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Friday, June 24, 2016

How to Perform a Perfect SquatOur fitness expert reveals the truth about squatting as deep as possible

How to Perform a Perfect Squat

Our fitness expert reveals the truth about squatting as deep as possible

back-squat.jpg
“Only Siths deal in absolutes,” is my go-to quote from my favorite movie,Star Wars. That’s because—unlike another money line from that film, “these aren’t the droids you’re looking for”—I constantly consider the quote in my day job, where I help regular Joe and pro-athlete clients alike achieve their fitness goals. 
It reminds me that absolutes are rarely beneficial in fitness. Take the words everybodynever, and always. Those are absolutes. I’m not a Sith, so I don’t use them. And when I hear someone else in the fitness industry (read: probably a person who is also not a Sith) use those words to defend their opinion, my BS detector flares up like a light saber. A few common lines I hear:
Everybody should perform high intensity interval training.
Never eat carbohydrates after 6 p.m.
Always perform total-body movements.
It's a slippery slope to have such a black and white view on exercise—people are different, and there’s a time and place for everything. What if a guy just had triple bypass heart surgery last year? Should he do heart-palpitating high intensity interval training? 
What if a marathoner can only train at night? Is he not supposed to fuel his runs because the hour hand ticked past 6? 
What if a lifter just experienced a serious back injury? Should he still perform complex moves like squats, deadlifts, and overhead presses?
Recently, my BS detector nearly exploded when I heard a fitness pro drop this absolute-bomb: “Everybody should always squat ass-to-grass (deep), and never squat above parallel.” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard someone say something to that affect. (Partially thanks to the rise ofCrossFit and the resurgence of powerlifting).
Don’t get me wrong, squatting is great. As a strength coach and someone who prides himself on helping people get bigger, faster, and stronger, I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that the move is an excellent way to achieve all three of those goals. And I almost always err on the side of encouraging people to train with a full range-of-motion on any given exercise. 
There are, however, exceptions—especially when it comes to squatting. Telling someone they have to squat ass-to-grass doesn’t take into consideration a person’s current ability and comfort level with the exercise, their skillset, or their injury history. But that can be said with a lot of exercises. The squat is particularly interesting because God-given anatomy is often a limiting factor when it comes to achieving maximal depth. For example, some people have deeper hip sockets, so when they put their hips in the position of a ass-to-grass squat they simply run out of room to lower themself more, effectively impinging their hip joint. (To learn more about if squats are right for you, read Are Back Squats Safe?
Even if your anatomy lets you go deep, too much depth may still not be the best idea. Some guys are super mobile (borderline hypermobile). These guys often can’t control that range of motion and own any stability at the bottom of the move. That means the load can shift to their knees, lumbar spine, and hips, putting them at risk of injury in all of those places. 
On the other end of the spectrum, some guys are super stiff and lack the requisite ankle, hip, and thoracic spine mobility to go deep. When those guys go too low the weight often shifts to their delicate low back. That can herniate a disk. (To see the disgusting after-effects of a herniated disk, read “You Won’t Believe What Surgeons Found In Bode Miller’s Back”)
Here’s what you need to do: Find the right squat depth for you and what your body currently allows
Here’s how you can do it: Assess yourself with the quadruped sit back
Get on your hands and knees (called the quadruped position) and sit back toward your heels. See if or when your spine flexes.
In this video, I can go deep into a squat pattern without my spine rounding. If you can do that, squatting past parallel likely won’t be an issue for you. 
Note: If you failed, you can still squat—it’s just imperative that you squat to a depth that’s safe and won’t cause any harm. Try box squats. They help you stay out of the danger zone and still reap all the benefits of a regular squat. With time, as you become stronger and more comfortable with the movement, you should find yourself creeping lower. (To learn how to do a perfect box squat, check out Sit Down, Squat More.) 

