get our attention, so we will stop doing what’s hurting us.

These days, I’m wiser than the 19-year-old me.

When I feel a callous forming — physical, mental or emotional — I stop and do a sensation check.

When I experience a pain that hangs around, I get it checked out.

The Good News

I did finally attend to the elbow after that eye-opening MRI. And once I knew what I was dealing with I found a therapy that actually helped. It couldn’t erase the damage done over decades, but it seems to have re-worked the pinky tendon for now.

It’s functional, though not fully. It still reminds me with pin pricks of sensation that I would do well to pay it some loving attention. To strengthen and stretch it. To limit things that tax it. To avoid things that hurt it. Only took me 40 years to learn to listen.

Funny thing is, now we’ve started a new conversation. That wrist and elbow register complaints when I spend too much time using my computer mouse4 and scream with increasing intensity when I’ve been scrolling on my phone too long. Now THAT’S injury prevention I didn’t know I would need back in 1979.

Somehow things do seem to work together for our good, if we listen.

Oh, and the style of golf I learned to play in order to be competitive in college— hit it short, but straight, and learn to get it up-and-down? I’m not gonna brag, but I developed some pretty awesome touch around the greens. Finessing chip shots and delicate sand saves were my go-to. Turns out that same swing executes a pretty decent dink on the pickleball court.

Definitely didn’t see that coming., did ya? Yeah, me neither.

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Fellow writers and readers are spending time in Notes for a variety of reasons.

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The idea behind Notes is simple. Millions of people now participate in Substack as writers and readers—but much of this is built on long articles and essays. We now have a forum for dialoguing and sharing shorter posts.

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Her mom whisked her off to the orthopedist whose diagnosis was inconclusive, but the recommendation was to rest and take some time off from everyday play. Things felt better so she returned to action.

When she did, the pain returned, except this time the symptoms were more troublesome. The Doctor’s advice was again, take more time off. Kate complied. When she returned to play, the soreness again returned, now with even more ferocity, but X-ray and MRI were negative for anything really serious.

That’s when Kate’s Mom called me to help. “What could I do to help resolve Kate’s cycle of injury?”

Kate and I met regularly for several weeks. I found her symptoms were pretty typical of girls her age who played too much soccer. Overworked knees in fast-growing kids were not meant to be subjected to these kinds of demands, but icing and rest usually resolved the issue.

Not for Kate. No matter what we tried, she and Mom landed back in the ortho’s office.

Stumped, I tried to be more creative in designing Kate’s recovery training. She was diligent, working hard at each session and improving markedly in her strength, mobility and flexibility. I found her bright, highly motivated and anxious to get back on the field with her teammates.

After 6 weeks, she should have been able to return to play. But every time she did, the pain returned. I began to wonder if Kate’s injury was more than physical. Perhaps it was her way of avoiding the pressure she felt to compete at an elite level in a body that had to work twice as hard as others to perform just as well.

At the next session I took a different approach. Instead of a workout, we took a walk along the trails that ran through the park. While the rest of the team was running conditioning drills and working on set plays, we chatted about life, goals and, of course, about soccer.

It was here, finally, I met the real Kate — who loved the out-of-doors and the sciences. Her twin brother was actually the athlete in the family. Kate didn’t see a future for herself in college soccer.

So why did she keep playing through all this? I wondered.

“You know you don’t have to play soccer,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could, as we strolled along the path.

This stopped her literally in her tracks. Clearly, this idea had never occurred to her.

How could she quit? She was the captain. The team counted on her. She had played since she was 5. And besides, she was this close to making the A-team squad.

But — and I didn’t say this to her directly — it’s clear you don’t want to be doing this. You can make a different choice. You don’t have to keep doing what you’ve always done just because you’ve always done it.

Can we take a step back to gain some perspective — maybe do a gut check?

Up until now, even if she didn’t want to continue, Kate had never considered a change of course. That would be quitting and quitting was failing. Being injured gave her an “excused absence” from playing. She could support the team from the sidelines without bearing the weight of having to win.

This felt right and comfortable to Kate. It checked all the boxes to keep everyone happy. Except herself. She had to keep feigning physical injury. And that was a huge load I don’t think she even knew she was carrying.

I am remembering Kate1 as I watch today’s omnipresent social media put its thumb on the scale of people in their 20’s, 30’s and 40’s, especially, it seems to me, young women. Perhaps those in their 50’s and 60’s, as well. Each day’s Instagram, X or Facebook delivery bringing new things we “must” do to succeed, be our best, keep up, catch up, extend our longevity, improve our health, or generally perform up to par.

At least Kate’s pressures were in-person and mostly of her own doing. Now we open the door to a veritable onslaught of people we don’t even know who are raising expectations.

Who doesn’t want to take an injury time out?!

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Aside: One December, I had just delivered a beautiful baby girl, and it was the best Christmas ever! My task was before me, and I was perfectly suited to it. No one expected me to attend every party, shop for every gift, decorate the whole tree or make cookies for the class Christmas party. There I sat on the couch with this beautiful blonde bundle, completely satisfied.

Now, as I am quite a few years past bundled babies of my own, I can still be prone to people-pleasing and expectation-meeting, but mostly they’re my own. Thanks to the wisdom and support of friends who’ve walked with me through life’s difficult circumstances, I’ve grown better at asking: What are my options? What am I best suited for? Am I headed in the right direction? How best can I get there?

I’m gonna keep asking those questions, even at my age.

I’m feeling grateful to have made it this far, but I’m not done yet. Not quite rounding third base, as they say, but certainly standing on third, feeling grateful to have slid in safely.

So, what do I do now?

A quick self-assessment says it may take a base hit for me to score, because my speed down the line isn’t what it used to be. But I’m wily. I know this game. Now I run on instinct and experience. I assess the game situation: how many on? how many out? There’s 90 feet exactly between me and my objective.

I run through my options. If it’s hit on the ground, run only if forced to. For a fly ball, tag up in case it’s deep enough for me to score. If it’s driven into the gap, waltz on home. How I’d love to amble home…

But more likely, given the way the world is, the squeeze play will be on. That means the batter is bunting and I’m running on contact, sprinting for all I’m worth, diving headfirst toward a catcher whose only job it is to make sure I don’t score.

Funny, I remember when I learned the squeeze play back in high school. It was the bottom of the 9th inning, score tied, a runner on third base, and me at bat. Coach Hogue thought we could execute the squeeze play to win the game. He called us aside to explain the play. We had practiced bunting, sliding, and running the bases, but we had never practiced this.

On that day, I was at bat. Bunting wouldn’t be easy; this pitcher threw really hard. I needed to direct the ball just so, touch it just right, on the very first pitch. I’m not sure I had ever squared to bunt in a real game before.

The pressure was on, but our preparation served us well.

The other team never saw it coming.

So, I guess I’ve spent pretty much my whole life preparing for this season of life. Funny, now that I am here, I don’t feel the pressure at all.

And there’s so much truth to that mantra. Movement keeps our bodies working or maybe just confirms for us that they still are. It keeps the joint fluid flowing, the blood from our extremities returning and the communication pathways active from brain to moving part and back again. It may even have a role to play in newly recognized “interstitial” freeways between our body organs.1

So, why are we resisting using something that does us so much good? Resisting, you say? Yes, it’s a trend, perhaps, ahem, a movement. We are in a time where movement and movement sensation are on the outs, being replaced by movement done for us. And we’re not giving it much notice.

Here’s what I mean.

Recently, I was giving a talk about my book, Made to Move, to a church group in Virginia. As always, this was a participational talk. I ask the group to become aware of their breath, their heartbeat, their mind’s focus and the way their strength and stretchiness are related to each other. At one point I ask them to find their pulse, which always ushers in some stammers and looks of concern. But once I demonstrate the way to find their radial pulse (I know they have one because they’re sitting here looking at me!), most folks are relieved to find they have a strong, steady beat.

One man sitting near the front, however, made no effort at all to find his pulse. He just looked at me and raised his wrist. “My apple watch tells me my heart rate,” he said. No need to move. No need to attend to the movement inside me. Technology will do all that for me. Next question.

He completely missed the wonder we were enjoying as we felt the pulsation under our skin and marveled at its constancy and life-giving force.

