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Lifting
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--- By Catherine Taylor
From Radiance
Spring 2000
 t
a time of books with titles like Strong Women Stay Slim (by
Miriam Nelson at Tufts University) and articles in magazines that extol
the benefits of weight lifting, with weight loss at the top of their
list, it is so very important to remind ourselves that our country’s
number one Olympic hopeful in the sport weighs almost 300 pounds. We’re
talking number one in both men’s and women’s divisions, and we’re
talking young, fit, and fat. (You go, Cheryl Haworth!)
And more and more Radiance
readers are letting us know how much they enjoy pumping iron to build
strength and stamina, make everyday tasks and movement easier, and
strengthen weak knees and arms to build personal confidence . . . maybe
even take on other sports and activities they’d only dreamed about
before.
Here we feature sixteen-year-old Cheryl
Haworth and three Radiance readers
who’ve incorporated weight lifting into their daily lives, for
different reasons and with different results. Lifting weights, to
whatever degree one chooses, is said to make the body more efficient and
the mind more nimble. And women often express feeling increased
psychological power after they’ve built up some muscle. There’s even
a political side to this story. Early feminists like suffragist Katie
Sandwina (who used her husband as a barbell) and even the famous British
suffragist Mary Wollstonecraft and the American suffragist Elizabeth
Cady Stanton encouraged weight training for women. According to
historian Jann Todd, these activists believed that muscles, and being a
woman of substance and size, would help free us from being treated as
insignificant or childlike (see Physical Culture and the Body
Beautiful: Purposive Exercise in the Lives of American Women, 1800–1875).
So what about those of us who don’t
want to take on a big new project, or have good reason to hesitate for
fear of straining a bad back or stressing sore joints? Remember this:
your own body weight counts. Just walking is a weight-bearing exercise,
and the same principle applies to arm and leg movements: even using
one-pounders, or no weights at all, will build muscle and coordination.
One place to turn for tips is Judy Alter’s
fifteen-year-old classic, Stretch and Strengthen. Alter’s
emphasis is on safe movements, at the individual’s own level and
initiative. She also addresses special problems and exercise that
promotes healing and avoids injury. (Her book just saw me through a bad
bout of sciatica and ended up inspiring me to stretch and strengthen my
way out of further trouble.) As far as strength training goes, Alter
says, “For the most part, you need no other weights than the ones
built into your body.”
Of course, a good personal trainer or
instructor could give you the right moves for your body and your goals,
that is, if you can find the right class or coach and can afford the
commitment. For do-it-yourself guidance, we asked one of our
size-friendly experts, Jake Tommerup, to give Radiance
her favorite resources (see sidebar page 37). As you read this issue’s
articles and look over our recommendations, keep in mind that you don’t
have to become an athlete or an exercise junkie. Adding just one or two
simple new moves to your daily life can make you feel great!
CATHERINE TAYLOR is the senior
editor for Radiance.
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--- by Patricia Corrigan
From Radiance
Spring 2000
 leven
o’clock on Saturday morning, and I’m at the gym. After five trips
around the padded walking track, I adjust the weights and the seat
position on a weight-resistance machine and climb on for my first “ride”
of the day.
Laugh if you will, but I like thinking of
the red-and-white Body Masters machines as rides at an amusement park.
That first machine is a biggie: I’m pushing ninety pounds with my
legs, to build up my thighs. I start slowly, with a few cleansing
breaths. Then I begin to breathe in rhythm, inhaling while at rest, with
knees bent, and then exhaling as I push back, straightening my legs.
Eyes closed, hands relaxed, I do twelve repetitions, rest for sixty
seconds, and then do twelve more reps. Sweat trickles down the back of
my neck, a sure sign that I am working hard.
Then it’s on to the leg-lift ride, the
back stretcher, the push-me pull-you, the “pec deck,” the rowing
ride, the pull-down bar, and the rope-on-a-pulley. Oh yes, and the “chicken-wing
ride,” which strengthens my shoulders as I flap my bent arms up and
down, pushing against the weights. I give full credit to this machine
for allowing me to easily carry a heavy backpack all around Colorado
this past June.
