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still-busy-being-mortal · 3 years

Text

the rising of the moon

word count: 4544

rating: G

fandom: the mechanisms

warnings: major character death

summary: They've lived so long together, perhaps it is only fitting they die alone.

story notes: so this came about as a result of wanting to cry MORE about the mechs. don't ask me why.

features raphaella spouting unnecessary science jargon, ivy being emotionally repressed/depressed, drumbot brian holding a conversation with himself, and the toy soldier being actually emotionally intelligent.

——————

JONNY

It’s a quiet day aboard the starship formerly known as The Aurora. Most of the crew is out, and she’s drifting slowly through a dusty asteroid field. Ivy has stayed aboard to read, and Drumbot Brian was designated ship-sitter, so he’s stayed on as well. When enough time has passed (Is it days? Or decades? No one knows anymore, and no one cares. They are all so tired.), Brian hits the alert switch that will tell the Mechanisms to come home.

Ivy feels the gentle vibration in her brain --the pulse of The Aurora’s beacon-- and she puts her book down before walking slowly to the navigation bridge. Marius’ hand starts to buzz, messing up his note-taking; he apologizes to the rather fascinating asteroid-dweller he’s interviewing and takes his leave. Ashes feels their chest hum, and they turn away from their beautiful, fiery meteor shower.

[read more on ao3, or continue below!]

One by one, the Mechs find their way home. It takes some longer than others, but they all return eventually. Or they should; right now, there are only seven crewmates in the navigation bridge.

“I’m sick of waiting--where the hell is Jonny?” Tim whines.

“I guess he decided to stay in the asteroid belt?” Marius says.

“Woulda been nice to let us know,” mutters Ashes, “So we’re not all sittin’ here for ages.”

Brian stands and raises his hand. “All in favour of leaving and returning in a few decades?” They all agree, so he pilots Aurora away from the asteroid field.

Time goes by, and they do not hear from Jonny. Of course, members of the crew sometimes stay away for long periods of time, but that doesn’t mean their absence is not felt. And Jonny hasn’t appeared to try and contact them at all.

After a while, they vote to return to the asteroid belt. When they arrive, they split up, communication devices in hand.

Ivy combs through her memory, trying to summon any knowledge she has on Asteroid Field 01.18.20. The Toy Soldier moves methodically from meteor to meteor, searching for their lost comrade. Raphaella interviews any inhabitants she comes across, axially coding their qualitative responses to identify patterns in the data. Tim goes to a bar for a drink, irritated at Jonny’s latest antic.

He walks into some nameless, backwater joint and sits at the counter, flagging down the bartender with a lazy wave. He orders and waits, mechanical eyes roving the establishment. And then he freezes.

On the far wall hang a few dozen photographs, all dusty and poor quality. Above the photos is a crudely-done banner that simply reads “Cheers to Our Past Patrons.” One of the pictures is of Jonny.

When the bartender returns, Tim asks: “What’s the deal with the wall of fame, then?”

“Oh, that,” they answer tiredly. “Just sum dark joke the old owner thought up. Them’s the folks who kicked it in this here bar, you see.”

Tim was confused. “You mean those people died here? That can’t be right; my friend’s up there, and he can’t d--he’s alive.”

The barkeep shrugged. “Don’t know, pal. We had to bury most of thems out back, if you reckon you want to check.” He chuckled darkly and went back to drink-making.

Tim quickly finished his drink and went out the back door. He debated alerting the other Mechs about this development, but decided he might as well see for himself first.

He found the makeshift graveyard quickly, small rusty mounds amid the equally rusty asteroid outback. Some displayed names on roughly carved wood planks, but obviously none of them said “Jonny d’Ville” (Tim laughed at the idea of Jonny carrying around an ID). Most were unmarked, however, so he started to dig.

He used his hands, too impatient to try and find a shovel. He came across bodies and bones in various stages of decay, but none that had any chance of being Jonny. About fed up with this ridiculous idea of his, he decided to dig up one more grave. He shovelled dirt and rocks out of the way, until his hand hit something hard and cold. Something metallic. He pulled on it, and came away with a belt. Christ , he thought.