Then this:

Just yesterday, I was walking along a busy street2 in our town. I had parked in the shade and was making my way along the sidewalk when there was a bit of a traffic backup near the crosswalk. It wasn’t because a pedestrian was crossing; it was because the nose of a car was swinging wide into the lane of traffic to squeeze its rear end into a narrow parking spot right up front.

As I approached, a young family emerged from the vehicle. I complemented the driver on his driving dexterity. “Oh, I let the computer do that,” he said, unapologetically.

I admit it was tempting here to give way to sour grapes … How many hours did I spend practicing parallel parking in order to pass my driver’s test3 …, but I was bigger than this. I simply smiled.

But inside, my concern level was rising.

How much of our know-how and dexterity do we turn over to technology every day?

These two occasions and so many others in my daily doing incline me to raise a ruckus here at Fit2Finish by Dr Wendy. Here, it seems, is where we find ourselves:

—> On the one hand it’s good to move.

—> On the other hand, why bother when it can be done for you more quickly and more accurately with the push of a button?

—> My concern: do we know what we’re missing out on by not-doing?

—> Added concern: people on weight loss drugs are thin now. Who needs to move?

Caveat: I’m delighted people are finding weight loss drugs helpful. But once folks achieve their target weight, they forget that movement isn’t just for weight control.4 It’s essential in so many other ways. Worst of all: the less we move, the less we’re inclined to move. And that, it seems to me, is likely to land us in a world of hurt.

Not just because we’re more sedentary which is awful for our hearts, lungs, and waistlines.

Not just because we’re less self-reliant which diminishes our capability and creativity.

Not just because we’re thinking less which, obviously, is a road to disaster.

But because when we move less, we lose touch with the gifts movement has to offer which are essential ingredients for the health of our body, mind, and soul.

In fact, one might even say that movement ministers to us. So said one of the participants at my talk who enjoyed the reminder that our physical nature can tune us into our spiritual selves. Here’s a look at our group!

“Ministry,” that feels like a loaded word these days. It doesn’t need to be. Ministering is simply tending to a need. It might be the need of another, or it might be your own need that requires tending to. When we move, we can do both. When we skip or avoid moving, we lose out on both.

Thinking about this, I did a deep dive into things movement does for us.

Movement helps us think and learn.

Movement allows us to sense and experience.

Movement energizes and focuses us.

Movement raises our awareness.

It helps us communicate and express ourselves. Joy and pain never move the same.

Movement activates us and sometimes inspires those watching us.

Movement can pique our creativity and stimulate our imagination.

It can calm us and bring peace.

Movement provides meaning.

Movement helps define and identify us.

Movement can speak for us before we utter a word.

Movement connects us.

Movement invites recreation and playful restfulness.

Some movement is reflexive, automatic and necessary for life.

Some is under wraps until we hold that baby and the rocking begins.

Some things just move us.

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Movement is need-tending in so many ways. It’s part of us for a reason. For our physical health, our mental health, our emotional balance, and perhaps even to sense our souls. All are paramount to our wellbeing. When we turn our ability and attention over to the tech lords to do as they wish, we hand them the keys to our needs. And with this go all the skills and thrills we would have scored had we stood our ground.

We have to be participants in our own lives, not simply spectators.

This deep dive into the wonders of movement has left me pondering…

Some people I know, including some of you reading this, do not (or no longer have) the privilege of full movement of the body they came with. Neuropathy has stolen some. Surgery has interrupted it. Injury, illness or disease has left them with loss of movement, loss of sensation, or even partial paralysis.

We’ve got to do this together, friends.

This brings to mind a father-son tandem who inspired so many, Dick and Rick Hoyt. Though Rick had cerebral palsy, they competed together in marathons and triathlons, even the Ironman, father pushing son in a wheelchair, bicycle basket or boat. Clearly, they brought each other to life.

Movement is a gift we give ourselves every day. Maybe just don’t call it exercise…

Here are some quick, healthy movement snacks for your day:

• Walk the dog or pet someone else’s.

• Bend or reach to smell the flowers.

• Take one step in a new direction.

• Parallel park your own car!

• Take your pulse, counting each loving beat.

• Take three deep breaths and savor the inspiration.

• Eat slowly and taste every bite.

• Take your time to do it.

What does movement mean to you?

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Now, my kids are all grown up, but my learning hasn’t stopped. Currently, my newly- turned-two-granddaughter is the teacher. After spending time in the tutelage of this little rocket scientist, top chef, baby-mama, budding zoologist, playground host and multi-media artist, here are some of my gleanings.

They harken back a bit to the wisdom of Robert Fulghum’s All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, but let’s face it, today’s two-year olds are the new kindergartners.

Here’s just a sampling.

Whatever is on the menu is for EVERYBODY!

After we attend music class together, the children are dismissed to play in the play area. This smallish-sized room is packed to the gills with toys of all kinds. A dozen children (and some of their adult chaperones) flock to every corner, taking possession of their favorite plaything. Sophie beelines it for the play kitchen. I follow, stepping carefully over and around, hoping to avoid the continuous motion that surrounds me.

Thankfully, the play kitchen is sequestered under the platform for the slide. Soph and I nestle under together. She knows just where the pot is and the spoon to stir. I offer some plastic vegetables which she accepts grudgingly and then proclaims, “I’m making sopa for EVERYBODY.” My granddaughter is bi-lingual; I am not. “Zopa?” I ask. She turns from her cooking and says kindly but matter-of-factly, “soup.” Apparently, love translates.

Soph is happy to share, which leaves me unprepared for what happens next…

Sometimes the older kid will rip the toy right out of your hands.

Soph loves babies and they are literally everywhere in this playroom… sitting here, lying there, buckled into the stroller ready to roll. She picks up the one nearest the kitchen, snuggles it in her arms and coos lovingly. Then, as I watch in amazement, an older child approaches from behind and literally rips the doll out of Sophie’s hands. Startled, she says nothing as the child turns and tosses the baby aside.

It is amazing how soon young children discover the power they possess over others. Animal instinct, I guess. But Soph doesn’t take the bait. She looks at her empty hands and then scans the area for another toy to play with. “There are babies EVERYWHERE!” Sophie repeats to herself and finds this true as she picks up and hugs another one. “Aww, baby. It’s okay.”

About this time, the mortified mother of the offending child ducks under to apologize. “I saw that,” she says to me and then apologizes to Sophie who doesn’t know an offense has been committed. “We’re all learning,” I say to the mom.

Mostly me, who really did want to teach that kid a thing or two and wondered a bit about the parenting protocol by which she was being raised. But since there is enough for everyone, that was enough for Soph. Why can’t it be enough for us all?

From here, we traveled to a nearby playground…

It’s easier to wait your turn when all the other children are friends.

First, some background. The school Soph goes to is a “Friends School,” following Quaker traditions. According to Wikipedia, most Friends schools are similar in their mission: to provide an academically sound education while also instilling values of community, spirituality, responsibility and stewardship in their students.1

For instance, instead of yelling, Everyone BE QUIET and SIT DOWN, they say, “Friends, let’s all sit down and take turns sharing what we have to say.” This may sound quaint, but I’m here to tell you, it actually works — even with two and three-year-olds.

On the playground today, when the swing she spied was occupied or there was a line to ride the tractor, she stated simply and succinctly, “Another friend is on the swing. Wait for Sophie’s turn.” Something about calling the other child friend makes it easier to wait and perhaps may shorten the time till your turn. Although 2-year-olds do not make this connection. I did.

And magically, but not accidentally, once Soph took her turn and it was time to get off so another friend could have the next turn, there was no crying in disappointment. Soph announces, “Leave the swings nicely, so we can come back another day.” This bit of genius comes from Soph’s caregiver, Suzy, according to her mom who takes only 1 % credit for these good manners. I sure didn’t have this trick up my sleeve when I was parenting her.

If everyone on Playground Earth are also friends, how then would we take turns?

Then there was the daily ritual of bath time…

Show me the picture.

This bit of genius comes from Sophie’s dad. Bathtime is a favorite for Soph, so she does not like to get out of the tub. Because who wants to leave warm water and toys for cold air and a bath towel? Alas, all good things must come to an end.

