Almost a decade ago I wrote a post The bigger your achievement, the more it’s a beginning. The effect applies all over in life, but my usual way of describing it is with marathons. Today, I’m posting about completing Turkish Get-Ups, but I’ll give context with marathons.

Context with marathons

Before you finish a marathon, it seems like a superhuman feat, even knowing that millions of people have run them. You don’t know if you can do it.

At least in my case, I expected that once I finished it I could say “I’ve done it, I’m exhausted, I’ve achieved something big, and I don’t have to do anything like it any more.”

Instead, I felt something like, “Now that I know I can do it, what else can I do?” I viewed it as redefining my identity into the type of person who has finished a marathon. Maybe not consciously, I began asking, “What sorts of things to people who finished marathons do?”

Well, they run other marathons, I realized, so I ran another five. Then I finished two marathons on the rowing machine. I also learned to do more things that took endurance. I ran my first marathon during my PhD program. I had planned to finish it, but maybe it helped me finish the PhD. Maybe it helped me stick with Submedia as long as I did.

As for big achievements in other areas, in the post I linked to in the first paragraph, I wrote about creating art and writing books. After my first public showing, how could I not seek a gallery show? After the gallery show, how could I not pursue more, like museum pieces and so on. After the first book and its very positive reviews, how could I not write a second book and after its very positive reviews, a third?

Turkish Get-Ups

It’s been a few months since I wrote about Turkish Get-Ups. Last summer and fall, I wrote about doing one (that is, one on each side, so counting each side as a half) with a 70-pound kettle bell. Then, to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, I decided doing three would count as I’ve really done them.

Since it’s scary to lift so heavy a kettle bell over my head with just one hand, plus I’ve dented my floor and ribs from dropping them, and my six-day exercise cycle doesn’t leave me with days I’m not recovering and therefore confident to risk breaking my bones or property, I’m only trying them in months with an extra day at the end.

It took me a few months, and twice I failed, though luckily without damaging my floor or self, but I finished three TGUs with the 70-pound weight. I considered it a life achievement. It meant I never had to try again.

But from the first part of this post, you can guess, I also started feeling, “Now that I know I can do it, what else can I do?” and “What sorts of things to people who did 70-pound Turkish Get-Ups do?”

Well, for one thing, they do more Turkish Get-Ups with 70-pound weights. I couldn’t help think about doing more. Then this winter was seriously cold and with my apartment disconnected from the electric grid so I couldn’t use the building’s heat, it was too cold in January and February (four extra days).

So today I finally did another 70-pound TGU. I have to tell you, before doing it, I feel full-on scared. While doing it, even more. This time, lifting with my right hand, when I reached the top, my arm got wobbly. At that height, I have little leverage to stabilize it. Somehow I did, benefiting perhaps from all the TGUs I’ve done. After all, a main point of them is to develop stabilizer muscles and coordination, not just strength.

What next?

Now I’ve done four at this weight and only failed two. When I look on Craigslist for heavier kettlebells for other lifts, I rarely see any at 70-pounds, and heavier ones even more rare.

I don’t know if I’ll keep doing more. Partly I feel how can I not? Partly I feel like an older guy and don’t have to keep trying.

But, man, it feels good to lift heavier iron than I could before. It’s satisfying. It raises self-awareness. It tells me what I can do and who I am.

Anyway, I knew after I lifted today’s I’d have to post here about it. If I keep doing more, I’ll eventually stop making a big deal about it, but I haven’t reached that point yet.

• ← Unearned Power