Patch-work memories

This week, for whatever reason, I've found myself taking quite a few strolls down memory lane (I have no idea how many calories that burns). A couple of days ago I was thinking back to junior high school gym class. Now I know the words "gym" and "class" in succession strike terror into a lot of people, but I rather enjoyed those classes.

I'm sure academics were stressed, too, at the junior high I attended in Indiana, but what I remember most was the gleaming new fieldhouse where our gym classes were held. It was a place of activity and excitement. Walkers, joggers and runners vied for position on the track; the trampolines at the center erupted with tumbling bodies; and thick ropes dangled from the ceiling, holding climbers in various states of ascent.

I also remember a girl named Linda, who was sort of the female Bruce Jenner of our class: you name it, and she could perform it, catch it, throw it or lift it better than anyone else.

All of us had to wear one-piece, navy-blue gym suits that weren't very attractive, but Linda always looked sharp in hers. That's because her suit contained a lot of those patches from the President's Council on Physical Fitness. Remember those?

I think I managed to earn one or two of the patches, but my navy-blue gym suit was still largely a sea of blue.

Anyway, while thinking about Linda and her patches, I got to wondering whether that program still existed. I have no children, but my understanding is that many cash-strapped schools have cut out physical education programs entirely.

To my surprise, I found out that the program does still exist, and you don't need to be a 13-year-old in a hideous gym suit to participate.

Called the President's Challenge, the program lets you register, pick an activity, and track your progress in that activity as you work your way toward an award. You can challenge friends or family, or just yourself. You can find the details here.

I don't know about you, but I love challenges and rewards, and think they can be powerful motivators. Of course feeling fit and healthy is the best reward of all.

CPR is not just for dummies

Heart disease is the number-one killer of men and women in the United States. In 2005, the latest year for which figures are available, 652,091 Americans died of heart disease, and 50.5 percent of them were women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Nearly half of all cardiac deaths occur before emergency services arrive or before the victim reaches a hospital, the CDC says.

If you witnessed someone having a heart attack, would you know what to do?

I'm now better prepared to respond should I find myself in such unfortunate circumstances. Last week I became certified in CPR and the use of an automated external defibrillator (AED) by taking a 3-hour class at the Rhode Island Red Cross headquarters in Providence.

Why did I do it? The short answer is that I had to, because I need that little certification card before I can even take the American Council on Exercise personal trainer exam.

But after having taken the class, I'd like to think that even if things don't work out for me as a personal trainer, I will maintain my CPR/AED certification. The class was completely painless — no embarrassing moments pretending to be a victim while the rest of the class watches — and easily worth a few hours of my time and $45.

There were about a dozen of us in the class, and we paired off to practice such skills as aiding a choking victim, but had our own mannequins on which to practice the rescue breaths and chest compressions of CPR. We went through the CPR steps as a group, following along with an instructional video, and the instructor made the rounds to make sure each of us was doing it correctly.

I was impressed that a few people had attended the class not because certification was a job requirement, but because they wanted to be prepared in an emergency. One young's man story was particularly touching: He said his grandfather had started choking on some food a few weeks before, and he wished he had known how to help.

The instructor, Keith Choquette, who said he spent 10 years as an emergency medical technician before becoming an instructor with the Red Cross, was very candid about the chances of reviving someone with CPR alone: about 5 percent. CPR in combination with the use of an AED brings those chances up to 10 percent, he said.

But he made a point that had never occurred to me, which was that even if the heart attack victim does not survive, CPR can greatly improve the odds that the victim's organs can still be donated. So a bystander who performs CPR might not be saving the heart attack victim's life, but could be saving the lives of many others.

And though those odds of survival are terribly slim, think about how they would sound if you or someone you loved were the victim. As Choquette said, "A chance is a chance."

To find a CPR course near you, contact the American Red Cross.

Jethro Tull and that sinking feeling

Do you have one of those songs that's so closely associated with a memorable event in your life that hearing it again, no matter how many years later, mentally transports you back in time?

For me that song, aptly titled, is Jethro Tull's "Living in the Past." I heard it the other day, and the emotions poured forth as raw as the day when I first became aware of the song, more than three decades before.

The year was 1972, and my family had just moved from Indiana to Delaware. I had begun the new school year — ninth grade — far from the friends I had grown up with and loved. I wanted desperately to fit in, but, as so often happens at that awkward age, I found myself a stranger in a strange land.

I thought that I could perhaps make some inroads through sports. After all, I had been something of a neighborhood jock back in Indiana. So I tried out for the basketball team.

Football had really been my sport, but of course there was no girls' football team. Nevertheless, I was a halfway decent basketball player, or so I thought. I was stunned the first day of tryouts to find that what had passed for good in the old neighborhood was merely mediocre among my new Delaware peers. Those girls could play.

