Here is an article from Women's Health that I love, love, love! I know it's not about nutrition but I still wanted to share . . .
SUCCESS IN NUMBERS
Benefits of Membership
It's always good to go after your own goals—but sometimes it pays to tap the power of the sweaty masses
Dimity McDowell
I remember my first grapevine better than my first kiss (admittedly forgettable). I was 16 and wanted to shape up for a family trip to Cancun. In my oversize Forenza T-shirt, I stuck out in the Hi/Lo class filled with ponytailed moms in classic 1987 aerobics garb: Reebok high-tops, leggings, and thong leotards. After warming up with step-taps and marches in place, the impossibly fit instructor, the only one in the mirrored studio who truly deserved thong status, called out for a grapevine to the left. I watched as the class wove around me, intertwining their feet for eight counts and ending with a rhythmic hop and clap. Eight more counts to the right, and—call me a fast learner—I was part of the grapevine amoeba. Back and forth we went as Whitney Houston belted out, "I wanna dance with somebody" I was euphoric. I could've danced with my fellow Hi/Lo-ers through the entire Whitney album.
Thus began my first love affair with the gym. I spent endless hours Hi/Lo-ing and thrived on being part of the group. Unlike most girls my age, I didn't have a boyfriend and I actually got along with my mother. In other words, most of the time I felt like a loner. But in Hi/Lo, I got to be another grape on the vine.
Pack MentalityTwo years of whooping it up in the aerobics room boosted my athletic confidence, and when I was asked to try out for crew in college, I didn't hesitate. My six-foot-three-inch body was perfect for the sport, which requires long limbs (for leverage) and pure strength. I had both. And they won me a spot on the team.
I was a real athlete now. My teammates and I rose before the sun and spent an hour or more using every muscle from our calves to our shoulders to propel the boat. Turns out, rowing and Hi/Lo-ing had more in common than just toning my quads. Both made me feel as if I was part of something. The fact that my teammates and I were doing something athletic—and getting good at it—was secondary to how much I looked forward to being with them every day in a boat, where we'd rehash hookups and scheme to get invited to parties in between precisely orchestrated strokes. Although I didn't mind if we crossed the finish line first, what mattered most was that there was no "I" in team. Even if we came in dead last, I couldn't wait to get back in the boat with my girls.
When it comes to fitness, the power of the group is well documented:
One review of 87 studies on nearly 50,000 subjects found a clear link between social support and exercise. And when Baylor University researchers recently tried to study exercise behavior in women, something surprising happened. After teaching 53 female college students a specific weight-training workout, the researchers instructed them to do it on their own three days a week for six weeks. The idea was to measure how hard they'd push themselves if left to their own devices. But they never found out: Every single person quit the study. "We wanted to watch individual efforts," explains Rafer Lutz, Ph.D., associate professor of sports and exercise psychology at Baylor University. "But without social support, the students said they didn't feel confident in the weight room, let alone lifting weights."
"Being around people with a similar goal amplifies your enthusiasm," says Kelly McGonigal, Ph.D., a health psychologist and fitness instructor at Stanford University. "You want to keep up with the group. And the dedication, strength, and stamina you need to get through a workout are reinforced because your co-exercisers assume you have them. Subconsciously you feed off that."
Back to the VineyardI hung up my oar for good after college and moved to New York City. Six years of regular sweating had made me addicted to the endorphin buzz and the ability to eat half a pan of brownies during PMS with no worries that it'd end up on my ass. So I joined a gym and hit the treadmill. But until I ran into the zone, that sublime place where rhythm is all that matters, I could barely tolerate the scene. I felt like an outsider looking in on the united front of gym rats.
So when my husband's job brought us to Santa Fe in 2001, I cut up my gym card and vowed never to go back. Weary of feeling isolated in a roomful of people, I was happy to let my body take the lead. I climbed 14,000-foot mountains, survived triathlons, and skied down steep, powdery slopes. While proud of my athletic accomplishments, I often thought,
This would be more fun if I had somebody to do it with. I finally got it: I will always exercise, but to really enjoy it, I have to have at least one partner in sweat.
Now that I have two kids and an overwhelming work schedule, my body, which is more saggy than I like to admit, is still happy to take the lead. I've scouted out running paths in my newest home, in Colorado, and I have a running partner with whom I chat nonstop during long runs. But lately I'm drawn to the gym at the Y where my daughter takes swimming lessons. I scoped it out the other day and nearly joined on the spot. Maybe it's the oncoming winter, but I think it's something more. I crave the energy of good music, the emotional connection to fitness peers, the grapevining mass that moves as one. I'm not up for joining, say, an adult soccer league and fumbling through a new sport, and although I enjoy running, my joints need a break.
So you can imagine my joy when I saw Hi/Lo, the cockroach of aerobics classes, scheduled for noon on Mondays. The irony of going full circle, back to those familiar eight counts, isn't lost on me: I'm no longer a teenage interloper but a full-fledged member of the army of overtired minivan drivers. I couldn't wait to reunite with my long-lost tribe.