He quickly scooped away the rest of the dirt, revealing the corpse of Captain First Mate Jonny d’Ville. Dead. Tim stumbled backward, hand fumbling for his comm. “Um, mates, I-I found him.”

The Mechanisms were different after that. Yes, Nastya had gone Out long ago, but they had never actually come across her dead corpse , so it wasn’t the same. Marius had examined his body and declared him fully, completely, and irrevocably dead. They had held a funeral, but they were all too much in shock to really remember it. All they knew was that they were down a crew member, without a captain first mate, and terribly aware of their own mortality.

ASHES

About half the crew was in Raphaella’s lab, helping her with some complex kind of experiment. Raph was mixing two viciously green liquids together, while Marius was unspooling wire from a large bobbin. The Toy Soldier was holding an ultraviolet light against a motherboard, and Ashes connected the motherboard to the chartreuse concoction using the wires. After pouring all of the chemicals, Raphaella pulled on some rubber gloves and pulled out a small pocketwatch from her shirt. “Are we ready?” she asked gleefully. Without waiting for an answer, she started the countdown. “Five! Four! Three! T--curses!” The pocketwatch slipped from her gloved grasp and fell into the churning beaker. All at once there was a flash and a bang, and the lights went out. They stood in complete silence for a minute, before the backup generators flicked on.

The Toy Soldier clapped its hands, “That Was Jolly Good! Can We Do It Again?”

“No, TS, look, I got goop on my--wait!” Marius shouted, “Where’s Ashes?” They all turned to look at where the quartermaster had been just moments before. The floor where they’d been standing was a scorched, intricate, dark pattern of swirls. “What the hell is that ?”

“I Do Not Know, But I Will Go Get The Archivist!”

TS returned with Ivy, who took one look at the patterns on the floor and asked: “Who is it that has been time travelling?”

“Time travelling?!” Raph exclaimed.

“Yes,” Ivy said, “Those marks are a perfect exemplar of the evidence left behind when one has been forcibly transported forward or backward in the time continuum. Which one of you did it? Did you happen to bring back any books?”

“It wasn’t us: it was Ashes.” Marius said, “And we don’t think they’ve come back yet.”

Ivy grew very pale. “That is highly alarming. There’s a less than 0.1% chance that a time traveller ever comes back if they do not return instantly after the outset of their journey.”

“Y-you mean Ashes might not...” Marius trailed off, “...Wait a second! That doesn’t make sense! We don’t experience time linearly!”

“That may be true, but we are not forcibly moved through it either. We are at the whim of the narrative flow, and any alteration to that usually produces negative results.”

The Toy Soldier flashed through many emotions at once, though its face never changed. “So Quartermaster O’Reilly Is...Gone?”

“We can’t prove that yet!” Raph cried, fluttering around the lab and grabbing various scientific instruments. “Maybe if I can pinpoint when exactly they’ve been transported to, we can...we can bring them back.”

“That’s quite a long shot,” Marius said.

“What is science if not a shot into the ignorant dark?” Raph replied, rigging up a technological monstrosity. She aimed the thing at the charred spot and clicked a button, causing the machine to emit a pulsating, whirring sound. “Oh, you all might want to close your eyes.”

With a burst of green and a harsh dial tone, the thing spit out a strip of paper. Raph grabbed it and read it intently. She dropped it suddenly, eyes distant and empty. “They are gone.”

The room burst into a cacophony. (“What do you mean?!” “Gone How? Gone Forever ?” “It was statistically unlikely that they could have returned.”) Raph picked up the paper and pressed it onto the lab table. Most of it was meaningless words and numbers, but Raph pointed out a string in the center: “RESULT) DATE: %& INFINITE ROUNDING ERROR $! _ LOCATION: SINGULARITY!UNIVERSAL IMPLOSION. ANALYSIS) CHANCE OF TERMINATION: 100.0% +-0.0 R = 1.0”

“They’re gone.”

