Exercising and losing weight

[inlinesix]

7 hours ago, Lala81 said:

Many people in temperate countries will have pollen allergy. Sg hardly has any pollen so it's not an issue here. 

In Sg, trigger will be dust mites, temperature change and the occasional haze etc. Beyond that very hard to isolate other things. 

My trigger is cold moisture in the morning.

Soft tissue will close nasal passage.

Sleep in air cond room eliminates the allergy 

[Kxbc]

18 hours ago, Sosaria said:

Go for total reps is also good. Like cumulative total of 50, for example, every time you train. Do sets of 6-8 and repeat till total reached, with 1-2 minute rest between. As you mentioned, more important to do lesser rep each set in order to achieve and maintain proper form to hit the lats.

Nearly died with your suggestion. 😅 Last few sets can't hit target reps at all. Had to reduce reps per set to reach target. 

 

 

 

 

 

[Kxbc]

2 hours ago, inlinesix said:

My trigger is cold moisture in the morning.

Soft tissue will close nasal passage.

Sleep in air cond room eliminates the allergy 

There,you found your trigger. 

[Lala81]

1 hour ago, Kxbc said:

There,you found your trigger. 

It doesn't really work like that...

Most people are sensitive to events that happen every day. Temperature change/dust mites. Can u change that the early morning is coldest part of the day? Its not possible. 

He's just very lucky his one is better with using AC. In fact many people's noses are worse with using AC. 

My kids were having running noses like taps while in Korea during the cold part of spring. 

Avoiding allergens in our local context just makes the allergy more under control. And dust mites are everywhere, the only thing u can do is to make sure your bedding has less of them. 

Training Nasal breathing is important. But it's difficult when lot of us have nasal congestion since young since we are all urban dwellers. I only got my AR mostly gone when I did rfa to my nasal turbinates and use my nasal cpap to force nasal breathing. 

Our small more pig like South east Asian noses are adapted for breathing wet humid air. As opposed to the Caucasians and northern Asians who need a bigger nose to humidify the air. 

Edited May 15, 2022 by Lala81

[Kxbc]

On 5/15/2022 at 7:05 PM, Lala81 said:

It doesn't really work like that...

Most people are sensitive to events that happen every day. Temperature change/dust mites. Can u change that the early morning is coldest part of the day? Its not possible. 

He's just very lucky his one is better with using AC. In fact many people's noses are worse with using AC. 

My kids were having running noses like taps while in Korea during the cold part of spring. 

Avoiding allergens in our local context just makes the allergy more under control. And dust mites are everywhere, the only thing u can do is to make sure your bedding has less of them. 

Training Nasal breathing is important. But it's difficult when lot of us have nasal congestion since young since we are all urban dwellers. I only got my AR mostly gone when I did rfa to my nasal turbinates and use my nasal cpap to force nasal breathing. 

Our small more pig like South east Asian noses are adapted for breathing wet humid air. As opposed to the Caucasians and northern Asians who need a bigger nose to humidify the air. 

If he knows that it is the temperature change in the morning, maybe he can try some ways to work around it. Eg a light blanket. Have to trial and error. Works differently for everyone. I'll try as much as I can till I can find no tangible solution and have to use the spray.

The morning temperature change used to affect my sleep as well so I also tried various things. Now I can sleep through that half hour or so making a minor change to my sleep attire.

[Ender]

Hope to cross more finish lines til the day my life crosses the finish line.. 

 

https://www.outsideonline.com/health/running/racing-after-80-aging-inspiration-senior-fitness/?fbclid=IwAR09PrkdIeXa44bg4MEsiGAmCdz0suqkLWZIlbv4VBibIhKoZruBgozf8OQ

Why I Still Love Racing at Age 82

These days I can break a record while finishing last. Some say they find me inspiring, but I often feel like a decrepit but willing old dog who gets a pat when he tries to chase his ball.

Last night I raced 3,000 meters on the track. I finished last, way out the back, lapped and re-lapped by the entire field. But I ran hard and broke a record that had stood for ten years. That’s the strange duality of racing at age 82. A pace that was once was a warm-up jog can set a record. Success overlaps with humiliation, fulfillment is interwoven with frustration.