 After
riding all the machines, it’s back to the track for another four or
five trips around to cool down. By now, I’m exhilarated, proud of
myself for ignoring the whiny voice in my head listing the reasons not
to go to the gym: It’s too hot. It’s too cold. It’s raining. It’s
too far. I’m too tired. I’m too busy. I’m proud of myself for
pulling on sweatpants and a baggy shirt and actually getting there
anyway. My body feels good, too: stronger, more toned, and maybe even
taller. When I do every exercise carefully, mindfully, my breathing and
the movement become a form of meditation, and I am left with a great
sense of accomplishment and physical well-being.
I’m a most unlikely jock. I’m
fifty-one years old, and round, a size 22–24. But then, the gym I go
to is full of unlikely jocks. Women and men of all ages—and all
fitness levels—work out there. Some of the members have had heart
attacks, strokes, or other serious illnesses, and exercise therapy is
part of their treatment. I see them (and silently, I salute them) as
they pedal on the bikes, pump away on the treadmill, or walk around the
track with oxygen tanks at their side. Other members clearly are
athletes in training, lifting huge weights and running wind sprints.
Still others, like me, are on self-directed fitness missions. When you
join my gym, you start with an hour-long medical evaluation to determine
your present fitness level, and you may ask to be reevaluated from time
to time, to measure your progress.
 y
goals are to gain stamina and to become stronger physically. Because I’ve
done this before, I know that those goals are reasonable. Of course, you
do have to show up on a regular basis and do the exercises. You also
have to learn to forgive yourself if, for some reason, you miss a
session or two, or even more.
One Friday, at the end of a hectic week
when I hadn’t made it to the gym a single time, that message of
forgiveness reached up from the pages of a book I was reading. In Anne
Lamott’s Crooked Little Heart (Pantheon, 1997), a man explains
something to a girl who’s cheated in a couple of tennis matches. “I’m
just saying that you don’t need to see yourself as a cheater. Because
that’s not who you are. You’re someone who cheated. There’s a
difference, and you should try to get that difference, or that’s who
you’ll grow up to be,”.
By extension, if I don’t get to the gym
every time I plan to, I’m not a failure. And even though I’ve flat
out quit exercising a few times, for months or even for as long as a
year, I’m not a quitter. This kind of thinking has led me to
self-forgiveness, and also, every time, back to the gym.
In spite of all the publicity about
physical fitness, studies show that only about one-third of all
Americans exercise three times a week, and that estimate is considered
high. How many more of us would, if we hadn’t labeled ourselves
quitters or failures?
I’ve worked out on weight-resistance
machines for twenty years, off and on, and I’ve participated in water
aerobics classes for ten years, also off and on. Now, when I don’t get
to the gym, it’s okay, because I know I will get there again, and
sooner, rather than later. I know this because I feel better when I go,
and because I know better than to think badly of myself when I don’t.
When I first joined the gym, I didn’t
have to point out that I was fat and out of shape, but I was asked to
report any health problems. I have allergies that sometimes trigger
asthma, arthritis in my elbows and wrists (the result of repetitive
strain injury earned on the job), and a penchant for respiratory
infections. Also, I’m a breast cancer survivor. I was diagnosed in the
fall of 1995 and had a lumpectomy, followed by chemotherapy and
radiation.
 owever,
none of those conditions challenges my efforts to get fit quite so much
as my job. I am the restaurant critic for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch,
so basically I eat out for a living. I’ve had the job for more than
two years. The first three weeks, I ate everything I was served and
tasted everything on my companions’ plates as well. All my clothes got
tight, and that was the end of that. In the line of duty, I still taste
each course, including dessert, but now I also bring home lots of
leftovers.
I joined the gym in October 1998 and got
off to a great start, working out three times a week. The following
February, I got bronchitis and missed almost three months of exercise. I
finally got back to it at the end of April, in expectation of the
thinner air where I planned to visit. Because my breathing is especially
stressed at elevations with less oxygen, I knew that I had to work hard
to be active and comfortable on my vacation. I worked out on the
machines three times a week (muscles need to rest in between), and I
started walking for twenty or thirty minutes on the track two or three
additional days each week.
I got stronger and I had more stamina.
Also, my body started to change shape. My pants got longer—I’ve
hemmed one pair three times already—and my dresses got looser. The
steering wheel on the car moved farther away than I’d remembered it.
My spirit changed, too, leading to a most unexpected new way of
celebrating good news. When the radiation oncologist told me that I need
not report for a checkup every six months anymore, that he would see me
in a year, I marked the occasion by increasing all the weights at the
gym by ten pounds. So far, so good. Even my massage therapist has
commented on my new muscles. And now that I have some muscles, I want
more, so I have started doing sit-ups every day, just for fun.