The ‘Squat Jackup’ May Be Your New Favorite Cardio Workout

The ‘Squat Jackup’ May Be Your New Favorite Cardio Workout





This 3-exercise bodyweight flow

 will burn a ton of calories and help you get in great shape

Whether you’re stuck inside, you’re on the road, or you absolutely can’t stand pounding the pavement, you’ll love this no-run cardio complex.
Men’s Health Fitness Director calls it the “squat jackup,” and it consists of three bodyweight exercises—the jumping jack, the squat, and the pushup. Watch the video above to see how it’s done.
Each exercise works your muscles in different ways. That means fatigue won’t overtake you, so you can keep the intensity high the entire time, Gaddour explains.
“Your heart rate will go up and up every minute, which is what you need to burn calories and get in great shape,” he says.
Here’s how it works: Perform a movement for five to 10 seconds, and them immediately flow into the next exercise. Do this for two to three minutes straight, and then rest one minute. That’s one round. Do five to 10 total.
And if you want to make it even harder, add skater jumps after the jumping jacks and mountain climbers after the pushup.

Stall This Scary Heart Condition for 10+ Years

Stall This Scary 

Heart Condition for 10+ Years



Avoiding these health problems when you’re young can seriously help 

your ticker in the future

heart-failure.jpg

A breakup isn’t the only thing that can leave you with a broken heart: The combination of diabetes, obesity, and high blood pressure can give your ticker a major beating, finds recent research from Northwestern University. 
Okay, that’s probably the least surprising news you’ll hear all day. But the stats still jump out: In the study, men at age 45 who weren’t diagnosed with any of those three diseases lived free of heart failure—a chronic, progressive condition in which your heart can’t pump enough blood through your body—an average of nearly 11 years longer than guys who had all of the disorders at that age.
The combo was especially deadly, but each condition presents its own problems. For example, men who didn’t have diabetes at 45 developed heart failure over 8 years later than diabetic participants.  
Now, this doesn’t mean that every guy in the study experienced ticker trouble some time in their lives—or that just because you’re free of those conditions at age 45, you’re absolved of heart issues later on, says study coauthor Faraz Ahmad, M.D. 
High blood pressure, obesity, and diabetes all hurt how your chief organ operates. They jack up your risk of coronary heart disease, one condition that causes heart failure, says Prediman Shah, M.D., a Men’s Health cardiology advisor. 
These diseases can also lead to inflammation and cholesterol buildup, which contributes to a heart attack, says Dr. Shah. 
It’s not clear from the study if developing these conditions before 45—but then getting them under control—can reduce your chances of heart failure, the researchers say. So your smartest bet is playing the prevention game, which gives you the greatest chance at a longer, healthier life.  


Thursday, June 23, 2016

When You Can't Have A Baby Like You Always Dreamed

When You Can't Have A Baby Like You Always Dreamed

How one couple struggled to watch everyone but them become parents.

