Anti-aging

Can CrossFit Make You Sexy?

Confidence, no matter how it’s “packaged,” is sexy. But how do you increase confidence? For a lot of women, it gets down to how we feel about our bodies. For me, an amazing confidence booster is knowing my body is powerful enough to do whatever I need it to do, so I’ve always worked out.

Lately though I’ve noticed a change. Call me crazy but it might have something to do with this trippy thing called aging. These days, no matter how much I work out, I can’t seem to get strong. I mean really strong–the kind of strong where you can open a vacuum-packed pickle jar in seconds, chase a guy for days, lift 20 gallons of water, or change the tires on your car while also holding your car up. (Okay, maybe not that strong but you get the point.)

My point here is that I can’t even do a single push up, and it’s seriously messing with my head, to say nothing of my sexy. In fact, I can’t get through a yoga class without collapsing face first on the mat, arms and legs splayed open like a bug on a fly swatter.

I found help recently in the form of CrossFit Bootcamp (AKA Grunt School) at Arrowhead Crossfit. ArrowheadCrossFit is owned and operated by Cash Reynolds and his wife, Dr. Natalia Reynolds. (Full disclosure here: Cash agreed to put me through the CrossFit 12-session Grunt School in exchange for my reviewing the experience here, but as always, I write whatever I want.)

I’m more than half way through Grunt School as of this writing. Already, my entire body has toned (especially my arms and upper back), my posture has improved, and my jeans are looser. Friends tell me a certain cockiness has slipped into my stride. Also, I was in the supermarket the other day and opened a whole shelf of baby food jars just because I can.  And I’m not even finished boot camp yet.

So what is it about CrossFit that makes it unlike any other exercise program? One unique aspect is the focus on high intensity, super-efficient routines that exercise your body in the way it was designed to move (known as functional exercise). Each CrossFit session is different for a boredom factor of zero and a challenge factor of, well, infinite. The workouts are done at a gym—in my case, Cash’s gym, ArrowheadCrossFit, an inviting, fun space filled with pull up bars, barbells, kettlebells, hanging rings, and other equipment.

CrossFit was started in the 80’s by a former gymnast, Greg Glassman. It’s taken off recently probably because it took that long for people to burn out and give up on all stuff that doesn’t work.  In addition to its emphasis on intensity and variety (muscles can’t adapt to exercise that keeps changing and that maximizes fitness), CrossFit is very social. You’re never isolated on a machine or mindlessly following some instructor. You’re training with highly motivated, committed people who track their progress along with yours. Yes, it’s demanding but it’s also a lot of fun—especially if you’re training with your significant other.

Cash was also trained as a gymnast. He arrived at CrossFit after spending years training, studying, and writing about fitness. He doesn’t sell any supplements, believing good food and the right exercise are the best medicines. He’s living proof the approach works. By using a combination of a low glycemic diet and CrossFit training, Cash has been able to keep his Type 1 diabetes under remarkable control while achieving uber-strength. (Some examples: Cash deadlifts 500 lbs, back squats 455 lbs, and runs a mile in 5:50 and a marathon in 3:15.)

I confess, when I first started Grunt School, I was intimidated. I mean, Cash looks like he eats apartment complexes for breakfast, how the hell would I keep up with such elite training? I sought out his wife, Natasha, for reassurance. She’s been doing CrossFit for two years and is model slim. I kidded with her that she looked like she couldn’t lift a chocolate bar. She gave me a sly smile and bounded over to the high bars to do a few pull ups, an exercise a lot of guys can’t do. After I picked my jaw up off the ground, I gulped hard. I wouldn’t have believed it without seeing it. Natasha later explained she couldn’t do a single push up when she started.

Suitably inspired, I got to work.

Skill and technique are critical to success and Cash guided me through each step, ensuring I was moving properly and not risking damage. Each workout involves two activities chosen for their complementary effects fitness-wise and done at a level of intensity and efficiency guaranteed to bring the toughest to their knees.