So, Dad discovered that Soph likes to see herself in the mirror, except it’s not a mirror to her, it’s a picture of her. Like the pictures that have been taken by handheld phones since she was born. Of course, now she’s big enough to know that this device you’re aiming at me is creating a version of me I can see, and I’d like to see it please.

Insert bathroom mirror. Instant image. Instant delight. BIG smile. I can SEE myself! She doesn’t have to say, Aren’t I adorable? because all the adults in her life affirm this lovability every single day.2 Every night after bath she gets to see the picture.

What a way to begin life! By delighting in the person you see in your mirror.

Shy is okay. The not-shy part can be our little secret.

Shyness is a funny thing. The feeling of reluctance when discomfort presents itself. The need to consider carefully, before deciding. The confusion when something is out of place. This two-year-old is not shy. She goes gangbusters on her home turf and has plenty to chat about at bedtime.

But, in an unexpected circumstance, she defaults to silent. Maybe she looks, maybe she smiles, maybe she looks away and pretends she doesn’t see you. Others have labeled this “shy.” And that’s a-okay with her. She is excused from answering questions or performing societal obligations while she is processing the moment and taking in all the details. Oh, she is, I assure you, because you’ll hear all about it later.

Hmm, taking a moment to take everything in. No excuses. No embarrassment. Just doing me. Shyness… I hope it catches on.

Which opens the door to this…

Do what you do, regardless of what they’re doing.

Music class is a bit of a melee. Twelve children and their caregivers — in some cases several each— all circled up in a purple-haze room while the VERY energetic teacher bops to the beat, changing prompts at the speed of, well, a toddler’s attention span.

All of it is pretty much sensory overload for me, but for Soph, it’s things as usual. When Miss Ty pours out the bucket of musical instruments all over the tie-dyed rug, Soph spots what she wants and steps carefully toward it. Somehow, she avoids all the grasping hands and clambering bodies without letting on she even sees them. Once she secures her objective, a xylophone key, she scours the rug for the correct sized mallet. When she has both, she steps back to the fringe of the free-for-all and tap, tap, taps in time to the beat.

If it were me, I’d probably feel the need to try other instruments, watch the other musicians, or seek affirmation from others that I am playing well, or correctly or on pitch. Not Soph. She’s totally content to do her very own thing while others are doing theirs, randomly and raucously.

Ah, if we all could do peace at our own pace with complete confidence. What bliss.

Always Love snack time. No apologies.

I had strict instructions to bring snack and, if needed, there were extra snacks available in the cabinet by the door. (This was how I was to move her toward the door, so we could put on our shoes and exit back into our day.) Always good to be prepared!

Soph especially loves snack time. Everybody told me this, but I saw it for myself as she dove into the bag of goldfishies I handed her. She consumed them resolutely, one cracker at a time, while sitting as directed on a blue illuminated square near the door. She was completely unfazed by the little blond boy zooming the loud, flashing fire engine within inches of her knee. Unconcerned by the struggle that then ensued between brothers who both wanted this truck. Only barely aware of the struggling child who was alternatively screaming in anger and then crying in dismay.3

Snack and water cup. Crunch and sip. Crunch, crunch and sip. Total contentment. No checking calories, portion size, saturated fat or sodium content.

Snack time is the best time when there are no interruptions.

And then…

There might be reindeer!

Ever since Soph was tiny, she has been fascinated with nature. From her stroller, she would watch the tree canopy above and the leaves as they fluttered. She followed the birds as they flew across the yard and studied the squirrels as they cleaned up under the bird feeder.

On the last morning of my visit, two new guests presented themselves as we were having breakfast together, Soph and I. First was the red fox who dashed along the steppingstone walk right under our window. He vanished in an instant. But then came the three large grey meanderers helping themselves to a morning grassy meal. Wow, Soph, look at those! I say with some excitement. (Deer are not regular visitors in my yard back home.)

“Reindeer!” she says with a smile, for this is what they are to her. She is not startled by these visitors but watches them rather intently as they nibble and graze. And then when the deer move onto the neighbors’ yard, “Where did the reindeer go?”

Perhaps with Santa, I think but don’t say. Because I want the magic to last forever.

Holding this little hand to walk through her world is everything.

Who’s teaching you?

Some time ago, a very dear friend1 who had been observing this behavior for years in women she worked with told me this. “When you receive a complement, you can do one of three things” …

1. Say nothing

2. Say thank you or

3. Say, “How perceptive of you.”

The last always gets a laugh. I mean, who among us would ever acknowledge out loud the truth another just offered us?

We women don’t revel in praise. We don’t tarry in the waters of accolade, and we certainly don’t fluff up our feathers and prance around in the adoration spotlight.

We’re not made that way, apparently. It feels too much like self-promoting. We’ve been taught never to …

Funny, really, that we are in the midst of times where defer, detract, and deflect are strategies being employed to distract us from the truth of things. “Nothing to see here.”

And yet, those of us who actually are wearing the coat of many colors and really should be showing it off, are using deference, detraction and deflection to back out of the limelight.

… Oh, it was a group effort.

… Anyone could have done it.

… I was just in the right place at the right time.

Well, just STOP it! You are brilliant. You are funny. You are gifted. Believe us when we tell you this.

And then … you have three options:

Say nothing (but smile into the silence).

Say thank you (and receive the gift given).

Say, “How perceptive of you.” (and welcome the opportunity)

Don’t hide from the truth about you. Accept it. Own it. Then, do something with it.

Something simple to start… pay attention to what the universe is handing you. A word, a song, a friend, a happenstance, an opportunity, an inkling. You may even find yourself moving without even thinking about it!

Friends, I wish this very thing for you today.

Please share this with someone you know who needs to hear it, too.

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“Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better.”

So went the positive affirmation mantra, developed by French Psychologist Émile Coué in the early 20th century. He prescribed speaking this “autosuggestion” to oneself as many as twenty times per day as a means to cure ourselves of whatever was setting us back. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. And, I guess, professionally.

Coué’s work sparked the “positive thinking” movement carried forward by people like author and clergyman Norman Vincent Peale who wrote The Power of Positive Thinking.

Fitness guru Jack LaLanne was big on this kind of motivation. Millions across the country tuned into his ground-breaking fitness show in the 1950’s, 60’s, 70’s and 80’s. “Look in the mirror and visualize how amazing you’re gonna be,” he implored viewers. “Tune in everyday at this time and I’ll have you looking good in no time.”

And you believed him… because you saw his trim waist and bulging muscles and thought ... that will be me! Except Jack didn’t get that physique by performing his made-for-tv routine. He worked out for hours every day and abstained from all variety of unhealthy food his whole life long.

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Of course, positive thinking can certainly be a balm when we’re in the midst of hardship or recovering from injury or surgery. Recently, I happened upon a neighbor who had hobbled to the end of his driveway to retrieve his trash bin. I hadn’t seen him in quite some time. Seeing my concern, he shared that a year of ailments and mishaps had left him weak and unsteady on his feet. “I just need to get my strength back,” he assured me.

I just need to get my strength back. Those words really struck a chord with me. Our strength doesn’t come back just by resting it. Rest mends, but it rarely strengthens.1 To recover our strength — just to get back to where we started — takes patience and hard work. I hope he has a good physical therapist, I thought to myself.

Nope, we won’t get better each day just by thinking we will, regardless of what the Little Engine that Could taught us as a child. Time may heal, but recovery requires effort. And, as we get older, getting back up to speed can be an uphill climb, with no guarantee.

This came full circle for me today at the gym as I watched an older gentleman move confidently from machine to machine along the strength training circuit. Fit, trim and fully gray, his mocha-colored t-shirt featured a mug of coffee, partially consumed. The caption: cup half full.

It’s life’s great balancing act, to keep our heads above water when things keep trying to drag us down. That’s why I try to keep my eye on the positive people around me. They know that the key is just to keep egg-beatering those legs until you can clamber aboard the life raft and paddle for shore.

Positivity, yes, but also effort:

This, of course, gets a bit tougher the older we get. Age and life’s challenges tend to leave us less able to do what we used to be able to do, even with the same effort. Honestly, some days it’s tempting to use age as an excuse… I can’t. I’m too old!