To explain: I ran in a mixed open field at a midweek twilight meet in my current hometown of Wellington, New Zealand. I lined up alongside 19 others. Apart from me, the oldest competitor was 49. The moment the horn sounded, they were gone, and I was running alone, until the leaders came pounding by with a whoosh to lap me soon after I’d completed one circuit. I used to run faster than that, I thought, briefly flashing back to the day I ran my PR for 3,000 meters in 8:10, but it’s little consolation.

At this age, every track race is a solo time trial. Social joggers don’t often do track, so there’s no one my pace. To make it feel like a competition, I aim for age-group records, so it’s like a virtual race against someone my age who posted his time ten years ago. My 16:03 broke the Wellington record for men aged 80 to 84. That competitive fun is mixed with a sense of inadequacy. I clutter the track. I’m in a different dimension from the young runners, like pedaling a bicycle in a Nascar race.

Not that they complain. “Go, Rog,” they gasp kindly as they fly past. They cheer for me as I finish, and then we hang out and compare times. Some say they find me inspiring, a role model for how they want to age. Often their kindness makes me feel good. Other times I feel like a decrepit but willing old dog who gets a pat when he still tries to chase his ball.

Much is new and good. I’m busy learning. I’ve been competitive and often elite since 1953. I’ve raced on six continents, set masters records at the Boston and New York City marathons, run a 5K in 14:12, and written seven books about running, yet this obscure little 3,000-meter event on a windy evening was another learning curve. By racing after 80, I’m still learning about the sport, about aging, about today’s society, about myself.

I learn that one of the joys of being a long-term runner is that every season is an experiment, a new experience. Year by year, you test your changing body, your mind’s ingenuity, and your spirit’s resilience against each inevitable stage of getting older. Those who choose to retire at their peak may think they evade the losses time brings, but they can only look back, not forward. They miss this ongoing journey, which truly is an exploration of the whole of life, its last 6.2 miles as well as the first 20.

I’m learning the hard way that age is not just a number. Age is a biological reality. It’s inescapable, even cruel, if you see nature in that personal way. Age brings decline that is almost mechanically predictable. In the long term, the best I can do is slow down the process of slowing down. The challenge is how to encounter that process, how to live with it, and running is the best way I know. I train and race to the limit of my will just as I always did, and that brings me the small triumphs of improvement gained by training. Don’t underestimate the effect of that on mental attitude. Today I’m eager for the next arduous challenge, plotting how to do better next week than I did last night. How many 82-year-olds can say that?

That triumph—outwitting time for a while—is one of many. Being in race shape gives me overall health, the respect and friendship of men and women 60 years my junior, the delight of an activity that is stimulating and full of change, and, above all, the feeling of being totally engaged with life’s journey, not merely lingering in its departure lounge. One of my regular training venues is a sports field overlooked by a large retirement-community building. I run my repeats in constant terror that staff will mistake me for a resident, dash out with a big butterfly net and capture me.

My slow pace at full effort teaches me that our running performances are always about relativity–run better than last week, last year; beat your rivals, the record, or your PR. That doesn’t change. The next time you see a white-haired old man or woman running at the back of the pack, please do not dismiss them as shuffling at some standard, meaningless, old-person pace. They may be as immersed in the race’s drama and significance as any other competitor, battling for the few seconds that will measure this day’s result as successful.

The big picture is that we older runners are leading a major change in society’s perception of aging. “How old are ya, mate?” asked the friendly teenage groundsman the last time I ran interval 400’s at his park. I told him. His surprise was expressed in a monosyllable. The public is beginning to get used to seeing old runners just as they once got used to seeing any runners, and then women runners. That’s how change happens. And change is long overdue. The marginalization and stereotyping of older people is arguably the last great prejudice of our society. When the retirement home enters a team in a local 10K, I’ll know that my prediction is fulfilled.

Why do it? The simple thing at 82 would be to run without competing. But for me, that would only be half the pleasure. I don’t race track to lead a social movement, or for the attention, or to feel humiliated, or to be an inspiration. I merely want to race. Even at the back, that makes me a participant with others who share the same impulse. I race because I still love its challenge and commitment, its drama and its finality, the ways it tests the spirit. During times in my life when I couldn’t race (after knee-replacement surgery or when mending broken bones), I felt like a pianist whose hands had been crushed. Now, since I am again fortunate enough to be able to race, it feels almost like a duty.