Still, I worked hard during the tryouts, and although I might not have stood out as the best shooter or defensive player, I felt like I put 110 percent into it, and hoped my spirit counted for something with the coach.

The results of who made the cut were to be posted on a certain day — I do not remember the day of the week, only that I happened to be sick on that day and had stayed home from school. So my mother, ever the good sport, went over to the school to check the list, which was taped to the drab cinder-block walls of the gymnasium off whose walls I had hoped to hear the cheers echo.

I remember hearing Tull's "Living in the Past" on the radio just before my mother returned home. I was curled up on the sofa, a mix of anticipation, excitement and dread fighting for control of my body. I heard the front door open, and then my mother entered the room where I lay, the look on her face saying it all. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head ever so slightly sideways.

There are plenty of worse things in life than not making the junior high school basketball team, but on that particular day, you would have had a hard time convincing me of it. The weight of defeat was crushing, just before the numbness set in — a state that I managed to maintain for the better part of my freshman year in my new school.

I offer this story not for pity's sake because, as I noted, it was no big deal in the grand scheme of things. I bring it up only because I'm curious about the impact that failures or defeats or setbacks have on others. Somehow to me they loom so much larger than the successes along the way.

In my basement is a whole case full of skiing trophies that I've earned in giant slalom races over the years. Funny, but I don't recall any of the songs that were playing on the radio as I drove home from the slopes, basking in the thrill of victory.

A little light housekeeping

Just a few odds and ends today. First, a reminder that there are only three days left to cast your vote in my highly unscientific poll on exercise frequency, which can be found somewhere over on the left-hand side of this page. I'm happy to see that no one has reported that they exercise only rarely, but then I wouldn't expect to see such people at a blog that has the word fitness in its name.

Second, my partner, Marge, and I are planning to take part in a four-mile road race this Sunday, primarily as walkers/joggers, since neither of us runs regularly and we have not been training for it. The race supports a scholarship fund set up in memory of Kerri Bessette, a South Kingstown High School graduate and athlete who died of bacterial meningitis in April 2001 while in her freshman year at LaSalle University.

Although we knew neither Kerri nor her family, her story moved both of us. The course is a paved loop near Matunuck Beach, and the race starts at 9 a.m. Registration and other information can be found at www.run4kerri.com.

And in the putting-us-to-shame department is Diana Lajoie, a colleague of Marge, who finished 17th in her division in Sunday's Ford Ironman triathlon in Lake Placid, N.Y. The 38-year-old resident of Seekonk, Mass., finished the event — which consists of a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride and a 26.2-mile run — in 12 hours, 1 minute and 21 seconds. It's hard for me to comprehend being able to finish it in any amount of time. Way to go, Diana!

Finally, I promised I'd report back on my progress with the deadlift, which I began doing about a month ago. I started with an easy 65 pounds to get the form right, and am now lifting 125 pounds (three sets of six reps). My short-term goal was to be able to lift my body weight, so I have another 10 pounds to go. I think I should be able to reach that, and then some, in pretty short order.

Aside from feeling like I'm building strength rapidly, I love the fact that the deadlift is a time-saver. Because it is a compound exercise that involves so many different muscles, I've been able to eliminate leg extensions and curls, and back extensions from my exercise routine. And who among us couldn't use a little more free time these days?

And a footnote to the story of my interest in the deadlift, which was sparked by seeing a video of Nia Shanks deadlifting 300 pounds: it seems Nia's mother has caught the bug, too. At 49, Nia's mother is just two years younger than I am, and she deadlifted 235 pounds in her first powerlifting competition.

Who says getting older is tough? Bring it on!

Sizing up the surgeon general nominee

Looks like another storm is brewing in Washington, this one over the girth of Dr. Regina Benjamin, President Obama's nominee for surgeon general. This storm, like so many before it, began forming in that tornado alley of popular opinion: talk radio, the blogosphere, and, of course, Fox News.

No one is questioning the credentials of Dr. Benjamin, whose career in medicine has been marked by philanthropy, and numerous achievements and accolades. What her critics are focusing on is Dr. Benjamin's weight: they say she is "too fat" to be surgeon general.

There was this priceless moment, for instance, when Fox's Neil Cavuto interviewed a critic who appeared on camera sporting a "No Chubbies" T-shirt. Talking Points Memo, which posted the video, went on to point out that Cavuto's guest was Michael Karolchyk, owner of an outfit in Denver called the Anti-Gym, a "fitness club" that promotes getting in shape for sex.

Bloggers were busy speculating about Dr. Benjamin's weight, guessing that she was 40 to 50 pounds overweight and probably a size 18 or 20. Some agreed with the likes of Karolchyk that her weight would send the wrong message, while others defended her and hinted that the criticism of her nomination had undercurrents of racism and sexism.

So what, exactly, does the surgeon general do that would make being overweight a disqualifier? According to the office's Web site, the U.S. surgeon general "serves as America's chief health educator by providing Americans the best scientific information available on how to improve their health and reduce the risk of illness and injury."

