Slammin'

This is my 45lb slam ball:

There are others like it, but this one is mine.

It arrived via the US Postal Service the day before yesterday. I had been wondering how they were going to deliver it. I didn't think they were going to send it by the usual carrier. Sure enough, a separate truck pulled up to my place. I came outside and said to the man who'd slid open the side panel of the truck: "You've got a heavy package for me, don't you?"

The man chuckled and said he did, indeed. Amazon had packed it in a box twice as wide as the ball and three times as long, which made it much easier to carry. (Leverage: it's what's for dinner.)

Yesterday, I took it outside and slammed it 5 times on the sidewalk. A slam is lifting the object high over your head and then throwing it straight down to the floor or ground as hard as you can. Some people -- a lot of people, to judge from what I've seen on YouTube so far -- keep their legs pretty much motionless with their knees bent and their feet flat on the ground when they slam, and just concentrate on doing reps as fast as they can. I, however, saw a YouTube video in which a personal trainer said that this was entirely wrong, and that what you want to do is extend the entire body before the slam: stand up on your toes, straighten your legs, stand up as tall as you can, reach up as high as you can with the ball in your hands, and THEN slam it down. This trainer says that this is the proper form for slamming, and that proper form is much more important, and gives you much bigger returns for your effort, than the very popular approach of doing as many slams as you can in a minute, or in 5 minutes or in some other given unit of time.

I have no idea whether this trainer is right about that and all those other people are wrong. But for now I'm acting as if he's right. In part because he's thin but very wiry and seems very strong, and I want to get thin and remain strong.

My slam ball did not immediately split open under its own great weight and become ruined upon being dropped to the sidewalk for the very first time, as I had irrationally feared. Irrationally, because it is made to be slammed thousands of times.

Yesterday, 5 slams left me wiped out, huffing and puffing. I didn't notice the ball making a sound yesterday when it hit the sidewalk, but that was because I was expecting a huge echoing slamming sound, like the sound of a basketball hitting a sidewalk, but magnified many times, and this huge echoing sound was entirely lacking.

Today I paid closer attention, and heard a distinct solid thud when the ball hit the sidewalk.

Today, just like yesterday, 5 slams wiped me out. But today I just took a couple of breaths and then kept going. I lost track of how many reps I did today, but it was at least 10, maybe 15 or more. Lifting the ball all the way up before the slam was very difficult after several reps. I feel it now in all 4 limbs and my shoulders and back. No doubt I will feel it more tomorrow: "the feeling of weakness leaving the body," as we lunks say. And the plan is to do a lot more than 15 reps tomorrow.

I'm Okay. Really

Yesterday, after writing a blog post about medicine balls, I ordered a 45-pound slam ball from Amazon. This particular brand of ball does not seem to have the best reputation for quality and endurance (nor the worst), but the 45-pound model was ridiculously cheap. So cheap, I have to wonder whether the price was a mistake. So cheap, I honestly wonder whether what I paid would even cover the cost of free 2-day shipping of an item that weighs 45 pounds.

I'm not on steroids. (I know: that's exactly what most steroid users say. But I'm not.) Just in case any of you were worried about that, or worried about me in general and my new enthusiasm for medicine balls. I'm aware that many or most or all of the people (besides me) who are genuinely interested in 300-lb medicine balls

are on steroids. I'm not interested in becoming even bigger than I already am. I'm not interested in competing in strongman competitions. What I want to do is become thinner. I want to use the medicine balls to burn off fat, more than I want to use them to pack on muscle. If some of my muscles get bigger in the process of burning off fat, that's okay with me, but it's not the main focus.

If I were seriously interesting in developing huge muscles, I would be starting an exercise program centered primarily around lifting barbells and dumbbells -- and around taking steroids and HGH and things like that. But I don't want the huge muscles. I want to get smaller. I want MORE of a neck, not less of one. I don't even know very much about steroids and HGH and other things used by -- well, apparently by top athletes in every single sport where it's not specifically banned and rigourously tested, as well as a lot of the top athletes in sports where it is specifically banned and rigourously tested. I don't know very much about the banned substances, but I get the distinct impression that they're dangerous in various ways. Some people insist they're not, but those people seem to me to be either using steroids (etc), and in denial -- or selling steroids (etc).

I hear that steroids (etc) are expensive, too, so even if I were convinced that they were safe as milk, even if I wanted to take them, I couldn't afford to. (I don't even drink milk, because of health concerns. I don't pour milk on my cereal or oatmeal. If I'm in the mood for a beverage which resembles milk, it's almond milk for me.)

I'm not planning a lot of barbell and dumbbell lifting. Just calisthenics and and cardio and medicine balls. And the medicine balls are mainly intended to intensify the effects of the calisthenics and cardio: burning fat, strengthening my heart and lungs, lowering my blood pressure and resting pulse rate.

