Just a couple of months ago, I wrote about a horrible attack of a sciatica1 (links below) that laid me out for two weeks straight and reminded me how devastating it is to be even partially physically debilitated. That episode had its roots in an injury that I sustained more than 20 years ago, the reason for which I knew just as well then as I do now: a lack of enough real physical strength to do the things I was doing without injuring myself.
I’ve always been a reasonably strong person, or so I thought, but in early life, I never developed any sort of habit of real athleticism. I would do what I felt like, whenever I felt like it—and so even if I was often doing things that sound athletic, such as skateboarding, rock climbing, and kitesurfing, the fact is that I was depending on the strength that comes with youth, which, along with a reasonably robust constitution, has let me get away with a lot.
…With some exceptions, like the the windsurfing trip over the Y2K new year that resulted in a blown L5-S1 disc, which, for much of my thirties and forties, had me walking around with level 2-5 pain much of the time, avoiding going to rock shows because it hurt too much to stand for more than half an hour, and always being sure to carry one little tab of Tramadol around in my coin pocket. In the end, the price I paid was more than it was worth to get away with it initially—and that’s a lesson that keeps on giving.
There is a certainly part of me that likes getting something for free, but of course there ain’t really much that you can get gratis at all, aside from going outside—and the occasional little something filched from the cookie jar.
After that recent knockdown, I got an overpriced MRI and an expensive prescription for 10% ketamine cream. At least the ketamine sounds interesting. The MRI showed nothing catastrophic, and by the time I got the goo, the pain had subsided to the point that I couldn’t tell if it made any difference. The real message I got was that running eight or ten miles and going to yoga a couple of times a week wasn’t enough to keep me pain free.
I’ve known this for a long long time, but I was still trying to get away with it. The voice of “I don’t want to,” and “I can’t,” have been strong for me in certain realms of life for as long as I can remember. It recently occurred to me to ask myself when this voice started chanting it’s discouraging refrain. What part of me got convinced that “I can’t” exercise like any other person, or that I really might be able to get away without it?
Part of the answer is definitely the part of me that still wants to be different from everyone else (which of course is both impossible and already the case, so not really much of anything to aim for). Another part is the part of me that feels sorry for myself, that feels alone and doesn’t want to have to do anything in that sad state—even though that’s also really just reality, and not that sad at all, most of the time.
I’m not sure what the rest of the answer is yet, but what matters more is that I did have a bit of a moment with myself there after the pain subsided. I had to square up with the truth, which was that I needed more exercise, and that there wasn’t actually any reason that I couldn’t do it.
It’s also true that, as you know, dear reader, I’ve been dedicating myself more and more to writing over the past few years, and even moreso since I put up this Substack last July. With the the new year approaching, I was also looking forward to being part of a master class of other writers all committed together to complete our memoir manuscripts by the middle of the coming year—and so, a further increase in my dedication to writing. I began putting out draft chapters of that memoir-in-progress here on my Substack2 (links below) shortly soon afterwards.
As much as I’ve done my best to do the bare minimum in terms of exercise (and, almost certainly, several other things), I have become committed to writing, and it occurred to me that I need to do everything I can to support myself in that practice. It might not occur to you right off the bat that being physically fit, and even strong, is any sort of prerequisite for the life of a writer, but it is.
First of all, sitting in a chair for hours on end is itself a recipe for illness and pain, at least without some real compensation in terms of fitness, especially in the core. It’s also true that I know from other pursuits that don’t seem all that athletic, in particular, the incomparable sport of paragliding, that physical and aerobic fitness are in fact key to performance—and let’s say, wellness, while doing other things—even though flying itself is accomplished with seemingly no more than the lightest touch of the fingertips on the controls.
Spending hours in the air requires real stamina, climbing in thermals requires serious core strength, and taking off and landing safely requires agility and power in all of the limbs, especially if you want to return to earth without injury. Aerobic fitness and strength also helped immensely with another major factor that comes into play with flying, which is fear. Feeling reasonably fit and strong was a foundation upon which I depended as a paraglider pilot, and although I don’t fly any longer, I look on my time as a pilot as a highlight of my life, and one that wouldn’t have been possible without some the level fo fitness that I did have, even it that was still pretty modest.
Strange as it may seem, my experience with flying led me directly to the thought that if I really want to write well, I need to be more fit. I know that I won’t be the first to have come to the conclusion that writing is an athletic pursuit—my primary writing teacher, for one, is a boxer who teaches3 that “There’s no flow. Just the workout.”—but I think almost all of us would be guilty of underestimating the degree to which a creative life depends on the physical self.
Fortunately, there’s no need to get esoteric with the answer to how so? Stamina, focus, concentration, and the ability to sit and type or think for hours at a stretch are all supported by a strong back and a good set of gills. It’s more than that though. The fact is, I’d forgotten what it feels like to wake up just a little sore from the day-before’s workout, and how that soreness is actually the feeling of strength. I was used to putting off a run or whatever other activity until the afternoon, if I felt like it, but that was depriving me of waking up with that feeling in my body, and that feeling feels damn good. They say the body remembers, but the body forgets too, and although I have known precisely how it feels to wake up feeling strong, I had forgotten.