RAPHAELLA

The crew was far more disorganized after Ashes left. With no one to maintain inventory or keep the crew in line, The Mechanisms started to fall apart. Raphaella tried for a while to build some kind of time-travelling device, some way of defying the inexorable march of the story, but it was in vain. She was left with only one option; one experiment she hadn’t tried yet.

She carefully laser cuts some metal from the starship once known as the Aurora. She sits in Nastya’s former workshop for hours, bending and twisting and fabricating until she is left with wings; wings more breathtaking than any she has possessed before. Once on, they fan out behind her in a starburst of blue and metallic grey.

But her crew will never see them. In the cover of darkness, she steals away to the airlock. The ship is currently sailing past a black hole (Raphaella has the Messier number and NGC identification memorized, but that’s not her concern now). With one final look backward at the place that had been her home for millennia --the place she thought she would call home forever -- she casts herself into the black hole.

Ivy finds the note she left, succinct and unmincing as ever:

“Addressed to whoever finds this first:

After a brief review of prior literature, I have found extensive holes (no pun intended) in the study of singularities, specifically as it relates to a singularity’s effect on a humanoid body and mind. I seek to rectify this, as well as explore the possibility of horological manipulation, though perhaps my methods are not entirely replicable. It is every scientist’s dream to be on the cutting edge of research, and so I initiate this experiment joyfully. Also, black holes are hypothesized to have magnificent magnetic fields!

Yours,

Dr. Raphaella La Cognizi”

TIM

Tim, Marius, the Toy Soldier, Brian, and Ivy wait. They do not wait together, and they do not know what exactly it is they’re waiting for, but they wait nevertheless.

Time passes.

Brian pilots the ship towards various planets, pointless battles, dying stars. One day, the remaining Mechs arrive at a lawless sea-based war occurring on a planet composed entirely of liquid obsidian. They commandeer a ship (which they dub the ‘Dawn’) and spend decades wreaking havoc as the most formidable group of pirates. But Tim knows something is wrong.

“Tim, take out that vessel off the starboard side.” Brian orders from the prow of the Dawn.

Tim smoothly preps, loads, and positions a cannon to aim directly at the enemy ship in question. He lights the fuse, and the cannon fires. The crew watch as the projectile hurls through the air, arcing like a cold meteor into the distance. They watch it come down towards the enemy vessel. And they watch it miss.

The crew turns to stare at Tim. He’s not nearly as mortified as they expected. In fact, he’s perfectly serene.

“Um, Tim…” Marius starts slowly, “D-did you know you, uh...missed?”

“Yep.” he responds, popping the ‘p’.

“Did you mean to?”

“Nope.”

“And...you’re not upset by that?”

“Not especially.”

(“That’s a fascinatingly abnormal psychological response,” Marius mutters under his breath, jotting something down in a notebook he appears to have produced out of nowhere.)

The crew continues to stare as Tim goes below deck to his bunk, humming slightly.

Tim has known something was off for a long time now. His aim started to err by nanometres, then by millimeters, then more, until he was missing entire ships like today. He’d panicked at the beginning, of course, but now? Now, he was ready to be done.

He’d felt the pressure building up in his head, behind his eyes. He got spurts of tunnel vision randomly, and sometimes his vision just went to static. He gradually lost the ability to see some colors, as the electronic rods and cones went out one-by-one and refused to self-repair. But he wasn’t nervous or distressed or alarmed; he was excited.

You see, he’d been saving something for a special occasion. He didn’t know what ‘special occasion’ entailed, since the Mechs never consistently celebrated holidays or birthdays, but permanent death seemed like a pretty good one. He rooted around in his rucksack, and withdrew a set of shiny silver keys; keys he’d stolen a long, long time ago. These were the ignition keys to the largest gunship existence will ever see, and Tim planned to go out with a bang. That evening, he told the crew he wanted them all to return to the starship so he could be dropped off somewhere. They all agreed, since they didn’t have any real cares anymore, and they set off for the planet Tim had etched into his memory.

