Be honest with yourself and ask; what is your motivation?
No one had ever asked me mine, until one day I had to ask myself that question.
The truth is; restoring your posture is not for the weak minded.
It takes time, you need to learn and you have to be consistent.
You don’t have to be naturally gifted nor a high achiever.
What you really need is the right goal, the right motivation. You have to be a person who loves to learn and can shut out the noise.
Are you the tortoise or are you the hare?
If you like the small but consistent gains you will reach your goal. It is not an overnight thing when it comes to mastering pilates or your body mechanics.
What I have discovered over time is that there has to be the right goal and the right motivation or you will jump from instructor to instructor and from studio to studio. Practicing the choreography of exercises but never truly understanding which ones benefit which area of your body and never gaining a rolodex of exercises for your own individual body.
Ask yourself; is this just a phase to fit in with the new craze or are you here for a better way of living. This has nothing to do with my perspective and everything to do with your reality. I cannot answer this for you, you need to be honest with yourself and know your motivation.
My reality was that I was an average student in high school. I lacked discipline when it came to studying but when it came to working out I was consistent. I started lifting weights when I was in grade nine. I was born with internally rotated legs, my feet were pronated and I had to wear a brace to bed to try to correct them. In theory the aid made sense but in reality this device was forcing a turn out.
My breath was so limited that I couldn’t even speak at this age and it wasn’t until my parents took me to sick kids to have a surgery on my hernia that I began to talk. Up until this point they assumed that I just didn’t want to speak. My brothers had to do the talking for me.
I had trouble walking.
I remember staring at my fathers feet and watching him move to try and figure it out.
My reality was much different than my brothers. My second eldest brother was such a natural athlete that things came relatively easy for him. ( the best part about him is that he is also an extremely hard worker so it was very easy to respect his accomplishments growing up). He always pushed me in a direction to grow. It was never an easy task to keep up to him but if I could be half as good as he was, I knew that I would find success.
From the outside I was a biomechanical nightmare.
It wasn’t until grade three that I began to figure out my body.
A family trip to Florida blessed me with my first pair of rollerblades. They were a cheap pair from Walmart but were exactly what the doctor ordered. As I tied up my laces for the first time and stood up I could feel how off balance I was. I was determined to skate though. Nothing would stop me. By the end of our trip, I had bruised knees, cuts all over my legs, my wrists were sore and the most telling sign about my muscle imbalances was that the inside bolts were worn down so much that the end of the bolts were on a 45 degree angle. I was, as the kids called it back then, an ankle burner. Looking back, I had flat feet and lacked arches. More than likely my inside adductors were tight and I had an anterior tilt to my pelvis. The great thing about rollerblading is that it strengthens your hip abductors, externally rotates your legs and eventually strengthens the dorsiflexors as well as the quadriceps and hamstrings. None of this I knew but my movement began to change.
This mini victory in life happened during a time of change. I went from going to a catholic school where I was constantly picked on, to a public school where I instantly made new friends. My best friend (still best friends today) moved from South Korea to across the street. He couldn’t speak a word of English but we connected over sports. Eventually he would learn English through our love of hockey and baseball. We played all types of sports and I became stronger. As his family moved from our neighbourhood in grade nine and I had to find something to fill my time with.
Grade nine brought a new set of challenges. We began to notice girls and the with so many boys full of testosterone it was a shift from sports to becoming men. My motivations went from being able to move and keep up, to ensuring I had the strength to deal with bullies. I went to the library and picked up two books that would change my life forever. One was by Arnold schwarnegger and the other was written by Bruce lee. I began to do push ups and lift the pink dumbbells my father had bought my mother years before. My older brother was already training in volleyball and lifting weights. Eventually he introduced me to the bench press downstairs and I never looked back.
I spent everyday on the bench in the basement which eventually was moved to the garage. I loved the grind and my blind faith in what those books promised resulted in a pretty strong frame. I was not gifted with an ideal plumbline but I was stubborn and consistent. The unfortunate part was that my motivation was the wrong kind. I worked out to be noticed by women and to fight bullies. The sweet kid who was very humble as a child turned into a dummy full of pride. Pride always comes before the fall and fall I did.
During rugby I was high tackled by a few players and my neck was never the same. I worked out without rehabbing this injury and strengthened the imbalances. I spent my weekends getting into fist fights and was concussed I am convinced on more than one occasion. I lost my ability to study, lost my frame and in the process lost who I was.
No matter what I did in the gym, my body never returned to where I was in my peak body building form. I had people I ran into after high school and they always commented that I looked different. Even my youngest brothers best friend was like “bro, what happened to your brother?”
No one had an answer.
I found beach volleyball at 23 and enjoyed playing a sport again but every time I went to the gym to lift weights I would feel more stiff. I would get motivated, work out, stiffen up and then quit the gym again. I was a yo-yo fitness guy, always thick but never loose in my twenties. I bought all the gadgets and all the training tools. Wherever I lived I never had furniture nor a bed; just weights, a bench and fitness accessories.
Finally as the doors would be opened for me, I was coaching at the Olympics. I was overweight, thick and eating boxes of free dunkaroos. When I came home I asked Josh if he would play a professional tourney with me and he said sure. I didn’t want to embarass him so I hired a personal trainer, a nutritionist and began doing reps in the sand at North Beach volleyball. My motivation was still the wrong motivation. I wanted to play professionally to prove that anyone who worked hard enough could do it.
I ended up injured.
I never took care of my previous injuries, I just pushed through. Always looking for the quick fix but the fix quickened my stiffened body to laying in a bed, with the feeling that I had three months to being six feet deep.
Finally the right motivation showed up in my life.
A baby girl was born. Someone so beautiful and sweet. A blank canvas just ready to be painted all the colours of the world.
Yet daddy was barely able to pick her up let alone a brush.
She deserved better. All kids deserve better. I wasted years crushing my body lifting weights with the wrong motivation.
Finally knowing that I wanted to be a present father in her life, that could play tag with her, play sports, climb trees, rollerblade together. Nothing would stop me.
It was easy to shut out the noise. Easy to be the tortoise. Easy to study and learn.
Re-storing my posture was not an option but a destination.
I had the right motivation….