Mar 04 2009
Get Strong the Right Way
Let me kick off this post with a quick handful of hypotheticals:
•Why would you want your legs to be stronger than your core?
•Why would you want your front to be stronger than your back?
•Why would you want your back to be stronger than your grip?
•Why would you want your arms to be stronger than your back/shoulders/chest?
Question one is for people who like the leg press machine. Or lifting belts. Question two is for people who spend forever on the bench and comparitively little time rowing. Question three is for people who like wrist straps for chins, rows, pulldowns and the like. Question four is for people who do curls and tricep extensions all day long.
The answer to all of these questions, obviously, is…you wouldn’t.
I find it useful to work out at the local Y, because I see all the training misconceptions at work. Squats-on-the-calf-machine kinds of misconceptions, sure, but also the ones above, which more and more seem like sheer lunacy to me.
Weight training is great for learning the rules of basic kinesiology. When I started training, I remember becoming slowly being aware of what the tricep or calf muscle did through all my bodybuilding movements; I was delighted to figure out that all muscles pull, not push, for instance; that this or that exercise seemed to isolate this or that muscle, and, far more important to my burgeoning sense of teenage machismo, that I could get my arms to look bigger by flexing my tricep against my lats with my hands in my pockets.
Why no girls ever swooned at the sight is beyond me; the muscle magazines swore they would faint at the mere suggestion of muscles.
But all that extra knowledge was after a long young adulthood of running, climbing, jumping, playing, and moving every which way. It was an important step in my education, but there was lots of learning yet to come, and I’ve circled back to thinking that the body prefers not to be micromanaged.
I have myself a ten-week-old son who’s just figuring out how to move his chunky little body, and there’s not a cell in his body that understands the command “contract this or that muscle.”
But he sure is a squiggly one. Having no idea where his quatratus laborum is does NOT slow him down for one second when he’s trying to squirm out of his supposedly “strong” Daddy’s arms.
Repeat: he’s ten WEEKS old. He doesn’t even understand that his arms and legs are his yet. He just knows his intention: get out of Daddy’s arms.
And guess what? It works great. I can barely hold the kid. He’s like a greased piglet (I just cost my son many years of therapy: “My own father called me a GREASED PIGLET in front of the ENTIRE WORLD WIDE WEB when I TWO MONTHS OLD, Doc!”).
The cumulative point of all this is that the body doesn’t understand “move this muscle.” It operates most effectively on a rather more primitive level–that of intention and need and will, just as my ten-week-old does. Michael Jordan drives to the hoop: unless you’re really looking for it, you don’t see hip extension and core strength and ankle mobility; you simply see a physical embodiment of intention.
Yes, we can–maybe should–train the body to behave a certain way by consciously holding one part still while moving something else. But the hope is that the training will become unconscious habit, so that we will reflexively call on the same movement pattern when the need arises, in sport or in life.
So, circling back to my initial point at last, there should be a way, once we’re past the beginner stage, to train movement patterns and not simply muscle contractions in the gym. To broaden our focus to include, for example, the feet, the neck, the jaw muscles even if we’re doing an ‘isolation’ move like a curl; and–hopefully–to select exercises that challenge us to move the body with tight form as a whole, and not as a series of parts.
Muscle contractions are letters; movement patterns are words. Flailing drunk on the dance floor thinking you look cool and sexy is a very, very poorly written novel.
You get the idea.
Source - http://www.malepatternfitness.com