HEALTHY stuff. Before my surgery back in August, I said to myself that if I survived, I would make a stronger commitment to my physical health. And that's exactly what I'm doing. And my blood pressure and pulse rate have been coming down -- not dramatically yet, but that's okay. I'm taking small steps in the right direction.

You know, some day I will meet a beautiful woman who is into heavy slam balls and mechanical watches and the Latin language and languages in general and healthy, steroid-free living and quantum theory and Moleskine notebooks and almond milk and kitties, and sparks will fly.

I Didn't Work Out With a 300-Pound Medicine Ball Today

I went into the sporting-goods store, went right for the 20-lb medicine ball lying on the floor and lifted it up. The young lady working the cash register asked if I needed any help. I told her the truth: that I had just come in there to do a set with the 20-pounder.

I asked whether she was aware that medicine balls as big as 300 lbs were made and offered to the public. She said no, seemed genuinely surprised and asked what medicine balls so big could possibly be used for.

I told her that I saw two possibilities: 1) Frontin'.

Somebody might buy a 300-lb medicine ball just so they could pay 3 or 4 strong people to carry it into their home, and keep it on their floor and try to convince other people that they actually exercised with it; and 2) I asked if she'd seen those World's Strongest Man contests on TV. She said she had. I pointed out that in those competitions, sometimes kegs and stones and other unwieldy objects were lifted which weighed 300 lbs or more. I asked rhetorically: How would someone train for such a competition, if not with a 300-lb medicine ball?

We chatted a little bit more about medicine balls. Just in case it's not already completely obvious: I'm fascinated by medicine balls these days. I happen to have owned an 8-pounder and a 5-kilogram ball for years. I googled looking for exercises in which I wouldn't actually have to throw the balls. One thing I found is called the Russian Twist.

I am really feelin' the Russian Twist right now, which I've been doing with the 8-pound ball. I'm feeling it in a really good way. I guess, technically, a Russian Twist is not done with a weight, and if you do it with a medicine ball or some other weight in your hands, it's a Weighted Russian Twist.

After my stop at the sporting-goods store, I walked around the strip mall. Literally: I walked all 360 degrees around it. I saw one bird in the trees behind the strip mall; it was flying too fast and close for me to tell what kind of bird it was. I walked for about 40 minutes altogether. Got a little endorphine thing going on right now. Hope I don't feel 300 years old and like all my bones have been crushed when I wake up tomorrow morning. I think I'll be okay. I think I may finally be doing that thing I've been telling myself to do for years and failing to do: starting an exercise routine and building it up gradually, in a sustainable way, without injuring myself. Those 5-mile walks I was doing a couple of months ago, soon after my surgery: that was overdoing it. That was unsustainable. But I should be able eventually to do 5 miles and more at a stretch, by gradually working up to it, and carrying drinking water with me. I don't have to get there today. I don't have to be a beautiful super-athlete today -- and it's a good thing that I don't have to do it today, cause I can't do it today. 40 minutes walking and a little bit of light, careful medicine-ball work was good for today. Plus plenty of stretching.

Did I mention how much I love the medicine balls? I can picture myself carrying a medicine ball on a long walk as if it were a pampered dog. And by the way, I have found a way to throw a medicine ball in my house: I just lie flat on my back and push the ball with both hands straight up, hard as I can. So far, I don't seem to be in danger of putting a hole in the ceiling.

Medicine Balls

I have some medicine balls. Not this many:

One of mine is slightly larger than a basketball and weighs 5 kilograms. That's right: kilograms, not pounds. I wonder where it's from, originally. Probly not Murrka.

Another one is slightly larger than a shot which is thrown in the shot put. And there's got to be simpler way of mentioning such a shot. Then again, maybe not. It's just barely small enough that I could put it like a shot. I'm very curious about how far I could put it. I'm not going to find out today because it's icy outside. Okay, I could go outside right now and put it. I probably won't. We'll see.

I know that exercise with medicine balls generally involves throwing them. But I can't throw them inside my house, which has limited space and fragile walls and floors. I watched a video yesterday in which a trainer had his clients throw medicine balls as hard as they could against cinder block walls. At one point the trainer said approvingly of his client, a UFC fighter, "Yeah, he's trying to throw that ball right through that wall." I sometimes hold a medicine ball and move around with it, or shift it from hand to hand, or throw it up, but not high enough to hit the low ceiling, and catch it before it hits the floor, and repeat. I don't know whether I'm getting good exercise when I do such things, or injuring myself, or neither. Hey, maybe I'm doing both!

Yesterday I was holding the 5 kilogram ball, and I actually wondered whether it was about as heavy as medicine balls get! Yeah, it seems kind of silly in retrospect that I wondered that, because I googled it and found medicine balls weighing as much as 300 pounds.