Here’s the thing: if you think you can’t, you’ll be right, but do you want to be right about that?

I’d rather spring for the positive. Sure, thinking we can, may not get us all the way there, but it’ll bring us closer, if we don’t give up.

Perhaps we need a new mantra:

Every day, in some way, I’m getting better and better.

That tracks with this piece of ancient wisdom:

Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ~ 2 Corinthians 4:16

Even my coffee agrees! … from full heart to half-full but very wise owl

Hey, aging may slow us a bit, but it shouldn’t stop us. In fact, calling on the wisdom of our years, we may even up our game a bit. (Check out 90-year-old Gary Player’s tee-shot celebration on the Master’s first tee!)

This calls for new perspective. Aging need not be synonymous with decline but celebrated when it comes with experience and wisdom, so that we can become a strong place for ourselves and a safe space for others. A point of reference, a sounding board, a resource from which to draw.

I do so love Rabbi Harold Kushner’s take on it… “

Instead of an hourglass whose sand is sifting relentlessly through, perhaps we should re-draw ourselves as chalices filling up to overflowing with experience and perspective worth sharing.

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Of course, there will always be those young whippersnappers who think they know better. In that case, I’m going with Jack Lalanne:

“If you want to change somebody, don’t preach to him. Set an example and shut up.”

This is the title of the slide that starts my talks about strengthening for seniors. Usually, it’s met with snickers and a few uh-huhs. When your strength starts to go, you notice.

You don’t think about it when you’re younger. When you’re young, you’re learning and acquiring. Physical things come easily, even to those who aren’t really physically inclined. Oh, you do lose things. Your homework. Your best friend. That favorite jacket that you left on the playground.

When you’re a bit older, you start to notice. When someone is stronger than you, you lose the competition… for a spot on the team, a trophy, a premium job. Maybe it’s because they’re faster than you, so you work on your speed. Maybe it’s because they’re quicker to name the state capitols so you practice your flashcards. Maybe it’s because you let AI write your application, so you buckle down and do the next one yourself. You have the capacity to overcome your weaknesses. Sometimes you still lose, but losing becomes motivation.

At some point though, losing becomes a pattern. Your strength starts to decline. Your touch feels off. You walk into a room and cannot for the life of you remember what you came in there for, no matter HOW hard you try. It’s funny at first, until you hear from your friends that they’re having this happen, too.

Life, it seems, is about losing things.

On this Easter, though, I’m wondering if we have gotten it a bit wrong. If we have jumped into the pool at our pity party a bit prematurely. Yes, losing parts of yourself is tough. Losing others practically kills you. But maybe losing has a purpose.

I was reminded of this again this morning when I went to load up the beach chair I was taking to the Easter sunrise service. At first, the hatch won’t lift. This is aggravating since I’m holding the heavy beach chair with one hand. Multiple tries… it whirrs but seems stuck. Finally, I put the chair down and, with an exasperated humph, I pull out my keys and double punch the button that’s supposed to lift the hatch. Finally, it does.

There in my trunk are two things. One, I had forgotten (a box of my books), the other I was sure was lost. The lost thing was a small piece of padding that sticks on a Pilates ring. I had looked all over for it but never found it. Without it, my Pilates ring was useless. But I hadn’t tossed the ring yet, because that little pad HAD to be somewhere! Or as my mother used to say, “It didn’t just walk away.”

Nope, but I had looked everywhere for that stupid thing. Three and four times in the same places. May have accused innocent people… of misplacing or tossing it, or innocent dogs … of eating it. All to no avail. Finally, I had given up.

And then this morning, when the universe apparently knew that I would open that hatch, there it was, sitting harmlessly, waiting to be found.

Funny how sometimes we have to give up looking for something to find what we’re seeking. And what an especially joyful reunion it is when we have given it up for lost. Even if it’s something small. Even if it’s something no one else would value. Even when no one else sees.

That glimmer. That delight. That… closing of a loop we didn’t know was still open.

So many things decline as we age, and here regularly at Fit2Finish by Dr Wendy I offer advice about ways to maintain what we’ve got left. But today, let’s take a break from our looking and wonder if, perhaps, in our losing, we’re learning to let go.

And oh, what we might find if we just let go.

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Back in 2011, while on retreat with our confirmation students, I took a bit of a spill. I was playing a game called trash ball, so named because the “ball” is wadded up newspaper wrapped in aluminum foil. Two teams of a dozen or so players competed to score by throwing the ball into a trashcan held by a teammate standing on a chair.1

The game was played on a soccer-sized grassy field with “goals” at either end. The ball was advanced downfield by passing to a teammate without dropping it. The rule was made that passes had to alternate boy-girl to encourage some girls to stop talking and play. (so annoying) Trying to set a good example, I was extra enthusiastic and eager to demonstrate good sportsmanship. After dropping a pass, I bent to pick it up and toss it to the other team. I didn’t know I was standing in a muddy place.

You guessed it. When I threw the ball — by virtue of the something-or-rather law of equal and opposite reactions — the rest of me was launched backwards. My formerly planted foot flew out in front of me as I landed on my behind in the mud.

I’m sure that from a distance this looked comical, in a slapstick kind of way. That is, until I went to get up and couldn’t bear any weight. A 2 1/2-hour car ride to my local emergency room later and a few x-rays confirmed that I had completely ruptured my hamstring tendon.

“So, how did you do this?” my very helpful husband, a doctor, asked. “It says here, this injury occurs mostly in bull fighters and water skiers.”

My nine months of recovery gave me plenty of time to consider just how I had landed here. And it’s still speaking to me today.

You see, back in 2011 I was doing everything right, by my own standards.

I had launched a new business… preventing injuries in youth athletes.2 I was coaching youth soccer. I was working on a book. I was teaching Sunday school and confirmation classes and regularly attending women’s Bible study, often leading them. And I was juggling the family activities moving us in many directions at the same time.

Then came the slip and fall.

Hey, I had a strong foundation. The strongest. But the thing is, the world can pull the rug right out from under you any time it dang well pleases. You know that Bible verse that says, “He won’t let your foot slip …”? (Sorry, Lord, but in this case, I beg to differ.)

And I certainly was doing for others. A lot of others. But he thing about reaching out is that it shifts your center of gravity. Balancing becomes tenuous and, if you happen to be standing on one foot in a muddy spot, well…

Let’s just say, my footing was firm until it wasn’t.

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Today, that has me considering what actually makes and keeps us upright, at our core.

Some people point to the mighty oak tree and say, “It takes a firm foundation.” Dig your roots down deep and nothing can topple you. Well, I believe there’s truth there. But, when we center ourselves in pursuit of the truth with too much I-doing and I-writing and I-knowing and I-showing, that soil may be sand. Or mud.

Other people who point to the bendable palm will say, “Be flexible and let your branches give with the prevailing wind.” This is surely true of palm trees, and it can get very windy down here in Florida, let me tell you. But being tossed about by every wave won’t move you forward. And it certainly can leave you at the mercy of the storm.

So, about core strength. Well…

• The firm-foundation people want you to do sit-ups and crunches, at least a hundred every day. Muscle up that middle so you can’t be moved.

• The be-flexible people want you to stay in downward dog for three breaths, then balance in tree, then eagle. Keep your eye on your drishti so you won’t fall.

• I’ve found that building core strength happens in the middle of the two, as a function of the two and not apart from either. Firmly footed and reaching out.

It’s the simplest of physical principles really, that silly law of equal and opposite reactions. When our feet are planted firmly and we reach out to toss or to hold, our middle is our hinge and our core is immediately called into action.3 When we reach out holding something heavy, or something precious — especially something priceless — we activate the muscles at our center.

Voila! Core strengthening.

So what’s at your center? What claims your attention? Who do you reach for?

For me, this tends to be young people.

The other night, we went with friends to a local live theatre production of Agatha Christie’s, The Mirror Cracked, featuring the sleuthing skills of Miss Marple. As we’re taking our seats, I move down the row to find I’m seated next to a young woman sitting by herself; she is 40 years younger than anyone in the audience.