My next race is a festive-season one-miler. Senile folly. Four minutes won’t even get me halfway. I’ll be dead-last again. But I’ve done my 400’s, and I’m as ready as can be. Hey, maybe I can “run my age”: 80 and two-tenths would give me a finish time of 8:12. There’s always another incentive. I can’t wait.

[therock]

Our own muscle men...

I'm sure some MCF member is quietly training too 😉

https://www.straitstimes.com/life/hot-hunkles-chuando-tans-new-baby-edmund-chens-no-gym-bod-and-more

[TangoCharlie]

54 minutes ago, therock said:

Our own muscle men...

I'm sure some MCF member is quietly training too 😉

https://www.straitstimes.com/life/hot-hunkles-chuando-tans-new-baby-edmund-chens-no-gym-bod-and-more

I wonder if he needs help to recover from the split position.😄

[TangoCharlie]

6 hours ago, Ender said:

Hope to cross more finish lines til the day my life crosses the finish line.. 

 

https://www.outsideonline.com/health/running/racing-after-80-aging-inspiration-senior-fitness/?fbclid=IwAR09PrkdIeXa44bg4MEsiGAmCdz0suqkLWZIlbv4VBibIhKoZruBgozf8OQ

Why I Still Love Racing at Age 82

These days I can break a record while finishing last. Some say they find me inspiring, but I often feel like a decrepit but willing old dog who gets a pat when he tries to chase his ball.

Last night I raced 3,000 meters on the track. I finished last, way out the back, lapped and re-lapped by the entire field. But I ran hard and broke a record that had stood for ten years. That’s the strange duality of racing at age 82. A pace that was once was a warm-up jog can set a record. Success overlaps with humiliation, fulfillment is interwoven with frustration.

To explain: I ran in a mixed open field at a midweek twilight meet in my current hometown of Wellington, New Zealand. I lined up alongside 19 others. Apart from me, the oldest competitor was 49. The moment the horn sounded, they were gone, and I was running alone, until the leaders came pounding by with a whoosh to lap me soon after I’d completed one circuit. I used to run faster than that, I thought, briefly flashing back to the day I ran my PR for 3,000 meters in 8:10, but it’s little consolation.

At this age, every track race is a solo time trial. Social joggers don’t often do track, so there’s no one my pace. To make it feel like a competition, I aim for age-group records, so it’s like a virtual race against someone my age who posted his time ten years ago. My 16:03 broke the Wellington record for men aged 80 to 84. That competitive fun is mixed with a sense of inadequacy. I clutter the track. I’m in a different dimension from the young runners, like pedaling a bicycle in a Nascar race.

Not that they complain. “Go, Rog,” they gasp kindly as they fly past. They cheer for me as I finish, and then we hang out and compare times. Some say they find me inspiring, a role model for how they want to age. Often their kindness makes me feel good. Other times I feel like a decrepit but willing old dog who gets a pat when he still tries to chase his ball.

Much is new and good. I’m busy learning. I’ve been competitive and often elite since 1953. I’ve raced on six continents, set masters records at the Boston and New York City marathons, run a 5K in 14:12, and written seven books about running, yet this obscure little 3,000-meter event on a windy evening was another learning curve. By racing after 80, I’m still learning about the sport, about aging, about today’s society, about myself.

I learn that one of the joys of being a long-term runner is that every season is an experiment, a new experience. Year by year, you test your changing body, your mind’s ingenuity, and your spirit’s resilience against each inevitable stage of getting older. Those who choose to retire at their peak may think they evade the losses time brings, but they can only look back, not forward. They miss this ongoing journey, which truly is an exploration of the whole of life, its last 6.2 miles as well as the first 20.

I’m learning the hard way that age is not just a number. Age is a biological reality. It’s inescapable, even cruel, if you see nature in that personal way. Age brings decline that is almost mechanically predictable. In the long term, the best I can do is slow down the process of slowing down. The challenge is how to encounter that process, how to live with it, and running is the best way I know. I train and race to the limit of my will just as I always did, and that brings me the small triumphs of improvement gained by training. Don’t underestimate the effect of that on mental attitude. Today I’m eager for the next arduous challenge, plotting how to do better next week than I did last night. How many 82-year-olds can say that?