by BELLE BOGGS MAY 9, 2016
mother and baby loving each other
PHOTOGRAPH BY SIMONE BECCHETTI
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Not far from my home in rural North Carolina, across the Haw River from an access shared with neighbors, bald eagles have nested for at least a decade. When my husband and I bought our house—a cabin on 5 steep wooded acres—with plans to start a family, the chance to watch the eagles raising their young was one of the attractions that sold us on the place. I grew up along the Mattaponi River, in Virginia’s Chesapeake Bay watershed, and had memories of sighting bald eagles as a kid. In school, Richard and I both learned about how the once-prolific raptors had dwindled in number as a result of hunting, habitat destruction, and the pesticide DDT. How lucky we felt to watch their comeback. 
I imagined that one day soon, Richard and I would walk with our children to see the eagles across the river. I envisioned myself hoisting a toddler to my hip and pointing to the wide, ragged shape of the nest, and I could almost feel a child’s legs wrapped around my waist, a little hand holding my shoulder for balance. The river turned out to be a great place to observe the rituals of all kinds of family life—ducklings dutifully following their mothers, spotted fawns sidling up to watchful does.
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I could almost feel a little hand holding my shoulder for balance
My own family story went differently than I expected. Month after month, we waited for the good news of pregnancy. Then the months turned into years. We finally saw a reproductive endocrinologist and learned that we were unlikely to conceive without medical help. We tried oral medication, then intrauterine insemination, before our doctor recommended in vitro fertilization, an expensive process with no guarantee of success. We investigated adoption and discovered it was similarly expensive and uncertain, and our cabin—a one-bedroom “hippie house” (that’s the actual label, listed on the plat)—was unlikely to impress a social worker. 
I had never imagined my life without motherhood, and I was devastated. Seeing families with children left me paralyzed with longing. In the children’s section of a bookstore, I fell apart in front of a Frog and Toaddisplay. These were books my mother read to me, books I’d imagined reading to my own children. I avoided holiday gatherings. I grew distant from friends and family. 
In spite of the apparent rebuke of the fertile natural world, I still found solace in walks to the river. I’d crane my neck and squint through binoculars, trying to peer inside the great nest at the gray-fuzzed eagle chicks and their serenely guarding parents. Though the nest signaled absence for me—another reminder of what I wanted but did not have—it was also becoming a powerful force in my imagination, a kind of talisman of endurance and recovery. Life along the river felt so different than the one I feared was gradually consuming me, a highly mediated dance of appointments, tests, and worries. Doctors and nurses, boxes of injectable medication, a sterile room in a suburban clinic: This was not the way I’d imagined starting my family. And yet it was in many ways the most direct path to a family. We decided that it was the best choice for us. 
The summer before I began treatment, a severe storm tore through the woods near my home. Afterwards, I jogged to the river and was dismayed to see that the eagles’ tree, a tall pine, was gone, toppled along with the nest, which by then must have weighed hundreds if not thousands of pounds. On walks by the river after that, I gazed at the spot where the pine once stood and thought about my own nest, full of books and music, and hope. 
We confirmed my pregnancy on a warm spring morning and celebrated with a walk to the river, where we spotted one of the eagles in flight—a good sign, we thought. I had a healthy pregnancy and gave birth to a strong, 7-pound baby girl. Beatrice was beautiful, with round cheeks and pursed pink lips, a fast grip, an appraising gaze. We were smitten.
A few days after we brought her home, our heater broke, and while it was being repaired we took Beatrice to a hotel in town. We met friends at a nearby restaurant with an outdoor patio; I tucked Bea into a wrap that held her, warm and sleeping, against my chest. A friend took a photograph, and I was struck when she sent it to me later by how happy I looked, how in love. 
The past two years have been a joyful whirlwind. I often wake before Beatrice, and even though I depend on those uninterrupted minutes to write, I’m never sorry to hear her yelling, “Mama! I’m awake!” I bound up the stairs to lift her, smiling, from her crib. She is an avid mushroom hunter (we taught her early to look, not touch), says hello to every animal she meets (even spiders), and requests her own beloved Frog and Toadstories. She has started to make up little songs; my favorite, which I often hear her singing softly to herself, goes, “I know Mama...I know Dada.” 
My daughter is kind and gentle, funny and smart: I feel so lucky to know her and to be known by her. One of the projects I’ve worked hardest on since she was born is a book about the emotional, cultural, and financial barriers faced by infertile people. As part of my research, I interviewed women and men who built their families through adoption or foster care or assisted reproduction, and some who chose to live child-free. Though it was important to me to be up-front with my readers that I eventually had a baby through IVF, I don’t write much about Beatrice in those pages. Writing about her in some ways felt dangerous; it also felt impossible. I didn’t think I could capture, in a few paragraphs or chapters, the utterly absorbing, transformative love that belongs to mothers. And I didn’t want to, in case reading about that love caused pain for someone who yearned for motherhood but had not experienced it.
My daughter is kind and smart: I feel so lucky to know her and to be known by her
The same winter that I became pregnant, the eagles built a new nest near the top of a huge, stout pine. It now faces away from the river, so it’s no longer possible to see the eaglets as they jostle for the best feeding position. I miss being able to watch them, but I also understand something I only guessed at before I had my daughter. In all my years of longing for a child and daydreaming about my life as a mother, I never came close to understanding what it would be like. In some ways, I expect this mystery is protective—how could I have coped if I’d known? How could I have waited? No matter how long I stare at the nest, the life inside will remain unknown to me. Still, I tilt my head back and crane my neck to look—who can resist? My daughter, who will turn 3 this year, has started looking too.