She beams a smile at me as I sit down, so of course, we strike up a conversation. Phoebe is a sophomore at Case Western University in Ohio, studying chemical engineering. She is here visiting her grandparents who are vacationing in Florida. Smart girl. She’s effusive, completely uninhibited telling me about her classes, her suitemates, her hopes for the future.

Aren’t young people wonderful?

At intermission, the Grands came over to say hello and to see how Phoebe’s doing. Spry folks, seats in back on the aisle for easy access to the restrooms. They’re all smiles and completely engaging. After they re-take their seats, Phoebe tells me her grandpa is so awesome. Always out biking. He’s 87.

When the show ends, Phoebe and I say goodbye. Then, as we slip past the seats toward the aisle, it occurs to me to add one more thing. Something I wish I had known when I was Phoebe’s age. “Get them to share their stories. You won’t have them forever.”

I know I am right about this.

The world has a way of pulling the rug out from under our feet, just when we thought we’d found our footing, or erupting in gale-force winds, just as we’ve gotten our balance.

Surely, it will go better for us if we’re strong at our center as we plant our feet and reach out. Especially, when what we’re reaching for is precious. Priceless even.

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You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

I’m calling foul on this aphorism. As someone who has spent her career “leading people to water,” I am finding that’s not what people want these days. They don’t want to be led; they want you to deliver.

Personally. Step by step, with easy-to-follow directions.

I had it wrong. I thought that if I showed you what’s available, you would enjoy having the freedom to choose your best option. But you don’t want to choose — you want home delivery. To your inbox. A program that’s instantly actionable. Guaranteed.

Also, accessible anytime. We do live in the age of instantaneosity.1

Caveat: the guarantee only comes it you keep doing it. And keep getting better at it.

So often, lately, I’ve been asked:

Of course, walking is excellent exercise. Good for your heart, that is. Better if you do it continuously, 30+ minutes per day, a little faster or a bit uphill if you can.

But is it enough? No. Especially, not if you’re over 502. (And you over-50 folks are mostly the ones asking me.) And let’s not kid ourselves, we’re aware we need to do more for our strength because we’re watching weakness creep in around every bend.

So how do we get stronger? Simple: work your muscles in ways you don’t normally, doing a bit more than you do usually.

Ah, but you have conditions because… instantaneosity:

Gotta be quick. Gotta be safe. Gotta be simple. Gotta be inexpensive.

Gotcha covered.

Let’s get specific:

1. Free up 12 minutes at the beginning of each day. (if you wait till later, you lose)

2. Create floor space with enough room that you won’t bump into anything. (carpet or yoga mat recommended)

3. Equipment: wall, chair, and small hand weights of your choice.

4. Print this out. Post it. Do it. Every day. #1-12, then repeat.

Now, if any of this dirty dozen sounds too hard or too easy or too confusing, you’ll have to work that out. Do as much as you can. Do it daily. Keep it pain free.

If you need clarification, send me a note. Let’s make this work.

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Afterwards, a well-appointed woman whom I knew to have spent her career as a high-powered litigator, approached me cautiously. She was wearing a curious but apologetic expression. “What is an exercise scientist?” she asked.

Apparently, I had some explaining to do.

What is an exercise scientist?

Exercise is a science. That sometimes confuses people. But any time the body is involved, science is at play. Keeping bodies healthy and performing top tier is what we do. The fruit of our labors has been on display throughout the Olympics.

We’re sometimes called physio’s or kinesiologists or trainers.1 We are the team behind the athlete. It’s become popular in recent years for competitive athletes to celebrate “their team” when they win a championship.

During this Winter Olympics we’ve heard athletes say, “I’m not here without them.” Sometimes, they were referring to teammates who pushed them or even sacrificed for them, but many times it was for the group of people who work and travel with them. Grouped together as “coaches,” these folks represent the best of exercise science.

And they’re particularly centered when we get to see athletes compete individually, as we did so prominently in the Olympics.

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Yes, exercise is a science.

The field of exercise science is now often called kinesiology, meaning, the study of human movement. It represents a broad range of specialties, actually, because the body, mind and spirit are a complex performance environment. Here are some of the sciences that an exercise scientist studies:

• Anatomy — the body’s parts and how they’re put together.

• Physiology — how the body works and how it can work better

• Biomechanics — the physics and physical principles of movement including the gear, uniform, implements and environmental impact in a sport.

• Training/Conditioning/Performance Coaching — applying anatomy and physiology to prepare a body’s heart, lungs, joints and muscles to withstand the demands of their sport.

Supporting specialties include but aren’t limited to:

• Athletic trainer - for bracing, taping, physical modalities

• Nutritionist and/or Metabolic specialist

• Sport Psychologist

• Artistic designer or choreographer for sports scored for artistry

• MD - clinician in case of injury or illness

All of these specialties often get collectively called “Coach.” This may be part of the confusion people have, as they are picturing the football coach who called the plays, yelled at the refs and hoisted the trophy when they “won State.”

Coaches today deserve a lot more credit. They coordinate all of the specialties above while also serving the athlete as motivator, training planner, and shoulder to cry on.

Yep, there are a lot of sciences involved. Some “harder” science. Some “softer” science. All focused on helping the athlete peak at just the right time to give the performance of their lives. It’s been so nice to see the athletes center these professional. Instead of I won, it’s we won.

So, no, these Olympic athletes aren’t just especially skilled, creative individuals who are exceptional competitors, though they certainly qualify in all those categories. Their special skills and talents have gotten them noticed. And supported.2

So, what does exercise science have to do with you?

The good news for us regular folks is:

There’s science behind that fitness you’re trying to maintain…

The weight you’re trying to lose or gain...

The strength you’re trying to sustain...

The absent flexibility you can’t explain.

Yes, we’re scientists, but artists, too. And it’s so beautiful when it comes together.

The Olympics reminds us of this. Every four years, we get to see the youth of the world gather to show us what the sporting body can do. How beautiful it is when done with excellence and heart and how heart-breakingly difficult it is to do this on cue, in front of cameras, fans, families and under the weight of expectations.

What an inspiration they are, every last one.

So, what is exercise science?

It’s what I’ve spent my whole life doing. And, if you’re still alive and kicking, so have you. Take good care of that vessel you’re in; it’s an amazing work of art.

OR we start off with angst. Gotta do it or else. That’s enough motivation for anybody.

But when the luster fades and fear abates, how do we keep going?

Some of us Just do it. (Thanks, Nike ads.)

That works for the some of us who are rule-followers — at least it works for a while. We do what we’re told to because we’re told to. But then, when there’s no one around to supply the motivation, most of us falter, balking at what we were made to do, perhaps simply because we were made to do it. Or because we never even noodled what we want to do and would enjoy doing. That can be just as good for us. And maybe better because we’ll keep doing it!

A great group of folks1 reminded me of this recently. They joined me for an Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI) series I am teaching called, Designing Your Own Personalized Fitness Program. First class, we looked at what’s prescribed for fitness in folks of our age, then we took a bit of an off-ramp and folded in the personality we uniquely bring to the task.23

Turns out there are a lot of ways to “get our cardio in” while also using our muscles, our joints and our brains. I’m pretty sure there are as many ways as there are people getting their fitness on. Sure, we can be limited — if you want to call it that — by our age, our health status and/or our experiences with things physical. As I’ve heard it said, our bodies are our biographies. They’re distributed, one per person, and if ours is showing some signs of wear and tear, we’d do well to pay attention.

But in our third Designing Fitness class, I was completely bowled over by a motivator hidden among us. When I asked everyone, randomly and certainly not originally, to share who’d they most like to have dinner with, living or dead, they were effusive.

Kudos to the first student who set the tone by not only sharing who she’d invite to dinner but why and how she hoped the conversation would go. Then, one by one, class members blew me away. “My Irish Grandmother who raised such a strong daughter who then raised me.” “My father who lost most of an arm at the Battle of the Bulge but never wanted to talk about it.” “My late wife, she was a wonderful person, but she suffered so at the end.” “My late husband who’s been gone 21 years.”

Honor and praise.

What became crystal clear to me in that sea of admiration and thanks was this:

We are more than the body we bring; we are also the stories we tell. We bring all of this to what we do (and don’t do), for ourselves and for others. That’s the Whole of Us.