It turned me into a whimpering mewling baby crawling across the floor begging for a hot bath filled with epsom salts and a Swedish massage. But then, after a day of recovery, I’d notice a shift. It was as though, after each session, my metabolic machinery were fine tuning itself as the sinews and muscles of my body incrementally strengthened and my energy and endurance ratcheted up.

It’s a very cool feeling. I asked Cash if most people experience this kind of thing.

“Every person I’ve trained has reported increased strength, mobility, energy, motivation, stamina and endurance,” he said. “I’ve trained two Navy SEAL teams, a division of navy seamen, two basketball camps, a wrestling team, and about 60 individuals,” Cash added.

Most of the effect is obviously from CrossFit, but I’ve got to believe some of it is Cash–he’s no ordinary teacher. He puts his all into training people—attention to detail, thorough explanations, patience and enthusiastic support, and a nuanced understanding of body function and form so you come to understand your own body better than ever. I had to wonder what kept him going.

“It’s purely passion,” Cash said. “Passion for teaching people how to increase their self-esteem and improve their physical being, which I believe is the foundation for everything else. People stand taller, walk confidently, feel better, and are proud of what they’ve accomplished. That is the greatest payment I could ever hope for, and I freaking love my work.”

I can’t say I freaking love CrossFit yet—it’s more like CrossFit is the challenge I love to hate. I do love the results so far though.  The big test will come on the last day when I’ll see how I do with the dreaded push up. I’ll report back then and let you know. Wish me luck!

PS: If you’re looking for a great gift idea for Christmas (it’s a blast doing it with your partner or a friend) or you’re determined to keep your New Year’s resolution at last, Cash is offering $100 off the introductory training (Grunt School, which is 12-sessions) until the end of January, 2010. Here’s the contact info:

Tel: (480) 444-2310
Email: cash@arrowheadcrossfit.com
Arrowhead CrossFit
15525 N. 83rd Ave
Peoria, AZ 85382
http://arrowheadcrossfit.com

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Vibrators To Die For

Do not gently into the dark night. Like we have to be told. Most of us decided long ago that we’ll be going kicking and screaming. And, hopefully moaning with pleasure, if my friend, Susan, has her way.

Approaching 70, Susan walked away from a power career as an environmental attorney long ago. Now, she’s got dogs, lives in rural New Mexico, and survives as a retired worker on minimum wage and minimum social security payments. She works in bookstore because that’s where the good conversations are—most recently one of Plato’s dialogs came up.

And she loves her vibrator, the Minipearl. Some people wouldn’t be caught dead with a vibrator. Susan wouldn’t be caught dead without one. So much so that when they send her packing to “a home,” she says, it’d better be one that has no rules against vibrator use.

Thankfully, she writes and I begged her to send me this piece—edited for length.

Retirement Home? Can I Bring My Sex Toys?

By Susan Tixier

I am not afraid to go to “a home” when the time comes, but I am afraid they won’t let me even talk about Minipearl, let alone bring one in. When we took Mom to Aspen Terrace Rest Home, we filled out forms about money and medicine, about religious preferences and food allergies. We made sure she had toothpaste, brush, soap, shampoo and, because she asked for it, her deodorant. Asking her if she needed a supply of triple A or double A batteries would have been confusing to her demented mind and, frankly, there was no need of hers that required them. At least, I think.

One day I’ll be going into a home and when that happens, let me be clear that I’ll need that (1) Minipearl can go with me, (2)  I have plenty of batteries, and (3)  there are no rules or reasons against my using it.

I don’t mind dying. Everyone dies. But I am in love with living; I would love to live long enough to see what is going to happen to this world. When the times comes to plan for my future, I want to make sure that the how and where for my Minipearl, my tiny, little, perfect battery-operated sex “thing,” has been specifically addressed.

Are rest homes ready for an old lady having frequent and multiple orgasms at the flip of a switch? Ought we not find this out, ladies? Seriously. Seriously!