Tim sits in the cockpit of the gunship, the planet itself already ruined and smoking from fighting his way to get here. The Mechanisms were long gone, as he’d told them to leave without him. He hadn’t exactly said he wasn’t planning on coming back, but he thinks they understood. With one last grin of pure, unadulterated madness, he kicks the gunship into gear and blasts off.

The ship goes too fast to comprehend, and in an instant he’s shooting across the cosmos, shattering stars and razing entire systems of planets. The universe has never before witnessed such complete and utter desolation. Tim doesn’t process much during this rampage...until he starts to die.

He doesn’t know what he hit, but something has jolted the gunship just right, and he’s flung out the front glass. He knows he should die instantly, and he is, but his eyes are moving faster. They’re replaying his life, backwards, and he wants to groan with the cliché-ness of it all. But then it’s over. Or, almost over. At the very end, so fast, so short compared to the millennia he has lived, he catches sight of a young man in a trench. Bertie. A face he will never forget no matter how much longer he could have lived. And in the moments of blackness before he stops forever, he thinks about Bertie, about what comes next.

Faith is a moot point when you’re immortal, since you’ve quite literally come into contact with gods and demons, eldritch horrors and cosmic powers. But here, at the end of his wretchedly long existence, Tim wonders if he will ever see Bertie again. If he will ever see Jonny, or TS, or Ashes, or anyone ever again.

He dies blind, with their names on his lips.

IVY

Exposition: Ivy is quite spectacular at suppressing her emotions. She’s also skilled at identifying patterns, so by the time Raphaella left, she knew what was going on with 98% certainty. Without much fanfare, she packed her bags (5 for books and 1 for everything else), said goodbye to Marius, Brian, and the Toy Soldier, and left.

She rifled through her memory archives for the quaintest library she knew of, and headed there.

Rising Action: And so time passed.

Ivy read, and organized, and wrote, and...existed. Nothing happened, and nothing changed. Carmilla must have made an error in her mechanization because she’d never been the best at processing feelings, but she was happy, she thought.

Climax: A war came, and her library was attacked. With the numbest, most detached sense of purpose imaginable, she loaded an escape pod with random books she thought should be preserved and fired it out into the void. She didn’t even know she’d been hit until she’d fallen to the floor, blood streaming from a massive wound. She knows she is dying; she’d seen the patterns.

Denouement: Her brain whirs slower and slower, until it stops. The end.

MARIUS

They are not a crew any longer. Brian has firmly rooted himself on the bridge, more robot than man now. The Toy Soldier wanders the ship, searching for its friends who are playing the best game of hide-and-seek that the universe has ever seen. Marius putters along, doing some maintenance, writing down his thoughts, and waiting for his death.

He’d always known this life of theirs couldn’t last. Besides the conceptual and moral implications of an eternal existence without consequences, it didn’t even make sense physically . There was no such thing as a perpetual motion machine, and he was surprised his more rational-minded crewmates didn’t question it more. But now his theory had come to fruition, and his crew, his family , had slowly dropped off one-by-one, like leaves from an autumnal tree.

He’s at a bit of a loose end now. With no people left to talk to, no minds to pick, he doesn’t feel any sense of purpose. It’s not depression--he knows that; it’s more of a...cosmic futility.

He feels one last pull, one last tug of the all-pervading narrative, a tide of finality, urging him towards a certain door. He knows this door, knows what it means when he opens it. But he also knows all things come to an end eventually, so why not go out doing what he always did? Providing the comic relief.

“Time this for me, will you, Aurora?” he calls out. He turns the handle and steps inside.

BRIAN

Since Jonny’s death, Brian has been at war with himself. He supposes he’s always been at war with himself though, and his current moral quandary reminds him uncomfortably of his first.

Sitting on the bridge alone, he decides to have a conversation.

“So the crux of the problem is that we can bring people back from the dead, correct?”

He flips his switch. “Correct.”

He flips it back. “But the dilemma is whether we should bring the Mechs back or not.”

“Also correct.”

“Which we shouldn’t, because they wanted to die.”

