A recent study on exercise and heart rate that claims the old method of figuring out your target heart rate for exercise (65-85 percent of your maximum heart rate) was calculated for men's hearts, not women's. The result, according to the study: We've been exercising too hard.

via MorgueFile.com

I'm not a doctor, and I don't play one on TV (sorry, couldn't resist). I won't debate the veracity of the study. Most of the responses have instructed people to listen to their own bodies and respond accordingly instead of being controlled by the number on a heart monitor. As I discovered during my first round of Beachbody's Insanity program, I can do a lot more than I think I can if I push myself. However, I can also injure myself by pushing too hard, too fast, for too long.

Our culture expects -- demands -- a great deal from women today. Much of it calculated on the expectations placed on men. But while men seem to come with a built-in ability to shut down when it's time to rest or relax, most of the women I know (myself included) would be content to go without sleep if it meant we could "get more done." We're always pushing, pulling, and pressing.

photo by twotoneatl	via PhotoRee

Is that a bad thing? If it's wearing you out physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually, it is. If it's creating friction and inflammation of your joints -- your relationships with others -- you're probably trying too hard.

It goes totally, completely, against my grain to think of slowing down and taking it easy. The idea of exercising at the newly recommended 111-153 beats per minute as opposed to my regular 168-185 disturbs me. After all, if I'm not maxed out, what's the point?

It's as if I'm wired to secretly believe the world will stop moving if I slow down. Don't point your finger and shake your head. I've yet to meet a woman out there who simply goes to bed when she comes down with symptoms in her body.

photo by paradem	via PhotoRee

Why do we resent the "man-cold" so much? Because deep down we know that if we did what guys do when we got sick, we'd get better faster. But we can't won't, because we've got to do the dishes and the laundry and finish that project for work. Because we not only feel guilty for stopping, we feel vindicated by crawling around on our hands and knees to pick up the toys in the living room when we have a fever of 101. Something twisted about that picture, don't you think?

So if overexercising makes us more prone to injury, as well as less efficient at conditioning our hearts, building muscle, and burning calories, could it be that our constant pushing and striving in other areas is making us less effective, less productive? Are we just running on a treadmill, going nowhere fast?

As someone has said, you can say "amen" or "oh, me."

Life lint. We're drowning in it. 
(See Lego man visual aid at right.)

These bits and pieces of life that slough off as we go through the daily routine are embarrassing, unpleasant, and annoying. (Among other less appealing objects, Archie discovered a stray Smartie under the couch cushions while I was trying to take pictures. And no, I can't believe I'm posting a picture of what's under my couch cushions either.)

No sooner do I clear it up than someone comes home and empties their pockets on the bathroom counter, or the stuff winds up in the laundry.



To the right is a collection of things that have found their way through the washer, and sometimes the dryer. It includes some fairly large items... yes, that is a dead cell phone on the left, and the smiley face was created out of a glop of drywall mud by my son-in-law. I haven't had the heart to throw it away yet.




To the left is the "extra" drawer on my hubby's side of the bathroom cabinet. Why do we even have extra drawers and extra closets and extra shelves? Our garages overflow and so do our waistbands. Americans have storage units for their storage units.




It's not just our houses and cars and storage units. It's our bodies. We overload ourselves with useless food and drink on a daily basis. Sure, it looks good at the moment, tastes good while it's in our mouths, and then what? Life lint. Or, in the case of the body... life lard. Ew. Our bodies pack it away into designated storage units called fat cells. Just think of thousands of little storage sheds, packed to bursting, strapped to your butt, or your thighs, or your belly.

And just like I'd rather close the drawer, hide the laundry room, and put the cushions back without cleaning up the gunk, I'd rather disguise my fat cells and ignore them than go to all the effort to shrink them down to normal size. (In case you are confused, that "effort" is called exercise, and even after five years of consistent physical activity I STILL have to do battle with my flesh to push play on the DVD and make myself move.)


Hmm. Isn't the season of Lent coming up? Maybe I'll use that 40 days to give up lint, for Lent. It will make moving so much easier! Anyone want to join me?