So, why is it so hard to keep on doing?

Maybe we’re exhausted. Maybe we’re confused. Maybe we’ve been defeated so many times, it’s hard to get back up. But my new friends in class showed me there was something more. And it starts with I’m worth it.

What a wonderful reminder. Heck. Let’s make it a mantra … I’m worth it … worth the time. Worth the energy. Worth the work. Worth the care. Worth the rest. If you need a boost, take your cue from my class members and bring to mind someone you admire, past or present; invite them for a sit down. Sip that ambiance and embrace that energy. Remember. You’re so worth it.

Now I hear you saying, “That sounds nice, Wendy. Until I pull the rug out from under myself.” Which, of course, we all do, eventually. We disappoint ourselves or others. We don’t measure up or don’t show up. We fall by the wayside or slip up a little and then backslide a lot. If we’re not careful, it’s easy to fall into old patterns and return to old habits. And man does it show when we let ourselves go.

Let’s not do that. Let’s not go there — at least not for long. Instead, start again.

I’m worth it.

And if you are finding this hard to believe — based perhaps on all the evidence to the contrary you have been collecting — take a closer look at yourself.

Look at your fingers, oh my God, like my little granddaughter does. Look in amazement at what they can do. Count them. Bend and straighten them. Point and flex each one. And that thumb!

And if that’s not enough, look at your skin — that miracle of just the right amount of imperviousness to keep the bad things out but seal the good things in.

Or look in the mirror at the eyes that allow you to see what you see. Or the ears that let you hear what you hear. Or the teeth that chew. Or the tongue that tastes.

Look at the muscles that allow you to move. The joints that angle the action. And, oh my, the brain that knows what can be done and remembers how to do it.

On and on, the evidence presents itself to us. Patiently waiting for us to remember how precious we are and then, perhaps how we came to be this way. Who sacrificed so that we could become? Who allowed us to enter just as we are? Who helped us become the one we bring to this day?

This backs me right up to the beginning where, in thanks, I begin again from the place where motivation has a fighting chance. Now, I’m not doing this just because I’m worth it. I’m doing it because they were. And because those who are watching surely are.

These bodies… they’re each our biographies. But we keep reading because we can’t put them down. And those anthologies, they just keep getting better and better.

So, who are you inviting for dinner?

I wonder how soon I can get on Alysa Liu’s calendar??!!

Photo credit: Ulrik Pedersen/NurPhoto/Getty

In the name of love, we do for our families, our friends, our neighbors, and with what’s left over, perhaps we do for ourselves.

We’re under no obligation to love. No, check that. True love is never an obligation. Love expresses itself free of compulsion, without expectation of return on investment, reciprocity or quid pro quo.

Love gives because that’s its nature.

Funny thing about love, though: it can’t be seen except by what it does.

The amazing Olympic athletes have me thinking about this in a new way: What do we do purely for the love of something? For them, it is for the love of their sport.1

Pure love perseveres. It overcomes odds. Unfettered, it blurs boundaries, pushing beyond human capacity. Once kindled, that love catches fire and spreads. It smiles in victory or defeat. It’s glad for the other, even in its own disappointment, even if the other takes the gold.

What a wonderful example halfpipe snowboarder, Chloe Kim, gives us of this. The delight on her face as she congratulates the young competitor who bested her is so genuine and sincere. This “next generation” will reach higher than Chloe has, achieve greater things than Chloe has, because of what Chloe has done. With open arms, she welcomes the next generation2 that has come to replace her.

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It’s amazing what we do because of love … isn’t it?

It’s invisible yet insists on being actionable.

• Grateful for our gifts, we use them.

• Grateful for our time, we offer it.

• Grateful for our resources, we share them.

Doing what’s needed, even when there’s no one there to see or celebrate or reward us. But what about us? Who is loving us?

We could send a Valentine to ourselves.

Oh, those pink hearts… nope, not on this Substack. Here, our hearts look like this:

And recently my yoga friend Rosemary shared the body’s lesson about love and giving I had never fully appreciated3 until I heard her say it.

It’s what we’re asked to do by that flight attendant who dutifully instructs us to “place the mask over your nose and mouth and breathe normally. Bag may not inflate. Secure your own mask before helping others.”

Now I’m wondering… In an emergency, when this thing drops from the ceiling and hangs in front of me, am I really gonna secure it before I help the panicking child next to me?

Well, the actual human heart beating inside of says that’s what love does. It feeds itself before feeding the body … so it can keep feeding the body.

See the coronary arteries in this image — right and left, in bold print?4 Because they emerge from the aorta (the large pink vessel) first, the coronaries get first dibs on the blood coming from the heart because they supply the heart muscle cells (on the outside) themselves. Those cells don’t get any nutrition from the blood that’s being pumped through the heart’s chambers. In other words, exactly as Rosemary has said, the heart helps itself before helping others … so that it can continue helping others.

So, on this Valentine’s Day, in gratitude for all the love that’s been extended to me, I’m wondering: What do I do purely for the love of it?

And taking my cue from Chloe: Who can I shine the light of this love on who will take it from here?

That doesn’t necessarily mean they bench press 250lbs or march across mountain ranges carrying heavy packs on their backs, although I know a few who do and many more who could. Pound for pound the strength of these women rivals that of any man. Yep, science says so. Fiber for fiber, the force exerted is equal.

But that’s not the kind of strength on my mind today.

I’m thinking about run-of-the-mill women who are fighting today’s battles on their own terms. And they are badass, let me tell you.

There’s Luz1 who, despite a devilish cancer diagnosis which demands multiple weekly doctor’s appointment, spends time daily with her elderly parents who are in hospice, all while making plans to welcome a new grandson and support the new parents.

There’s Katia who, in the face of impossible administrative demands and diminishing levels of parental support, continues to bring her heart and soul to children in her third-grade classroom where they thrive under her care.

There’s Bonita who, after her husband’s tragic spinal injury, supplied 24/7 care and tending until it became too much for her physically. Now, even though the emotional demands are overwhelming, she continues to love and care for him. Every single day.

There’s Paulette, who spends her days calling forth undiscovered artistic expression from others, particularly those that society often overlooks. Then she spends her nights wrestling with her own artistic genius, refusing to let go until it has its say.

There’s Patsy, who ducks any sort of personal praise or thanks, but lifts everyone in her orbit. She’s the one you call when you don’t know who to call because she’ll always answer and always show up.

And there’s Annemarie, whose life story has been a series of hardships one piled on top of the other, but she presses on with good-humored determination because she must for the sake of her daughter who needs her and the love that saves them both.

Yep, some of the strongest people I know are women.

None of them possess physically intimidating forcefulness — which has more to do with hormones and organs and their bodily manifestations.2 No, the strength I’m talking about has to do with what women carry and how they carry it.

Women in all cultures are particularly adept at carrying, it seems, and it turns out we’re built for this — anatomically endowed with a greater “carrying angle.” It’s the natural angle formed at the elbow when the arm is extended…

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The angle is greater in women, ostensibly so we can carry a child in one arm while tending to other things with the other. And in fact, full-armed new moms are some of the strongest humans you’ll ever meet. Because the demands are huge and build day upon day motherhood provides a kickass progressive training program.

But I’m thinking, too, about a different kind of strength… strength that comes from long nights and difficult days,3 from standing watch and praying constantly,4 that advocates for the least of these5 in public forums and around every table,6 that holds fast even when there’s nothing left to hold onto.7 There’s strength that sings in the face of fear (thank you Minnesota) or melts when marvelous news comes. It may even dissolve into tears when the text arrives showing the ultrasound image of the grandchild arriving in a few months time.

Yes, strength has many faces and a million expressions. But don’t underestimate strength’s power, because even when carrying capacity reaches its limit, caring capacity never does. We are built to hold things up even when we can’t hold ourselves up.

***

I was raised by two generations of strong women. My Minnesota-nice Mamma, who you met in my last post, and by her daughter, my mother Tucky. She was a typical 1960’s era mom who cooked, cleaned, did laundry and drove carpool, along with a million other things I didn’t take time to notice or remember to thank her for. She was also my chief advisor and #1 cheerleader. In my mind’s eye I can still see her standing at the airport arrivals gate, homemade sign in hand, welcoming my college golf team as we returned from the national championships.