“No, we should. We want them alive, right? Using magic is definitely the easiest way to achieve that.”

“But we need our family to be happy. God knows how long it’s been.”

“Is the end goal their happiness or our happiness?”

“If I answer that, will I change your mind?”

“Is altering the end goal really the moral way to win this argument?”

“You know what? Damn you.”

Time passes, and each crewmate’s departure only makes Brian’s contempt for his own inner hesitation grow. He spends years staring out into the cosmos, thoughts whirling just as fast as the dust and gases beyond the glass. He wonders if he will ever die and join his family, or if the degree of his artificiality will render him truly immortal. He hates that thought more than most anything else.

He stops smelling the smoke of Ashes’ fires one day, and wonders if his olfactory systems are shutting down.

He stops feeling the rumble of Raphaella’s experimental explosions, and wonders if his nerve endings are rusting.

He stops seeing the flash of Tim’s gunshots bounce around the corridors, and wonders if he’s gone as blind as the gunner himself.

He stops hearing Ivy’s narration, and wonders if his auditory fluids have finally trickled away.

One day, the lone violin that has been echoing throughout the empty starship fades out, and Brian feels his heart stop.

It restarts of course, but Brian knows.

He knows that it’s finally, finally time. Soon, very soon, there will be no more life aboard this ship. No life, where there had been life for eons. No life, where there had been life immortal.

His sense of taste has never come into doubt, because he can still taste the acridness of the Toy Soldier’s cooking wafting on the air. He decides it’s only right to bid goodbye, so he makes his way back to the kitchen. On the way, he passes the Doctor’s old laboratory. He briefly considers destroying it, bringing down the whole ship in a blaze of fire and brimstone, but he knows that isn’t right; it wouldn’t fulfill anything.

In the kitchen, the Toy Soldier is pulling something pink and grey and on fire out of the oven. “Hey, TS,” Brain says gently, leaning against the doorframe as his heart falters again. “I-I’ve got to talk to you.”

The Toy Soldier spins around. “Drumbot Brian!” it shouts joyfully. “How Have You Been, Old Chap! I Have Been Playing Hide-And-Seek With The Rest Of The Crew For A While Now, And They Are Definitely Winning! Have You Seen Them?”

“Oh, TS,” Brian says sadly, “We’re all who’s left now. Don’t you know? The others have gone.”

He sees the Toy Soldier’s wooden eyes soften, betraying an agedness he’s never seen before. “Of Course I Know, Bean. But What Have We Been Doing This Whole Time, If Not Pretending?”

Brian smiles sorrowfully, and TS matches it. “I just wanted to let you know, TS, that now it’s my turn to go.”

“I Know.” It salutes him. “Goodbye, Drumbot.”

Brain gently returns the salute, and leaves.

He stumbles through the ship, heart failing rapidly now, but he makes it to the airlock. He knows deep down that there’s only one way his story could end. His whole existence has been framed by empty solitude, with his family providing the best aberration one could wish for. With his body more an empty metal frame than a robot now, he opens the airlock and casts himself back into the cosmos, from whence he came, and where he would die.

THE TOY SOLDIER

Its friends are all gone away now, and it knows this. There is no more laughter aboard the starship once known as the Aurora. There is no more gunfire or explosions. There is no more music. The cold mass of metal drifts through the void of the uncaring cosmos, with no living being aboard.

But The Toy Soldier has to be sure; it has to guarantee that it is truly all alone now. So it visits its friends’ final resting places.

It spends some years gazing out the front windows of the ship. The thrusters have been broken for a long time now, and the Toy Soldier doesn’t know how to repair them, so it just sits and watches. It wants to see the Drumbot, so it pretends that it does. Soon enough, out the starboard porthole, it spies him. His metal is rusted and warped, frost rendering most of his face unrecognizable. A drum is still looped around his shoulder. The Toy Soldier tethers itself to the ship and goes outside for a moment, drifting towards the robot. It lays a wooden hand on his deformed chest, and feels that his heart beats no longer. It carves off a long curl of wood from its side, and places it in Brian’s frozen hand.