So Dr. Benjamin's role would be that of an educator, not an aerobics instructor.

In that role, perhaps Dr. Benjamin's weight might prove an asset, allowing her to better connect with the American public as the surgeon general takes on the problem of obesity. That, I suppose, would all depend on how she approached the issue.

Meanwhile, I have to think that a lot of the criticism over her weight is just so much mean-spirited blather.

If it's Saturday, this must be silly

I suppose one could make the argument that many of my posts are silly, Saturday or otherwise, but I do strive for a certain regularity when it comes to silly videos.

Anyway, who says you can't teach an old gym rat new tricks?

This video kind of sums up my view of real basketball. As I've admitted before, I'm not much of a fan, but when I do manage to catch part of a game, particularly the end, I'm always reminded of that old joke about how all they really need to play are the last 30 seconds.



What do you suppose the rat was thinking on that last shot, when he or she drove to the basket, then hesitated, perched atop the rim: I'm full? This is stupid? Why are all these kids looking at me?

Or maybe the rat was simply trash-chattering his or her opponent, who clearly had forsaken Big D in favor of chow.

In any case, I hope your weekend is filled with rewards as well.

What do you want in a personal trainer?

As those of you who tuned in yesterday know, I took a break from blogging in order to do some more studying in my quest to become a certified personal trainer. Later, I started thinking about what sort of trainer I hope to be, and remembering some of the trainers I've had in the past.

Although I've been frequenting gyms on and off for twenty-some years, I've used the services of only three personal trainers. I have to laugh now when I think about my some of my experiences with them and how naive I was as a fitness consumer. Never once did I ask for references or credentials, because at the time, it simply didn't occur to me.

I know that one of the three trainers was certified through a well-known organization, because she advertised that fact on her business cards, but I'm pretty sure the other two had no certifications or exercise-related degrees.

These days, I would definitely ask a potential trainer about his or her certifications or degrees, as well as experience. Some certifications are completely bogus, as in you take a 15-minute online "test," pay your fee, and voilà!, you can call yourself a certified personal trainer, if you can keep a straight face at the same time. Among various sources that I've consulted in trying to determine the most respected certifications, three names consistently appear: the National Strength and Conditioning Association, the American College of Sports Medicine, and the American Council on Exercise. I'm sure there are some other good certifications out there, too.

Anyway, back to my experiences with trainers. The first one I had, who shall remain unnamed for obvious reasons (actually, they will all be unnamed, for a variety of reasons), used to occasionally show up for appointments with alcohol on his breath — and I'm talking late-morning appointments.

I'm not saying he was drunk. In fact, he was known to be the hard-partying type, so perhaps those odors I detected were the remnants of his previous night's activities. In any case, not very professional. But then he never claimed to be a professional, just a "personal trainer."

This trainer spent our sessions barking commands at me as I made the rounds of the usual equipment, counting my reps, and trying to sell me supplements of dubious value. A complete waste of money, in other words. We had maybe six or seven sessions together before I decided to go it on my own.

The second trainer I worked with, a couple of years later, was a woman whose body I admired. There's a saying in the business that your body is your best advertisement, and she definitely sported a bodybuilder's body, though not the "freakish" kind.

We had a few sessions that were productive, but I was completely turned off one day when I approached her in the gym with a question. Now she was not with a client at the time, but responded with something to the effect that if I didn't have an appointment, I shouldn't be asking a question.

In all fairness, she did apologize several days later, telling me that she sometimes gets a little "bitchy." Well, sorry, but I don't tolerate bitchiness very well, particularly when I'm paying good money for it. I may be a lot of things, but a masochist isn't one of them.

Now on to my last, and best, trainer, a man I worked with about ten years ago. He was, at the time, a fifty-something bodybuilder. When I look back, I'm kind of amazed that I trained with him, because he was one of those guys who, for no apparent reason, kind of gave me the creeps.

So what prompted me to hire him? I had seen him training other women in the gym, and was impressed with their strength and the innovative workouts he created for them. No rote repetitions at the usual machines for these women; they obviously wanted to improve their athletic performance at one sport or another, and he clearly was listening to them.

In my own sessions with this last trainer, he truly challenged me and seemed to genuinely share in my joy at my achievements. He was funny and energetic, definitely not bitchy, and he taught me some wonderful exercise tips that I remember to this day.

But I think the best lesson I learned from him is that truly good personal trainers listen to and respect their clients and do not try to push their own agendas. And there's really no certification or degree program that can teach you that.

So I'm curious, have any of you had experiences with personal trainers, good or bad, that you'd like to share? For those of you who have never had a personal trainer, would you ever consider hiring one? If so, or if not, why?

If you're shy about responding in the comments section below, you can e-mail me at rhodetofitness@gmail.com