8/3/2019 Ab-solute Potential

1/138 FEBRUARY 2012

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THERES ALWAYS A STACK of fitness-

focused magazines next to my bed. I read

each one for different reasons, but the

parts I save are the same: I keep a folder

full of articles explaining exercises that

will presumably lead me to hard-bodied

bliss. Yes, I have the resources on file to

resize my thighs, blast my belly and firm

my butt in 30 minutes or less. Yet thats

exactly where that wealth of wisdom

remainsin a folder, totally untouched.

A few months ago I smack-talked

a storm about my confidence heading

into the belly-baring Kona Undie Run.

I claimed Id logged hundreds upon

hundreds of crunches. Well forgive me

friends, but I exaggerate sometimes. In

truth, my abs remained weak. Wobblyeven. In fact, after a years absence from

any triathlon start line, and having let my

fitness lag uncharacteristically, my entire

body was due for a serious tone-up.

I have a mild phobia of gym sessions,

however. Maybe you can relate. I doubt

Im the only endurance athlete lacking

solid knowledge of strength training. With

all the swimming, cycling and running,

who has time to pump to perfection? Id

been using the same few machines for

yearsan unchanged and uninspired

AB-SOLUTE POTENTIAL

CONFESSIONS OF AN AGEGROUPER

By Holly Bennett

hunter

king

routineand I knew I needed to mix it up.

Yet I was oddly shy about asking for guid-

ance, embarrassed to admit my naivet,

especially in my gyms fishbowl-fashioned

environs where every awkward squat

and thrust is on public display. I longed to

improve my core strength and muscle bal-

ance, but as an accomplished triathlete, I

felt I should already have a handle on the

know-how.

But a year into feeling kind of flabby, I

was out of excuses. It was time to uncover

my absent abdominals, along with other

bits of buffness buried beneath my bulk.

And so I challenged myself thusly: I cor-

nered the kindest-seeming trainer at the

gym, made him promise not to laugh at

my ineptitude and signed up for a six-packseries of appointments.

My personal trainer took me on a

lunging, squatting and ankle-band-bound

walking tour up and down the exercise

floor. He taught me to twist, pull, press,

lift, V-up and plank in every possible

direction. Our precious six hours together

were a blur of trial-and-error testing and

increasingly hard effort as I attempted to

rein my rapidly accruing knowledge into

some semblance of a repeatable routine.

And yet, while I learned numerous fresh

new moves, I never really felt I had busted

a move. I did come to love those gym

sessions, but they lacked the same deep,

sweat-drenched satisfaction that I glean

from a hard ride or run.

But some gratification is instant; other

benefits build slowly. A few mornings

after my final date with my trainer, I

lounged in bed, hazy with sleep, ignoring

the alarm that prompted me to perk

up and head to the gym. I rolled over to

reposition my warm, cozy self deeper

under the covers. My arm brushed against

something hard. Right there, between my

rib and my hipbone. Either some stranger

with a better body than mine had snuck

into my bed, or I had actually developed a

rather firm oblique. On closer inspection, Ifound its matching pair on my other side.

Sure enough, it was a stomach I didnt

immediately recognize, but it was mine,

all mine.

Im excited to see where this focus

on firming and toning takes me. I dont

wish to be overly ripped, but a few more

well-defined muscle fibers wouldnt be a

bad thing. More importantly, I know that

better strength and balance will improve

my swim-bike-run performancenot to

mention the fit of my skinny jeans.