If only Donald Trump could find the right words to say to Kim Jong-un, maybe we wouldn’t be on the brink of a global disaster.
The idea came to mind this morning during my workout at the gym. I usually settle for a Body Challenge class once a week and walk/jog a couple times more but today I thought I’d go for HIIT training.
The American College of Sports Medicine gives a more than satisfactory explanation of this on-the-rise popular sport which involves short, repeated bouts of high intensity aerobic exercise followed by less intense recovery periods.
As soon as I put Mr. Trump to the side and concentrated on the task at hand, I got into the rhythm. Running. Rest. Knees high. Rest. Squats, low, go lower, lower. Weights. Rest. 10,9,8, again, 6,5,4, again. Rest. Again.
In truth, sounds a lot like my life. Lasagna, dishes, children. Rest. Again. Laundry, garden, grandchildren. Rest. Again.
The intense exercise can range from 5 seconds to 8 minutes long, depending on your instructor and of course yourself, and if you have the guts to embarrass yourself and stop or slack, while everyone around you is dripping while skipping and smiling at themselves in the mirror.
The recovery periods usually last as long as the exercise periods, maybe a bit shorter, but it didn’t feel like that to me. I almost accused the teacher of cheating on the slow sections, but I was feeling slightly intimidated by the perfectly fit, curvy exercisers around me.
I did listen though to the ACSM and asked myself, more than once, if I felt that I was exercising “hard” to “very hard” and not more. Actually it just came down to common sense, listening to one’s body and not overdoing it, which is exactly what I thought that Donald J. should be paying attention to. Not overdoing it, I mean.
The whole workout lasted for 30 minutes, enough for me to break out a sweat and before I began to wonder why on earth I had decided to do such a thing in the first place. I sang to the loud, popular music that the young, pre-army trainer specialist threw at us full blast, realizing quite early on that it would be wiser for one just to shut one’s mouth and save one’s breath and once again the president jumped into my head.
My legs ached considerably less in the gym class than when I run between house, garden and youngsters, and my knees hardly complained at all. And if I missed a beat in that compact mirror-walled studio, resplendent with bodies, all with a perfect fit in mind, there was no one there to berate me as opposed to the groans I get during chores when I skimp on the onions or miss the pre-wash for lack of time, and pray that the socks surface with less of a stink.
In actual fact during the HIIT class, Meirav, the instructress, continually doled out praise and inspiration and with confidence and perfect certainty I can say that she was talking directly to me, (great, kol ha kavod, well done, ken, ken, ken), most of the time.
I think I’ll go to this class every Tuesday at 08:00, if only for the words of encouragement. After all, it isn’t just what you do that makes a difference, it’s also what you say.
Perhaps instead of golf, D.J.T., should take up HIIT. A good word, in any language, these days, could go a long way.