Sit-ups for fun? Well, once I was in the
habit of moving my body, it felt so good that I simply wanted to move
some more. I’ve ordered the videotape Yoga for Round Bodies (call
800-793-0666; see feature in Radiance,
Winter 1995 issue) to supplement my workouts at the gym. I don’t for a
minute think that I will wake up one day a size 16 because I exercise. I’m
not even sure I’ll wake up more days than I’m entitled to, that my
life necessarily will be prolonged because I exercise. I do know that I
will wake up every day feeling happier and stronger than before, because
that’s already true.
Sticking to a fitness program makes me
move with more confidence and think more highly of myself. My increased
energy level helps me get through long days at work more easily. And
working out regularly convinces me that I deserve to lie on the couch
and watch the Cardinals play baseball at least once a week. Off season,
it justifies crawling into my big soaking tub to read a book or
magazine. The point is, when I work out, I also feel more entitled to
relax. It’s a personal thing. For me, this is what a balanced life is
all about.
I’ve always been big, and, as an adult,
I’ve always had a desk job. Yet when interviewed at the gym about my
exercise history, I was startled to discover that I actually had one.
Almost twenty years ago, just after a divorce, I joined a neighborhood
fitness center that had a room full of weight-resistance machines. I had
never done anything quite so bold, but I was under the impression (and I
remain so) that my money was as good as anybody’s. I encountered no
smirks or sarcastic remarks from other members about my size or lack of
fitness, no resistance at all—except, of course, from those machines.
The longer I worked on them, the better I liked them. I developed more
strength and I liked competing against myself, increasing the weights or
the number of repetitions only when I was ready. Ironically, the place
closed right at the beginning of the fitness craze that remains in force
today.
A few months later, I joined a YMCA,
where I took water aerobics classes for a couple of years. I love being
in water and have always felt particularly graceful in it. I couldn’t
afford the full membership at the Y, which allowed you access to the
room where they kept the weight-resistance equipment. After another
break from exercise, during a time when I was convinced that I was too
busy to go to the gym, I decided that I needed to make time to go, and
that I was worth the extra money. I returned to the Y to work out on the
machines and to attend water aerobics classes.
 hen
I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was more fit and feeling healthier
than ever. Perhaps my quick recovery from surgery and the rigorous
cancer treatments is testimony to that. Still, I sat out exercise while
undergoing treatments, saving what little energy I had just to get to
the office five days a week. About six months after the treatment ended,
I started again slowly, by enrolling in water aerobics classes for
people with arthritis at the Y. Prices at the YMCA continued to rise,
and they also started double-booking the pool with kids learning to
swim, which eliminated any chance of quiet and relaxation. In the middle
of an Irish fit one day, I quit.
Months went by. Then I signed up to use
weight-resistance machines at my community center. I bought a used
treadmill, which I actually did use for a while, and I enrolled in a
water aerobics class at a nearby university. In September 1998, I moved
across town to a new neighborhood, into a spacious condo. God, in Her
wisdom, provided the West County Sports Fitness and Rehabilitation
Center across the parking lot from my building. When I look out my
living room window, there is the gym, just steps away. Once I was
unpacked and settled, I made an appointment for a tour. I liked what I
saw and was delighted to learn that I qualified for a special discounted
membership category because I live close enough to walk. I found room in
my tight budget for the $135 three-month membership and hope someday to
be flush enough to pay for a year at a time.
That would be a big commitment, paying a
year’s membership to a gym, and not like me at all. By the time you
read this, I will have been a member for more than a year. Yes, I’ve
already missed some workouts, but mainly when I was ill or out of town,
or that time I sprained my little toe on the edge of the bathtub. I know
now that illness, vacations, sprained toes, and even giving in
occasionally to that whiny voice that tries to talk me out of going to
the gym are all part of my life. Fortunately, so is working out.
Hey, I’m a jock. ©
PATRICIA CORRIGAN is a
restaurant critic and columnist at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. She can
be reached at pcorrigan@postnet.com
or by writing to her at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, 200 South Bemiston
Avenue, St. Louis, MO 63105.