Once the sciatica mellowed out, I began doing some sort of workout just about every single morning. As someone who’s had just as much of an aversion to schedules as to rules, commitments, and discipline4, I still don’t have keep to a specific schedule of what I do on any given day, but, I have to admit, after two months of ad-hoc daily workouts, it’s actually occurred to me that having a regular program tacked up on the wall might even be helpful. I know that’s what any sensible person would do—but I haven’t ever demonstrated much of a supply of that particular variety of sense. Schedule aside, getting at least an intense 30 minutes in before breakfast assures me of having done something real with my body before I sit down to work, and also guarantees me that slightly-sore feeling of bodily strength when I wake up the following day—which also serves as a reminder to get at it again.
Here’s a little rundown on what I’ve been doing.
Perhaps especially as someone who suffers from what can be chronic back pain, I love pilates for how effective it’s been in alleviating that. Just to be clear, I don’t mean fancy-ass pilates with the springy machines and the $50 price tag—I mean a series of exercises that focus on core strength that can be done on any mat, anywhere, for free, just like yoga. My man Sean Vigue has the leading pilates channel on YouTube5, at least in terms of one led by a man, and his workouts are awesome, really. Super nice guy, super super effective workouts—30 minutes with Coach Vigue will getcha good.
I have found some other people on YouTube that are super helpful too, including bodyweight workouts from BullyJuice6 and this guy Yuaheni Los from Belarus who calls himself the Wild Moose7. Both of these guys are super jacked and also super super mellow, funny gents who have managed to build pretty impressive worlds for themselves on that platform. I gotta say, they both seem like really stand up guys, and even though the Moose does all of his stuff in…Belarussian (I guess?), he’s very watchable, his workouts are killer, and the (automatic, I think) subtitles make it easy to understand everything.
I love bodyweight workouts and I’ll be looking for more, but I also have some knock-off TRX straps that allow me to get into some other movements for variety, and it’s easy to find TRX workouts on YT as well. I haven’t really gotten into using weights as I do prefer to be able to work out right here at home and I don’t want to clutter up this tiny place with a bunch of gym equipment… but, believe it or not, it’s also crossed my mind to consider joining the local gym. Reminds me of how I got my first taste of real strength training in my forties, working out with “Dr. Z” at Crossfit 415 over in Dogpatch, in the same years when I had just started running, just two and three miles at a time.
I’ve also worked out with a couple of male yoga and bodyweight teachers that I really like, namely Shaun Naughton and, more recently, Peter Bartesch, who Shaun introduced me to. Shaun is doing other things now, but you can still find a bunch of his yoga and bodyweight workouts on YouTube8, and Peter teaches and does private coaching9 here in the Bay Area, as well as leads retreats in suitable deluxe and inspiring places.
All of this to say that there are tons of free resources online, and that bodyweight work, whether in the form of pilates, calisthenics, or whatever, can really do the trick. Changes don’t come as quickly at 53, I suppose, but the fact is, I can feel the difference, and despite the old gym-rat adage of “no pain, no gain,” my primary goal is “no pain” for as much of my life as I can possibly achieve, and not just no pain, but to actually feel strong as I get older. That said, I can tell I’m getting stronger, because I’m up to 60-100 pushups for just about every workout, including along the way when I’m out running. My goal right now is to get to 100 a day on a regular basis, and then, well, we’ll see.
This isn’t the first time I’ve made an effort to hit the bricks on a regular basis, but this is the first time I’ve gotten over the hurdle of being self-directed—I daresay, even self-disciplined—about it. I’m making a real effort to reverse course on a long term course of avoidance, because as much as I’ve been attached to the idea of ‘getting away with it,’ I’m forced to admit that the fact is I’m not. Steven Pressfield, who writes so well about Resistance, pointed out to me just yesterday as I was listening to an excerpt from his book Turning Pro10 that the result of allowing Resistance what it desires—inaction—is incapacity, which results in further inaction, lethargy, confusion, anxiety, and depression. Reading Pressfield’s pal Rick Rubin on the subject of impatience11 made me think that my feeling of I don’t want to is a similar “argument with reality,” as RR puts it—“the desire for something to be different from what we are experiencing in here and now.” It’s also similar in that it’s wasted effort. The pain avoided is less than the eventual pain resulting from avoidance.
By the way, I didn’t just cotton onto Rubin now—he’s been an inspiration for quite some time. His Broken Record podcast with Malcolm Gladwell is great, as the series that he did a while back at his recording studio, Shangri-La. He’s been out doing interviews for his book The Creative Act, which I do highly recommend. I’ve heard him speak so much, and his voice is so distinctive, that I can hear him narrating as a I read it. Both Rubin and Pressfield feel like real soul brothers.
One of the things that I notice as an aspiring writer is the degree to which I feel creative flow. How often am I struck with ideas and reflections as I go about my day, upon waking, while out running, or as I dream my solitary, delicious dreams? I’ve felt the creative juices ebb and flood back in at different times, and one of the things that I wished for in the coming year was to feel more of moments again, without being quite sure how to position myself so as to better receive them. While I have given meditation another shot, what’s made the difference for me so far has been getting stronger. From my initial intuitive flash while out running in China Camp several years ago to the present day, on some reflection I can say that I’ve often felt the most creative at times when I’ve been my most physically active—and I’m happy to say that in the past couple of months, the flow is stronger again.
I love that feeling, and I also love waking up in the morning with the feeling of strength in my body. Feeling strong feels good. Not just as a person, even very specifically as a writer. As much as I do love me some Bukowski, I’m more inspired by my young friend The Wild Moose, watching him do pushups with his daughter on his back as he cooks up his morning kasha.
Both feelings are…addictive, in the best possible way. Let’s hope I stay hooked.
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Previously Published on substack
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