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June 12, 2007

Back to Basics-The Squat

A little story about the functional benefits of the squat (from Stumptuous.com):

My neighbours wanted to redo their back yard so they rented this monsterous roto-tiller. It was so damn big it was delivered on a flat bed and they used a crane to download it. Well stupid me, I decide to borrow it. I'm out back tilling away to make room for next spring's garden when I get to a particularly hard piece of earth. Here I am, Mr. Suit and Tie, in only shorts and shoes, covered head to toe in dust. The contraption has like a 50 hp motor, huge self propelled wheels, reverse, etc. I decide to back up.

The Satan machine takes off backwards in a lurch. By the time I get my hand off the throttle lever it's too late. The handles are about 3 feet long. They pass me, and push me into the 6' chain link fence. The reverse lever and the throttle lever are about 2' long. I'm pushing forward for my life, while simultaneously trying to reach behind me to get a hold of the disengage lever which is now torn off of the handle and stretched to the max. I'm of course losing the battle. The two levers in the middle, (the throttle and reverse lever), are pushing into my stomach, slowly raising the engine power, and more fully engaging the reverse clutch. Now I'm getting smashed into the fence, being impalled by two steel rods without any sort of protective caps, and having my feet nipped at by the tines that are spinning at an astonishing speed.

I take my feet off the ground and contort in a manner to get them onto the machine in a way to try and push back. My left upper thigh is now being jabbed by the sharp corner of one of the control boxes in which the HOT hydraulic fluid runs through. The pain of the corner was more than the searing cooked flesh I am now experiencing.

By now I'm totally smashed into the fence. The fence starts to tear away from the posts it's anchored to, one at a time. As the roto-tiller gains ground the parts I'm being impaled with along with the front raises off of the ground. Its comin up at me and I'm stuck like an idiot about to be the first man in the local news to be roto'd to death. The entire time I'm thinking of Mike Mentzer and his fanatic negative and static strength beliefs. That SOB better be right, I'm thinking, as I pray to God my wife isn't the one who finds me ground up into hamburger and garden mulch.

The rototiller advances further, and more fence rips off of posts. By now I'm seriously considering intentionaly impaling myself so I can reach the filter which the hydraulic fluid passes through, to unscrew it and hopefully get patched up by the medics later on. I can't reach. My legs are totally ruined. I'm pushing with every last ounce of will I possess just trying to keep it from advancing further... The two rods are now pushing my stomach so far in I can't really breathe. The corner of the metal box is pushed about 4 inches into by upper thigh and is smashed into the bone. It was well over 350 to 400 degrees. By now I'm thinking I'd better yell for help and the fuckin hell with embarrassment.

So I yell, "HEEEEEEEELLLLP" at the top of my lungs. Which actually wasn't very loud since I couldn't breathe. I keep yelling until the neighbors all start running like madmen in a stampede. My neighbour across the street, who is in her 80s, sprints across in what must have been a 4.1 40 speed and climbs the fence on the other side of the house, runs around the back of the house, and shuts the damn thing off. The other neighbors arrive and it takes 8 of them to pull the fucker back far enough just to get my feet near the ground. My legs were so fried from pushing so hard for so long that I couldn't even hold myself up. They drag me into my house and my sweet lovely 80 yr old neighbor gets me 3 shots of peppermint schnapps out of the freezer. God I love her.

The moral of the story: squat.

I had problems with my knees that were answered by Dr.Squat. And I tell you what. If the answers hadn't helped me overcome my bad knees in training I most certainly would have been dead. Without question. I now sport a weird looking dollar sized scar on my thigh. And newfound respect for Mentzer. When I returned to the gym a week later I squatted 405 for the first time in my life. Seriously though, I would be dead if it were not for heavy squats. No shit, or hyperbole, or exaggerating. I would have been dead before I ever got a chance to yell for help.

less anectodal, more technical info on the squat:
http://www.stumptuous.com/cms/displayarticle.php?aid=52

Posted by Nicole Okumu at June 12, 2007 2:52 PM

Comments

Posted by: vanessa at June 12, 2007 10:10 PM

Posted by: Candace Hamilton at June 13, 2007 8:26 AM

Posted by: Nicole Okumu at June 13, 2007 9:41 AM

Posted by: annie Vought at June 13, 2007 9:47 AM

Posted by: Jeralee at June 13, 2007 9:58 PM

Posted by: Nicole Okumu at June 14, 2007 1:13 PM

Posted by: Nicole Okumu at June 14, 2007 1:13 PM