My first Minipearl came from a shop not far from Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. The shop specialized in corsets and was owned and managed by an ex-Public Defender. She and I had more than the law in common. Corseting is a wonderful, sexy technique of being tied into a made-for-you corset. With the slow pressure on hips and waist, buttocks and breasts held firm, the corset makes every muscle significant when you move. Sitting straight is all one can do.

My lover bought me a corset at that shop. I chose a black over the hip model which cost a fortune and required no fewer than 32 specific measurements of my body which were then shipped off to England, where the corset would be made. My lover asked me to wear the corset under my blue wool business suit, with nothing else except very high-heeled pumps. He took me to lunch at the fine vegetarian restaurant, The Greens. Many women were there in elegant business suits, but none sat so straight as I, and none felt their ample bosom swell out between the top two buttons. Dementia will never take that moment, that lunch, that sexy feeling away from me.

Back at the corset shop one day, I asked the owner to recommend a vibrator and she told me about the Minipearl. It is teeny but oh so effective vibrating egg of a thing, not one of the huge faux penises. My lover bought it, used it, and I have never been without one. The vibrator, that is, not the man, which, unfortunately, I have been too long without. But that is another story.

I have gone through many since that first Minipearl, which says nothing about the adequacy of their construction, but more about the frequency of use, I suppose. Recently, I had my 67th birthday and a dear friend sent me a new Minipearl. It occurred to me then that there would be a birthday – not too soon, one hopes – when I’d be in a home and I would probably be prohibited from receiving such a gift. That thought gave me a fright.

What would I do? Could I ask the caretakers to organize an outing to a sex shop? Would it put off other customers to see a gaggle of old people in diapers, using walkers and wheelchairs, shuffling around as they tried to find their favorite sex toy? Maybe I’d have to organize a smuggling ring?

I have no idea idea if my fears are real or not. But I’ll tell you this much. I need to know. Now or at least very soon! So please if you know anything…

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Can Kegels Give You a Power Orgasm?

Is there no limit to self-improvement? Is every part of me subject to scrutiny and well, er, repair!

I was thinking this the other day while reading a magazine article about how a woman improved her orgasms through Kegel exercises.

Kegels, in case you don’t know, involve repeatedly squeezing and holding the PC (pubococcygeus) muscle. This is the same muscle that stops the flow of urine. Exercising the PC’s tighten your vaginal muscles, which in turn should give you stronger and longer orgasms.

I’m in. How could I not be? I’m the never-enough girl. I want explosive, mirror-shattering orgasms. I want vaginal muscles that shut like a steel trap. I wanna make him scream this time.

Heeding not those little voices in my head begging me to watch TV and have a beer, I marked off the next 30 days on my calendar with a big “K.” I know for a fact, because my girlfriend, Sus told me that if you can do something for 30 days, you can do it forever. It becomes a habit.

Next, I wrote out my own regimen: squeeze and hold the PC’s for ten seconds. Repeat fifty times. (Does it sound like I have a lot of time on my hands?)

Now, in the article I mentioned earlier, the author goes on about how Kegels can be done anywhere because the movement is so delicate and inconspicuous. No one will ever know. Let me say, this is just not true.

I was at dinner the other night with the Prince, my erstwhile younger boyfriend who squeezed his way back into my life. (Or maybe I phoned him. Whatever.) As we sat in the steak house debating our dinner selections — porterhouse, T-bone, or filet mignon — I took the opportunity to catch a few Kegels. I gazed off into space, focused internally on my crotch, and squeezed tightly for ten seconds. As I released my clenched PC’s, a little groan of relief slipped out, barely perceptible.

The prince looked at me suspiciously. “Are you pooping your pants?” He asked. His eyes darted around to make sure no one was looking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said nonchalantly. “I’m fine. A little thoughtful, maybe. But that’s just my nature.” I clenched my teeth and started counting to ten again. One, two, three, four…

“I think I’ll have the rack of lamb.” I blurted at last, sucking in a big breath and then going back in for another countdown. Ten, nine, eight…

“Stop that!” said the Prince. “Whatever you’re not doing, just stop it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I said crossing my legs and squeezing even harder. My fingers tapped out the remaining seconds on the table. “Okay,” I announced happily. “I’m done.” I spread my napkin on my lap with a flourish. “Now, what are you getting, hmmmm?”