Sadly, Mom left us shortly after this. I guess once my brother and I had established ourselves as young adults she felt she had carried us as long as she needed to. When the illness she had bravely endured for years tragically convinced her she had become an impediment to our progress, she sacrificed herself for our sakes — something she had been doing her whole mothering life long.

Some have a carrying angle that is especially pronounced.

I seem to have inherited this. Maybe you have, too. We really angled folks can’t even follow instructions during yoga’s shavasana.8 When the instructor says to lie on our backs with arms at our sides and palms facing up, our forearms stick up in the air like little chicken wings. So, instead of relaxed, we remain ready. Ready to catch what falls or receive what’s thrown, including the clouds that descend or the world as its weight increases.

So today I’m especially grateful for these strong women who went before me and those arrayed around me who, with arms at full carrying capacity, are holding up the world. Not as Atlas, hoisting it overhead, but as women, holding it close. The women I’m celebrating and so many like them … just doing what we do. Holding on while literally holding everything else up. Apparently, we’re built for it.

Some of the strongest people I know are women.

It’s not an exclusive club. We let guys in, too … if they’re strong enough.

8

The final resting pose in yoga:

“Be careful crossing 50th,” I can still hear her calling after me.

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Everyone in town, it seemed, knew my grandmother, and she knew everyone, I would later learn. This in large part because she had a practice of boldly introducing herself to each person she met. “Hi, I’m Margaret Macgowan,” she’d declare, thrusting her hand out so she could shake yours. This, not because she wanted to impress you but because she wanted to get to know you. And she did. Everything you told her, she remembered and asked you about later. No matter how long from then later was.

“I’m interested in people,” she told me.

This interested-ness made her a good friend to have and an even better neighbor. She knew everyone on her block and paid attention in case you needed something. The young couple across the street who were new parents and needed someone to watch their child so they could go out for a bit. The elderly man three doors down who could use help with some groceries. The mail carrier who hand-delivered the mail and always appreciated a cold drink.

“This,” she said with obvious pride, “is Minnesota-nice.”

This is what sits on my heart as I watch the “train-wreck” unfold in Minneapolis. (Train-wreck is the word my cousin, who still lives there, used to describe what she is seeing in her hometown.1) These Minnesota-nice-ians are being descended upon by forces who know nothing about nice but a whole lot about force and are operating without proper training2 and, it appears, little self-restraint.

I wonder what Margaret Macgown would have done in the face of the ICE brigade. Because nice doesn’t mean provincial or backward and it certainly doesn’t mean weak.

You see, Mamma was quite forward” in her thinking, a “hip grandma,” she quite-rightly called herself. She was always up on the news, mailing clippings to me and my brother while we were at college. She kept up with the latest musical trends. She followed the local sports teams, never missing a Twins or Vikings game on T.V. And she didn’t back off from the hard questions God needed asking.

“We’re a reconciling church,” she said of her beloved Hennepin Methodist Church who welcomed the LGBTQ+ community before we were calling it that.

“It says, ‘God breathed life into Adam,’ so that’s when life begins,” she had decided, in responding to the abortion question.

What happens to the soul of a person who takes their own life?… “In their mind it was the most loving thing they could think to do for their family,” she learned from her friend, the pastor.

She always applied these three: 1. Consciousness. 2. Conscience. 3. Conscientiousness.

She asked. Made space to listen. Then applied herself. That’s why I’m pretty sure today she’d march to the scene where any poor soul needed help and see to it they got what they needed. If prevented, I am just as sure, she would have given them a piece of her mind. Yep, I’m thinking my 90-year-old grandma might have been handcuffed and jailed for “obstructing the law.”

Because she lived by a higher law: love your neighbor. Minnesota-nice was how they did it where she came from. Where my folks hailed from. Where my brother was born. Where I was all but raised.

Mamma died in 1999, so I returned to Minneapolis to celebrate her life. Being asked to speak at her funeral allowed me wonderful moments to recall what she had meant to me over her 92 years. Funny, one of the things that especially stood out was her predilection for being ready early whenever we were to go somewhere together or as a family. She’d arrive in the foyer, fully dressed and ready to go, and then offer her extra time to you in case you might be running a bit late.3

It always felt like a deep inhale for me.

Today, I needed a big inhale. So, I pulled on the t-shirt I got at the Twin Cities airport gift shop back in 1999. Nothing fancy. I just wanted a memento and thought I might not get back there again now that Mamma was gone.

Now it’s such a welcome reminder of my Minnesota Mamma who I’m not sure very many people would call “nice” exactly. No, she was more of a go-getter. An organizer. In today’s parlance, an activist. Someone who gets things done and doesn’t mind doing them.

So, if Mamma were here, what would she do in Minneapolis today?

Honestly, I can see her walking right up to one of those ICE agents and sticking out her gloved hand. “Hi, I’m Margaret Macgown.” And the ICE-man melting right there in his boots. Because pretty much no one could resist my grandmother.

As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.

There was a student in my class. He sat in the back, didn’t say much. His grade hovered in the “just passing” range. But he attended class and took notes. I couldn’t really tell how much he was paying attention, until one day when he got mine.

I was lecturing about skeletal muscle physiology and energetics— one of my favorite subjects — when he raised his hand to ask a question. “Professor LeBolt,” he said politely, “How come you won’t recommend creatine? All my buddies are using it in the gym, and they say it works!”

Truth be told, at the time I had little information about whether creatine supplements worked or not. They were relatively new on the market, and this was well before the internet was a go-to source. I had read a little about them in the sports medicine literature: creatine was being studied in relation to muscle performance, and it was not recommended for youth or children.

But this young man’s question was valid: why did I, an exercise scientist, not endorse something that “obviously worked.” His friends were living proof!

I told him that it wasn’t proven yet whether creatine supplements worked as the label on their bottle proposed. And, as a college professor, to support his friends’ anecdotal claims would be preliminary at best and reckless at worst. I needed to be able to support my recommendations with facts and good science.

After all, my reputation was on the line.

But here’s this young man, sticking his neck out asking an honest question in class, so I did something that day that I had never done before. I put down my lecture notes and we, as a class, addressed his question for the rest of the session.

Using what we knew about how the human body works, how could we figure out whether a supplement did (or even was capable of doing) what it said on the package? That’s when the lesson began. And I’ll never forget it.

First, some background:

What is creatine and why supplement it? What do we know?

Creatine bound to phosphate (phosphocreatine) in muscle cells donates that phosphate group to ADP, converting it to ATP, quickly replenishing energy supply in muscle cells in the first few seconds of high intensity exercise.

Where does creatine come from?

Some is synthesized in the body. It can also come from dietary sources like meat and fish. The majority is stored in the skeletal muscles. But…

Here’s the question my student was asking:

Can creatine supplements really work? Let’s look at this scientifically.

Together we walked through what this supplement would need to be able to do to be effective. We traced the steps involved from ingestion to digestion, absorption, and excretion. A good exercise for any thinking person who plans on putting something bioactive into their body.1

• If creatine supplements are taken by mouth, where do they go from there?

• Into the stomach and then intestine. How are they acted on chemically there?

• Is creatine absorbed from the intestine into the blood stream? (If, not, then it is excreted unused and is a waste of your $$.)

• If yes, how? And in what form? (carried, bound or free?) How does that affect its bioactivity? its bioavailability?

• How does the creatine get inside the muscle cells? (Through channels? pores? dissolved through membranes?) (If it can’t get in, it’s excreted. Again wasted $$.)

• Once inside the cell, what’s its activity? Does it interact with phosphate?

• Is there an enzyme that facilitates this reaction? (yes, always)

• In an exercising muscle, what conditions speed this chemical reaction?

• With muscle training, does this enzyme increase? if yes…

• What kind of training is needed to stimulate production of this enzyme? In other words, how can we make best use of its performance enhancing properties? (This, of course, varies person to person because our physiology does.)