Your Guide To Making Her The Ultimate Breakfast In Bed

Your Guide To Making Her The Ultimate Breakfast In Bed

Give your sweetheart a healthy treat she's sure to appreciate.

by BETSY ANDREWS MAY 5, 2016
breakfast roastup
PHOTOGRAPH BY MATT RAINEY
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The day I met Harper, he was grumpy. I was his mom’s new sweetheart, and he was meant to behave. He looked up at me and said, “I’m tired of being good.” But that’s his fate. He has always treated his mother well, especially when celebrating her. It was spring when I got together with Jeanne, and for Mother’s Day I helped 6-year-old Harper make her breakfast in bed. Earnest and sweet-toothed, he prepared whole-wheat waffles doused in maple syrup. Everything was organic—the kid was schooled in the right way to eat. Today, at 16, Harper is still good, a nice young man. We still serve Mother’s Day breakfast in bed. This year, it’s a vegetable-heavy spin on a British fry-up. For ease and health, we’ll roastour potatoes, mushrooms, tomatoes, even the bacon. We’ll gild the lily with fried eggs. Then we’ll climb on the bed and revel, us three, in our good little family built on love.
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BREAKFAST ROAST-UP

The Rodale Test Kitchen's vegetable-centric spin on the full English breakfast takes the major elements of the classic fry-up—potatoes, tomatoes, even the bacon—and roasts them in the oven, resulting in a meal that’s healthier (and way easier to clean up after!) yet still unbelievably satisfying. For maximum flavor and nourishment, seek out stone-ground, organic, whole grain bread. Then use the bacon drippings—a delicious and healthy monounsaturated fat—to fry up some eggs to top off the lot. 
Serves 4
8 ounces baby Yukon Gold potatoes, halved
8 ounces frozen pearl onions, thawed
8 ounces young carrots, tops trimmed
2 teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
8 strips thick cut organic, pasture-raised bacon
8 ounces asparagus, trimmed and cut into 2-inch pieces
4 ounces oyster mushrooms, separated
3½ ounces sliced shiitakes
3½ ounces enokitake or beech mushrooms, separated in bunches
4 campari or small plum or cherry tomatoes
2 sprigs of thyme
8 large eggs
¼ cup finely chopped parsley
½ teaspoon lemon zest
1. Heat the oven to 400 degrees. On a large rimmed baking sheet, toss together the potatoes, onions, carrots, rosemary, 1 tablespoon oil, a large pinch of salt, and a few grinds of pepper. Roast until just starting to become tender, about 20 minutes.
2. Lay bacon strips in a cast-iron skillet. In a bowl, toss together the asparagus, mushrooms, tomatoes, thyme, 1 tablespoon oil, a large pinch of salt, and a few grinds of pepper. Add it to the roast vegetables in the oven and toss to combine. At the same time, place skillet with bacon in the oven on a separate rack. Roast until the tomatoes soften but don’t break apart, and bacon is crisp, about 15 minutes more. 
3. Transfer bacon to a paper towel lined plate to drain, reserving fat in skillet. Toss the vegetables with the parsley and lemon zest and season to taste with salt and pepper. 
4. In batches, add the eggs to the bacon fat and fry on the stovetop until the whites are set and the eggs are still runny, about 3 minutes. Divide roasted vegetables among 4 plates; serve with eggs and bacon. 

























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