“A new girlfriend,” the Prince deadpanned. “Someone nice and normal. Predictable even.” The prince stared at me shaking his head.

“There are some things even I can’t tell you,” I said enigmatically. “Trust me. You’ll love it.” The Prince knew me well enough to understand that there were some things better left hanging – out there, in the universe for “special” people.

“I’m getting steak,” he said raising a hand to get the waiter’s attention. “We’re in a steak house.”

Over the next few days, I experimented with Kegels. I Kegeled while writing, talking on the phone (people wonder why you’re breathing so hard), reading in bed (one Kegel per paragraph), at red lights (look out for honkers), standing in lines, brushing my teeth, and even while meditating. And then one day, I just stopped. I was kegeled-out.

I looked at my calendar. I had crossed off just two “K” days! It had felt like forever. How would I ever experience an orgasm to stop the world?

I went back to the original article, the source of my discontent. There I found a detail I had overlooked. It was a mention of a website, www.gyneflex.com, selling “gynecologist designed vaginal muscle exercisers.”

I got mine in the mail today. It’s pink, squishy and shaped like a pair of thongs. You insert it in your vagina and squeeze. You got a better idea?

I bought a new calendar and wrote in “GF” for the next seven days. I promise to report back. Unless of course I’m too busy having mind-blowing orgasms.

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Estrogen and Alzheimer’s Disease in Women

Have you ever wondered if your doctor is up on the latest in medicine?

I have, and for good reason. When I wrote my book on menopause (www.RideThePinkElephant.com), I got a first hand glimpse at the huge gap between scientific research (what happens in a laboratory) and clinical medicine (what happens between doctors and patients). It’s as though medicine is ten years behind.

Recently, I experienced this first-hand when I went to a talk being given by Dr. Roberta Diaz Brinton about the estrogen and the female brain. Dr. Brinton is R. Peter Vanderveen Endowed Chair in Therapeutic Discovery and Development, Professor of Pharmacology and Pharmaceutical Sciences, and Professor of Biomedical Engineering at the University of Southern California. In 2005 she was listed on the US News and World Report’s 10 Best Minds. It’s safe to say, she’s someone worth listening to.

Dr. Brinton is working on understanding why 68% of people with Alzheimer’s disease (AD) are women. At her talk, she presented an overview of her scientific findings, the gist of which I’ve never heard coming out of a doctor’s mouth.

For example, Dr. Brinton’s lab is showing healthy female brain cells (neurons) are protected from damage by estrogen. Estrogen also appears to trigger formation of new cells in the brain’s memory center (hippocampus) and its decision-making center (pre-frontal cortex).

In her paper (Trends In Neurosciences, Vol.31 No.10, 2008), she writes that findings predict, “estrogen therapy, if initiated at the time of peri- to menopause, when neurological health is not yet compromised, will be of benefit, as manifested as reduced risk for age-associated neurodegenerative diseases such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s.”

Talk to most medical doctors these days, however, and they’re busy steering peri- and menopausal women away from estrogen based mostly on the negative findings of one study (the Women’s Health Initiative). This is a study that is now fairly well accepted as having been misinterpreted.

As I’ve told many a girlfriend lately, “it’s easier for a woman in menopause to get her hands on crack cocaine at the local mall than get a prescription for estrogen.”

I kid to make a point. And, of course, I do understand that no one wants to take a chance promoting a medical therapy or approach that isn’t proven. But, then even I remember the class action lawsuits against drugs such as Fen-Phen and the Cox-2 Inhibitors, both of which were FDA-approved. It all makes me wonder, at what point can we really be sure of anything?

I guess it’s just something we have to figure out on our own. For myself, it gets down to commonsense, asking a lot of questions to get the whole picture, paying attention to what the scientists are doing, and never settling for an answer I don’t understand. Sure, I don’t have an M.D. after my name but you know what, I don’t need one to figure out what’s right for me.

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