Temple Conditioning

Light years ago there was a fellow at church, Dr. Roger Alteri, a physiologist who was an avid runner.  As I recall he ran to work at the hospital from Donelson or Mr. Juliet every day (maybe I’m exaggerating, but not much).  

I was in my twenties when he challenged many of us to start running—to do ‘temple conditioning’ (our body being the temple of God, cheesy but hey).  He did a number of evaluations on each of us, the body fat calculation thing and such.  I bought the shoes, the shorts and tried it—running through east Nashville and Shelby Park.  After months of giving it a shot, the only thing that appealed to me about running was the end of every run.  It never caught on for me.

But, as a kid and adolescent I did ride a bike so, along with a friend, Terrell, who wanted to get back into it as well, we began biking.  Like most sports, before long we began upscaling our bikes to the point for many years having three hanging in the garage (still have two).  

Still the two hanging in the garage

Unlike running, cycling really got me somewhere (I guess that depends on how far you run though).  I’d get up early on Saturdays, leaving my wife with the two little ones (maybe not the brightest of husbands), and ride for fifty to seventy miles returning by late morning.  From east Nashville, I’d go as far as Franklin (not the Franklin these days), out highway 96 to the Trace.  I’d head back via Highway 100, then West End by Centennial Park, through downtown and back home.  I’d guess that runners take some of the crap that we cyclers got—assholes throwing things from cars—usually food, drinks.  Or they’d try to get as close to my bike as they could, side swiping me.  There is real danger with both sports. 

I loved the sights and places you could see, even the smells along the way.  Back then, early morning biking had much less traffic to contend with.  Once, Jeannie took a friend and I to the Alabama line on the Natchez Trace and we rode back to Nashville.  Cycling together is safer.  

Around the same time, we joined the East Nashville YMCA which was in an old facility on Gallatin Road.  I’d always been a swimmer recreationally but never lap swam.  They had an ancient indoor pool so at lunchtime I’d go to there to practice.  Often by myself or sharing the pool with only one other swimmer, I declared to myself I was going to learn how to lap swim if I had to swallow half the pool—and I came close.  When the other fellow was there swimming, I’d slip under the water at times watching his technique.  I finally got up the nerve to ask him for pointers.  Lap swimming is all about timing, strokes and breathing.  Starting slow at first, then as I caught onto the rhythm, picking up the pace.  Ironically, the other swimmer was a social worker too.  Guess the lunchtime swim was part of our therapy. 

I did begin to use some of the machines, but swimming was my focus.  I’d always been a thinner dude, ok, skinny.  I’d gained a few pounds since early marriage when I was six feet and one-hundred, forty pounds.  Back then my adam’s apple look like it stuck out an inch or two!  Swimming began to give me some definition chest wise to the point I increased a shirt and coat size.  Swimming became a regular 3X per week routine for decades.  The bike rides happened when there was opportunity.

I’d cycled most my adult life and never had a crash until about 7 years ago.  I was on the Brentwood bike trail, watching a little kid at the side of the path concerned that he was about to dart in front of me.  By the time I refocused on the trail, I was into a curve, hit the gravel—classic fall—bike went left, I fell to the right squarely on my shoulder.  I knew immediately I’d done some major damage when I tried to pick up my bike with my right arm.  It was tax season, Jeannie was at work.  I limped up to Knox Valley where she picked me up and took me to the ER.  As I waited to be seen regarding my shoulder, my left shin was swelling to twice the size with a bone bruise, increasingly more painful.  My bike shoe clip had not popped loose and my shin slammed into the bike crossbar (I suggest you never go for a bone bruise).  

Disclaimer: not my shoulder, just wish it was, no bump

After the work up about my shoulder and later from the bone and joint guys, they commented, “you’ve got the worst third degree shoulder separation we’ve ever seen”—thanks guys, am here to impress you and get my case into your journal article.  They showed me the internal ‘photos’ and the separation was clearly visible. I’d torn every tendon in my shoulder.  They continued saying had it been a fourth degree, they would definitely recommend surgery.  But since I was destined for physical therapy either way, I could do therapy first and see how much usage I would have.  My concern was continuing to swim.  As it turned out, the physical therapy strengthened the muscles enough to be able to swim for twenty minutes or so.  I just have a really nice bump on my right shoulder where my collar bone is pointing toward to sky (will spare you that photo). 

All this to say, it was Roger Alteri who lit the initial fire about exercise.  I still try to swim some and bike a bit, for the temples’ sake. 

Thanks Roger dodger!