The 300-pounders are not any bigger than regular medicine balls. I don't know what they're made of, whether they're rubber all the way through -- extra-heavy rubber -- or basically just iron or brass with a very thin coating of rubber, or what. I don't know -- if you can play catch with one of those, you may be overdoing it, and maybe you just need a really good hug. But who am I to judge? Go ahead and get your freaky strong on if you want to.

I'm pretty sure that I could lift a 300 lb medicine off of the ground or floor all by myself. I'm also pretty sure that if I did it right now, I'd injure myself. But it doesn't have to stay that way. I could transform myself from a Great Big Fat Guy to a Great Big Freakishly Strong Guy Who is Not Fat At All. It's possible. Or I could go thin. I've been thin before, it wasn't bad at all. It was much easier to jump around like a cat when I was thin. Or I could just forget about everything except enjoying lots and lots of great food, and go for 500 lbs. (Weighing 500 lbs, that is. Not working out with a 500-lb ball. Although that too would be possible...)

I think that tossing the medicine balls as described above, repeating for dozens of reps, is good for me. I think I can feel myself getting stronger and less fat. Tossing a medicine ball just a little ways into the air, because of the low ceiling, I can feel it in muscles all over me, from my calves to my neck.

I think it's possible that I won't write any more Great Big Fat Guy posts. Maybe instead, the next Great Big Fat Guy post will just be a Great Big Guy post. That'd be sweet. And I think it's more likely than me weighing 500 lbs. Yeah, I really feel it all over. Feels good. There is no doubt, I'm getting some good exercise from these medicine balls.

(But, of course, a well-rounded exercise program includes many kinds of exercise. Don't get me wrong: I'm not saying that medicine balls can do it for you all by themselves.)

(Although...)

Dream Log: Energetic Priest

I dreamed I was a Roman Catholic priest. A very liberal one, to put it mildly. I was openly flirting with a woman in front of a young priest, who was also very liberal about such things and not bothered by my behavior, and a superior of mine on the Church hierarchy, who was very much bothered by my behavior, and threatened to have me thrown out of the priesthood. I wasn't rattled: I didn't think he could have me thrown out, and I didn't much care if he did. I didn't believe in God in the dream any more than I do in waking life.

Then for a little while the young priest and I were cops as well as priests. The two of us very energetically chased some suspects through a wintry city neighborhood, running very fast, going up and down many exterior staircases on old wooden houses, climbing over tall fences. Then we were no longer cops, but we kept up with the running and climbing, for reasons which were unclear. If nothing else, it was fun and a really intense workout. I was 54 years old in the dream, just like in waking life, but in the dream I was in much better physical condition.

Then I and the young priest and a third man who was young and athletic went inside my modest apartment. The two of them were both very hungry, so I got two dishes I'd made out of my refrigerator: they were mostly potatoes, plus some odds and ends I'd had on hand. I was embarrassed, because I thought that both of the dishes, both improvised on my part, were rather disgusting. But the two of them ate with great gusto and seemed to enjoy the food very much.

It occurred to me how some people seem not to realize that one and the same sort of food can be healthy or unhealthy, depending on how much a person exercises. These potato dishes could be quite fattening for sedentary people, but people like us, who'd been running and climbing very strenuously for long distances, could eat the very same thing, and the carbs would burn off very quickly, and the food wouldn't be fattening. I was reminded of a program I'd seen on the Food Network, hosted by Bobby Flay, in which two women were featured who ran a bakery for a living, and also ran marathons. On the program they prepared one of their favorite items, a huge chocolate-chip cookie with an enormous amount of calories. When the cookies were done they had a lot of their regular customers over to try them, including many other marathon runners. The women who ran the bakery, and the other marathoners, were all very lean and attractive-looking people. And they were all talking about what a great pre-race food this enormous cookie would be. And Bobby Flay seemed a bit confused, as if he didn't understand how this huge cookie full of fat and carbs and sugar and chocolate, which he would regard as a decadent indulgence, could actually be healthy food.

That was a real Food Network show which I saw in waking life, and then in the dream I remembered seeing it, as I watched my two young athletic friends chowing down on potatoes.

Then I woke up. Recently, in the past year or two, I'd been confused about whether I had occasionally done some fast running, or just dreamed about it so intensely that it seemed like real memories of running. When I woke up this morning all doubt was gone: all of that recent running has been in dreams. I mean, I've done SOME running in real life, recently, but it's been very different than in the dreams: in waking life, now and then in the past couple of years I've run for up to 50 or 100 yards at a time, and without necessarily turning blue every time, either. But in the dreams I've been going for miles, really fast. In these dreams I've been a better runner than I've ever been in real life.

But I'd like to run that well in real life. I used to be a very lean person who could chow down on big amounts of carbs without it fattening me. It'd be fun to be that lean and strong again. It felt good, decades ago.