Today is release day for Casey Johnston's memoir, A Physical Education, and you should buy it. Even though I was given a free version, I bought the book today because I want her publisher to hear the message: more of this, please.
She writes persuasively about the misery that accompanied her quest to take up less space by means of cardio and calorie restriction, and the freedom she found in getting strong. It's a terrific story, skillfully told.
My recommendation is not just about the story, which you could mostly get from her author bio. It's really about her voice, which has been an important factor in my own continued willingness to show up in the weight room. You belong there, she says. You can take up space there. You can also take up more space in the wider world.
Perhaps because I was 50 when I started lifting, my own trajectory has been less linear than the one she describes in this book-- more breaks, slower progress. Even so, it has changed the way I look at myself and the way I move through the world. I keep wanting to say to people, "Have you considered deadlifting?"
An older female relative was complaining about the flatness of her behind after years of aggressive dieting, and I bit my tongue so I would not say out loud, "Have you considered deadlifting?" It is just the thing for a beauteous gluteus.
A friend was talking about how she tweaked her back and had been really limited in her mobility, and I bit my tongue so I would not say out loud, "Have you considered deadlifting?" A stronger back has set me free from all the niggles and pains and mayonnaise injuries that used to plague me.
A woman in an online group for wool& fans was talking about returning a pair of pants because she didn't fill out the seat darts. I did not comment to say, "Have you considered deadlifting?" because I am not going to tell strangers on the internet how to inhabit their bodies. But I did think it.
The BBC tells me about the association between grip strength and longevity and suggests that I squeeze a tennis ball to improve my health. "But wait!" I want to say to the author. "Have you considered deadlifting?"
We live in a nation full of women who have been told that they ought to strength-train but only v-e-r-y carefully: don't hurt yourself, don't get too strong, avoid the b-word at all costs. (That would be the b*lky b-word.) In this maelstrom of madness Casey Johnston offers calm and sanity. She says, "No, actually, you can push yourself. You can do hard things in the weight room, and they will make your life easier and better." The NYT publishes a story headlined "Why Women Can't Do Pull-Ups"; Casey Johnston acknowledges the difficulty of the movement while simultaneously making you want to embark on a pull-up training plan already.
What are you waiting for? Go! Read this book! Come back and tell me all about it.
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