• And, if confirmed in its muscle building properties2, what dosage has the greatest effect? For what population? (age, gender, workout condition, other factors)

• Have all these been tested? Are the studies valid? (Peer reviewed and don’t come from the manufacturer’s website or a blogger who has a link to sell you the stuff)

• The BIGGIE: Is it safe? Are there contraindications? Side effects? (Incidentally, there can be: dehydration, upset stomach, muscle cramps3)

• And finally… how does the body rid itself of excess creatine? (The physiology here is fascinating, but that may just be me speaking.)

So, as you see, there is no such thing as a simple answer to a biological question. Don’t settle for one. Be the scientist that listens carefully, looks fully and thinks clearly. Always, always ask questions.

What I learned that day was gold for me: sometimes you have to stop “teaching” for students to learn. I don’t know what my students remember from that day in class so long ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday.

On that day, I graduated from A&P lecturer to A&P teacher. All thanks to a student who asked a tough question and a group of his peers who brought a willingness to figure it out.

Here at:

I am the older version of that young professor. I continue still to be dazzled by the amazing human body and always strive to grow in my knowledge and understanding of how it works and how we can help it work better. My reputation still depends on it.

Next up: Oh my, can we please talk about mitochondria?!

References:

Creatine Metabolism: How It Works in the Body - Biology Insights

Creatine: Overview, Uses, Side Effects, Precautions, Interactions, Dosing and Reviews

But is a cold plunge actually good for you?

An avid reader came to me with this question, as many of her friends were onboard. Let’s take a closer look. First…

What is a cold plunge?

Cold plunge, for those unfamiliar and perhaps now shivering through the chills of winter, is the practice of immersing the body in ice-cold water2 for, typically, two to three minutes. Proponents say that cold-shocking the body raises fight or flight alarms resulting in “numerous positive effects” on physical, mental and emotional processes.

What are the claims of plunge proponents?

Articles touting the practice say it may…

• Reduce inflammation

• Improve mood

• Improve sleep

• Decrease stress

• Decrease pain

• Assist in injury recovery

• Circulate lymph

• Stimulate white blood cell (WBC) production

• Regulate hormones

• Boost metabolism

• Alter insulin sensitivity

That’s a lot of claims. And for those of you who want to skip to what I conclude from my research into these claims, scroll on down to: THIS is WHERE WE ARE.

For the rest of you… That’s a lot of claims. And while there have been a number of papers published regarding cold water immersion (CWI) and its effects, we’d be right to be cautious about drawing all these conclusions.

Let’s see what the science says about inflammation.

First, let’s clear up some confusion … cold-plunging is not the same as icing an injury.

Generally, recovery icing or post-injury icing, acts locally in response to an acute injury. Sprain an ankle? “Put ice on it.” You may be familiar with the mnemonic R.I.C.E. = Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. The theory is that, in the case of injury the body responds by sending extra blood flow (containing products needed to fight infection and begin healing) to the injured area. This results in the swelling, redness and PAIN you have with that ankle. Ice it and it doesn’t swell as much so it doesn’t hurt as much. Plus, it’s numbed.

This doesn’t mean that dousing or submerging your whole self in ice cold water will just address all of your chronic inflammatory areas by squeezing all that blood back where it came from. Blood flows like a river. What’s compressed somewhere has to go somewhere else. Constriction of surface vessels, for instance, drives blood toward your core organs and increases blood pressure. Is this shock of cold blood helpful?

Not in these cases, for sure.

Here’s who SHOULD NOT be engaging in cold plunges:

Caution #1: Individuals with cardiovascular disease or hypertension should avoid the plunge as the abrupt heart rate and blood pressure changes caused by cold water immersion can exacerbate existing cardiovascular issues.

Caution #2. Individuals who have a pacemaker should avoid CWI as the abrupt changes in heart rate and blood pressure can interfere with the proper functioning of pacemakers, leading to serious health complications.

Caution #3. Individuals with Reynaud’s syndrome should avoid the cold plunge as it can exacerbate symptoms.

Caution #4. Individuals who are pregnant should avoid cold plunge therapy, as abrupt changes in temperature can affect the fetus and potentially harm the mother’s health.

Caution #5. Individuals with respiratory conditions such as asthma may be at risk during cold plunge therapy due to the shock of cold water, potentially triggering bronchospasms and breathing difficulties.

Caution #6. Individuals with low body temperature at baseline have increased the risk of hypothermia which leads to serious health consequences, including shivering, confusion, fatigue, and even unconsciousness.

What actually might be beneficial is enhancing blood flow — provided there is no acute injury. Massage may help. Gentle movement can also encourage blood flow. Alternating warm and cold can also enhance blood flow. In light of this, some suggest cold-plungers visit the sauna before cold-plunging to take advantage of the vasodilation then vasoconstriction phenomena. (ie. sauna, then ice bath, repeat) Sound fun?

So, is there actual science to support the rest of the health claims?

Blogs with titles like “14 Science-Backed” benefits suggest there is.3 By “science-backed” they mean that they have cited a published article about something cold water immersion MAY do. Proceed with caution…

The tricky thing, with the current state of our science on the subject, is it’s difficult to draw reliable conclusions because the practices, populations, and protocols vary so much between studies. That makes comparison difficult and conclusions almost impossible.4

In a recent comprehensive meta analysis5 of 3,481 studies on CWI which aimed to “evaluate the psychological, cognitive, and physiological effects of CWI in healthy adults” they found only 11 studies which met the standard for inclusion. Most of these were small and almost all performed exclusively on men.6

Their criteria were relevant to those most likely to be trying out cold-plunging, and their assessed outcomes are what we’re looking for to improve our overall wellness. They included only:

• healthy adults,

• at least 30 secs exposure,

• conducted via cold shower, ice bath, or cold plunge,

• water temperature was ≤ 15°C

• immersion at or above chest level

• reported outcomes related to sleep, stress, fatigue, energy, skin health, immunity, inflammation, mental wellbeing, depression, anxiety, mood, concentration, alertness, or focus,

• randomized controlled trials that were

• published in a peer-reviewed journal.

The authors also included “narrative” syntheses for outcomes recorded in single studies or where the timing of assessments was considered too different to allow results to be meaningfully combined in a meta-analysis. Here’s what they found.

Current science about the health effects of cold-plunging

1. A significant increase in inflammatory markers immediately and one hour after CWI suggesting an acute inflammation response. Exactly what we don’t want.

2. No change in stress immediately, one hour, 24 hours or 48 hours post plunge; however, stress was significantly reduced at 12 hours.*

3. No significant changes in immunity observed immediately or one hour post CWI.

4. No differences for leukocyte (WBC) and lymphocyte response between CWI and control groups.

5. In one study, there was a significant reduction in “sickness absence” * for those in the CWI groups; however, because there was no difference in the number of illness days reported, it is unclear whether CWI was driving this.

6. In one study, sleep quality scores were better for the CWI groups*, but the effects may have been confounded by the post-heat training recovery context. (sauna practiced mentioned above)

7. No significant difference seen for moods; though based on only one study.

8. In a small study of those who took 30, 60, or 90-second cold showers for 30 days, participants did report slightly higher quality of life* scores; however, these changes were no longer significant at 90 days.

9. No findings were reported regarding energy, fatigue or metabolism. Shivering is to be expected. This will not improve your metabolic profile.

* = items which show potential, but as yet unproven, health benefits

THIS is WHERE WE ARE.

• A cold plunge is not the same as icing a localized injury.

• Because Cold Water Immersion (CWI) causes rapid increases in blood pressure and heart rate, use extreme caution. Avoid it if you have a cardiac, respiratory or circulatory condition, are pregnant or have baseline low body temperature.

• Current research conclusions summarized:

  If you like to take daily cold showers of 30, 60 or 90 seconds, CWI

  • may reduce your stress level 12 hours later,

  • it might help you sleep,

  • it may help you feel better about life,

  • it’s unclear whether you’ll avoid illness and

  • there’s concerning evidence that it may actually increase inflammation.

For the record, there’s a large body of scientific evidence which confirms that regular 30-minute bouts of moderate to vigorous exercise (especially if you do it with a 2-legged or 4-legged friend) will:

• improve cardiovascular health

• help manage stress

• help you sleep better

• improve your self-image

• enhance your mood

• and, if not done to excess, will NOT increase inflammation.

BONUS: It may help you look more like the models in the cold tubs on Amazon.