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--- by CAROL L. GAUTNEY II
From Radiance
Spring 2000
 o
you notice that climbing stairs stinks? Do you notice that sitting on
the floor does, too, because it means that you will have to get back up
again? Do you get out of breath just walking from your living room to
your bathroom?
Sound familiar? Well, I’ve recently
found something that makes everyday physical activity a heck of a lot
easier. I lift weights. Don’t stop reading now. Just hear me out.
In September 1999, I took the EAS
(Experimental and Applied Sciences) Body of Work Challenge, a
bodybuilding competition designed for the average
person who wants a new way to get fit. (Incidentally, you can be
fit and fat at the same time.) Some of the contestants set goals to lose
body fat: others wanted to tone and build muscle. I confess that when I
started, I wanted a little of both.
 I
have severe scoliosis, and the muscles on the right side of my back are
weak. Pain used to scream through most of my joints and under my right
shoulder blade because my spine curves unnaturally, like a question
mark, throwing everything out of whack.
The reason that I am sticking with weight
lifting is because it has brought amazing relief. Most of the pain
caused by my spinal curvature is gone. Though I weigh exactly as much as
I did when I began lifting weights, I can now climb stairs without
gasping. I can get up from the floor easily without leaning on furniture
for support. I can walk through my house without panting, and I can
answer the phone without sounding out of breath. Every minor physical
activity I did before is ten times easier now. And it took a mere three
and one-half weeks to achieve this. That’s the great thing about
lifting weights: the results are fast.
I lift weights only two or three times a
week. It may sound like a lot to some people, but this averages out to
about four hours per week—four hours I no longer spend watching TV
programs that I never really liked in the first place. I’ve
occasionally used my own dumbbells at home, but I have outgrown them,
and I am always looking for new exercises to strengthen my legs. So at
the start of the bodybuilding competition, I began going to the gym: a
little fifteen-by-fifteen-foot room at our nearby community center.
I always take music with me. One
miserable time I decided to lift weights without music, and I was bored
out of my mind. Fast-paced, high-energy music pushes me through a
workout and dulls out the sounds of grunting. (Just so you know, men in
gyms grunt not to annoy you, but to let off steam or to push themselves
through their own workout. You can observe this in any strongman
competition.)
 Even
with music to spur me on, some exercises are not fun. Those I hate, I
don’t do. Why do something I hate? On the other hand, weight lifting
isn’t supposed to be delightfully easy. I currently leg press 380
pounds, which is quite a bit. I began by finding a weight I could lift
with some discomfort. Once it became easy for me to leg press 320
pounds, I raised the resistance to 340 pounds. The new weight was
something I could lift, but was somewhat uncomfortable. When it, too,
became easy, I added another 20 pounds. That’s how I’ve progressed
safely, steadily strengthening my muscles without feeling like a
failure. If you start out with the heaviest weight that you can lift,
then you will not only have zero fun, but you will probably rip your
muscles to shreds and never set foot in a gym again.
If you are interested in weight lifting,
I can’t design a program for you, because everyone has a different
physique and fitness level. And I can’t tell you which exercises will
help you or hurt you, because I am not your physician. But I will
suggest this: Find someone with a friendly face and no judgment in his
or her eyes—be it a trainer, a fellow bodybuilder, or anyone else who
knows about weight-lifting equipment and training—and tell him or her
exactly what you need. Don’t pussyfoot around the subject. If your
goal is to climb stairs without experiencing cardiac arrest, you might
say something like, “I am not here to lose weight. I just want to be
able to climb stairs easier at the weight I am now. Which equipment will
help me do that?”
No one has ever teased me about lifting
weights or snickered at my efforts, but I have heard horror stories
about the way some fitness buffs and even trainers treat large women and
men who want to better their health in the gym. Be warned and be
prepared. Even if you find a kind individual to assist you, assume that
he or she thinks that you are there to lose weight. You have to take the
initiative in this situation and make your intentions very clear from
the start. In time, you will find that the faces in the weight room
become familiar and welcoming. And, in time, you will find that you feel
fabulous at the top of the stairs. ©
CAROL L. GAUTNEY II is training
to become the first respected full-size professional woman wrestler in
the World Wrestling Federation (WWF). She is sick of seeing only skinny,
(yet) busty female wrestlers, and it is her goal to elevate women’s
wrestling. She lives in San Luis, Colorado, where, in her spare time,
she writes children’s books.
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