My personal fitness practice is where the rubber meets the road, where theory first comes into practice. And to be honest, much of what I now guide people to do is the result of heavy self-study over the past couple decades.
What I've come to realize is that because of how our brains change, the majority of our training effort should go into the aspects of fitness that lay the physical groundwork and set us up for the peak-level efforts that we all usually associate with working out.
I'm reminded here of one my favorite quotes: "Don't study something. Get used to it." (Japanese proverb).
When we go about trying to learn something--anything--our brains prioritize the knowledge that is emotionally stimulating. That's why we'll often remember all the tiniest details of both the happiest moments of our lives, as well as the traumatic ones.
But this emotion also warps our sense of reality (detailed memory is notoriously unreliable). So when we want to really know something, to approach an understanding of something--especially a complex thing like the needs of our bodies--we need to work with and alongside our emotional realities through a consistent (usually daily) practice of some kind. Having that kind of regularity is the only opportunity we have to find that most-valuable ingredient: perspective.
"If it's important, do it everyday," says one of my favorite coach-philosophers, Dan John.
When I finally learned that--really got it into my bones--my personal fitness approach changed in a subtle but profound way. I was finally able to let go of the sense that exercise was something I "should" do a certain way.
The only thing I "should" do was the important work of knowing myself.
Practically speaking, that meant a major shift to make the regular, daily work of taking my joints through controlled, end-range circles (CARs) a major component of my physical practice (and what I guide all of our trainees toward). I'm talking here about small but persistent doses of movement (10-15 min every damn day) that provide an all-important basis for any other physical activity. It's the slow-drip pressure that, like the water that shaped the Grand Canyon, slowly yields the big changes.
On that foundation, I then spend another regular portion of time (20-30min, 4-5x per week) working on the weak points of my mobility. That is, I stretch and contract and learn to control the parts of my body that are not fully fluent; basically, I do Kinstretch. This is a slow process, but a very specifically-targeted one that gradually shifts over time, with the actual stretches and exercises I'm using evolving to reflect the most deficit joints. There is nothing random about this investment of training time. With time and effort and--most importantly--on-going awareness of progress (because of the daily CARs), I move through and beyond my mobility issues.
A back tweak will bring specific spinal work into the rotation for a month; a sore elbow will demand a few sets focusing on elbow control. My chronically jacked R hip will request on-going nursing, but will also slowly unlock more and more possibilities for movement as it gains resiliency and range.
Which brings me to the final component of my regular fitness routine: high-intensity practice. This is the part of training that dominated my understanding of "working-out" since I was 13, when I was training exclusively so I could see a six-pack. At that time (from what I read on the internet ) it seemed that lifting weights, at mostly high-intensities, 3-5 times a week, would make all my dreams come true.
And in some ways, this kind of habit is a marker of longevity and physical satisfaction in humans: being strong and being well often go hand in hand (as does weakness and being unwell). But the confusing piece, and what threw me for a loop in my teens and early twenties, was that the body you bring to the exercise matters much more than the exercise or program.
That is, the function of each joint (i.e. does it function?), the effectiveness of your cardiovascular system, and your health status (are you diseased, injured, etc?) will be determining factors in if fitness works for you or not. Often, working out intensely to change these basic qualities is putting the cart before the horse.
So what finally shifted for me was a change in priority. Rather than fixating on the peaks of my best training days, I became much more engaged with the basic function of my body:
Is it rested?
Does it move, in some way, many times a day?
Is it provided with adequate fuel (caloric, psychological, spiritual)?
I found, through trial-and-error, that I had to ask--and resolve--these basic questions every day.
When those baselines were met (mostly through daily movement dose of CARs, and upping my sleep), I was ready to actually address my limitations, which came in the form of regular, targeted Kinstretch.
Only then, when the groundwork had been properly laid, was I able to extract the true benefit of more intense exercise. Now, rather than dragging myself through intense workouts (that often felt too hard), my body is prepped and ready when I decide to go more intensely, which happens 2-4 times per week for an hour or so (or, if I'm riding my bike, much longer).
And because that work is more intense, it drives adaptations to my body much more effectively when I was just playing at intensity (but not actually able to work that hard).
I will often visualize this blend of inputs for clients this way:
What I hope is obvious here is that the work you put into maintaining basic function serves as the foundation of the pyramid that supports anything else you'd like to do with your body.
Giving that maintenance step short-shrift is a recipe for frustration; on the other hand, giving that daily part its due--as hum-drum and unsexy as it is--sets you up for whatever else you can dream up.
Whether your a stalwart in the physical training game, or just dipping a toe in, I hope there's something here for you to take away. At the end of the day, changing our bodies is first and foremost a learning process.
Happy discovering!
Go be your own hero,
Coach Will