That triumph—outwitting time for a while—is one of many. Being in race shape gives me overall health, the respect and friendship of men and women 60 years my junior, the delight of an activity that is stimulating and full of change, and, above all, the feeling of being totally engaged with life’s journey, not merely lingering in its departure lounge. One of my regular training venues is a sports field overlooked by a large retirement-community building. I run my repeats in constant terror that staff will mistake me for a resident, dash out with a big butterfly net and capture me.

My slow pace at full effort teaches me that our running performances are always about relativity–run better than last week, last year; beat your rivals, the record, or your PR. That doesn’t change. The next time you see a white-haired old man or woman running at the back of the pack, please do not dismiss them as shuffling at some standard, meaningless, old-person pace. They may be as immersed in the race’s drama and significance as any other competitor, battling for the few seconds that will measure this day’s result as successful.

The big picture is that we older runners are leading a major change in society’s perception of aging. “How old are ya, mate?” asked the friendly teenage groundsman the last time I ran interval 400’s at his park. I told him. His surprise was expressed in a monosyllable. The public is beginning to get used to seeing old runners just as they once got used to seeing any runners, and then women runners. That’s how change happens. And change is long overdue. The marginalization and stereotyping of older people is arguably the last great prejudice of our society. When the retirement home enters a team in a local 10K, I’ll know that my prediction is fulfilled.

Why do it? The simple thing at 82 would be to run without competing. But for me, that would only be half the pleasure. I don’t race track to lead a social movement, or for the attention, or to feel humiliated, or to be an inspiration. I merely want to race. Even at the back, that makes me a participant with others who share the same impulse. I race because I still love its challenge and commitment, its drama and its finality, the ways it tests the spirit. During times in my life when I couldn’t race (after knee-replacement surgery or when mending broken bones), I felt like a pianist whose hands had been crushed. Now, since I am again fortunate enough to be able to race, it feels almost like a duty.

My next race is a festive-season one-miler. Senile folly. Four minutes won’t even get me halfway. I’ll be dead-last again. But I’ve done my 400’s, and I’m as ready as can be. Hey, maybe I can “run my age”: 80 and two-tenths would give me a finish time of 8:12. There’s always another incentive. I can’t wait.

Does SG has such events regularly? A bit like Forrest Gump...he did not set out to inspire, just running his own race, but  inspire us nonetheless!💪💪💪

[13177]

1 hour ago, therock said:

Our own muscle men...

I'm sure some MCF member is quietly training too 😉

https://www.straitstimes.com/life/hot-hunkles-chuando-tans-new-baby-edmund-chens-no-gym-bod-and-more

Cannot read the article since not subscribe. 😅 This chuando tan really dont know what he do, at age 56 his face, body and overall still look like a guy in his 30s to 40s. Really 不老传说. 😂 Even some guys in their 30s could also look like 50s.

[Kxbc]

On 5/22/2022 at 8:57 AM, therock said:

Our own muscle men...

I'm sure some MCF member is quietly training too 😉

https://www.straitstimes.com/life/hot-hunkles-chuando-tans-new-baby-edmund-chens-no-gym-bod-and-more

 

 

if a hunky uncle is called hunkle, what is a chio auntie called? 

[inlinesix]

31 minutes ago, Kxbc said:

if a hunky uncle is called hunkle, what is a chio auntie called? 

Lao Chio🤭

[Kxbc]

20 minutes ago, inlinesix said:

Lao Chio🤭

wah piang. Lao chio sounds so derogatory. Cannot la.

 chiotie? sounds damn weird.

[13177]

12 minutes ago, Kxbc said:

wah piang. Lao chio sounds so derogatory. Cannot la.

 chiotie? sounds damn weird.

Just call them pretty jie jie la. 😂

[inlinesix]

24 minutes ago, Kxbc said:

wah piang. Lao chio sounds so derogatory. Cannot la.

 chiotie? sounds damn weird.

Piao Liang Xiao Jie Jie

😂

[Enye]

leng lui or 美女

as long as not 小姐

😅

[Kxbc]

It's been such a hot and humid day. Starting of my evening run was damn tedious. 

[Ender]

1 hour ago, Kxbc said:

It's been such a hot and humid day. Starting of my evening run was damn tedious. 

Has been like that for many days liao. This afternoon went for vitamin D walkabout. Chao tar with sexy tanned lines of my singlet today.

Edited May 23, 2022 by Ender