It returns to the ship. It hadn’t known where Marius had disappeared to, but now it feels the force of the narrative driving it towards a certain room. It opens the door, and a handful of mangy octokittens hiss at it and scurry away. There’s nothing in the room besides a pile of crumpled clothes, a broken violin, and a metal hand, but the Toy Soldier could recognize that style anywhere. It gently twists one of its own wooden hands off, and lays it on the mound.

The Toy Soldier knows that Ivy went somewhere far away, so it closes its eyes and pretends that it’s there. When it opens them again, it finds itself in the charred ruins of some great marble building. At its feet lay bones, a metal flute, and a mess of circuitry, untouched by the ash. The Toy Soldier reaches up, removes a piece of wood from the back of its head, and lays it besides the flute.

The Toy Soldier has a harder time finding the gunner. It’s drawn this way and that, chasing an intangible trail through the stars and galaxies. All of the planets it passes are devoid of life. Finally, finally, it stumbles across an enormous, gaping wreck of a starship, all mangled and smashed to pieces. The ship is so large, it’s drawn smaller asteroids into an orbit around it. On one of these rocky satellites, the Toy Soldier spies a body: a skeleton covered in a long brown coat with a guitar slung across it. A pair of mutilated, metal eyes rest in the skull. The Toy Soldier smiles sadly, removes one of its own wooden eyes, and slips it into the pocket of the coat.

It knows it cannot follow the science officer into a black hole. It does manage to find the sketches of the wings Raphaella designed, so it gathers them up, takes two chunks of wood from its back, finds Raph’s keyboard, and casts everything into the nearest singularity.

After pretending to be at the end of space and time, it finds itself there. There is nothing, absolutely nothing. It removes two segments of wood from deep within its chest and places them in the nothingness, along with the strings of an old electric bass it had found. As it winks back to the ship, it catches the faintest scent of gasoline.

It returns to the asteroid Jonny had died on, the start of their ignoble demise. It visits his grave, in the taupe dirt of the desert behind the backwater bar, and sees all of the trinkets and mementos the crew had left behind. It knows none of them left anything during their makeshift funeral, so that means each of them must have slipped away at some point to come here on their own. Ashes has left their best lighter, Tim a pair of dogtags. Marius left behind all of his notes of Jonny’s disaster of a brain, and Brian has deposited some sun-scorched piece of space station. His harmonica has also found its way here, somehow. The Toy Soldier slowly, slowly reaches into its chest and removes its wooden heart, laying it down atop the mound of dirt and memories. It walks away, and knows that it can finally, finally stop pretending.

AURORA

There is no record of where the Toy Soldier went next. It certainly did not return to the empty ship once known as the brilliant Aurora. The lifeless, soulless, music-less ship drifts on alone through the cosmos, rusting and warping until no one could tell it had ever been a ship at all. Eons pass, and whatever memory the universe might have had of The Mechanisms has been utterly lost.

Until the misshapen mass gets stuck in the orbit of a planet. Molded and formed by the planet’s gravity, the ship is reborn as a moon. And all at once, she comes to life.

As dawn washes over her, the young moon hears a voice. “Hello, dear,” a woman coos, “My name is Dr. Carmilla.”

#hi please read my fic #am i posting it yet again? yes #the rising of the moon #the mechanisms #fiction #ao3

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 4 years

Note

just for the fuck of it!

in real life i hate ted talks, i don’t think they’re generally good scientific communication and they appeal to a narrow spectrum of white moderate liberals with liberal arts degrees, generally. the format makes me teeth hurt.

but I WILL ramble on about a topic of my choice, thank you, even though that’s just a regular fuckin’ day here on girlfriendsofthegalaxy dot tumblr dot com.

For someone who only sort of cares about her personal wardrobe, I sure do spend a lot of time thinking about fabric. I also spend a lot of time thinking about Fallout: New Vegas, so let’s combine the two.

Where the fuck are people getting their clothes, and how are they making them? The game specifically points out the outfits that are pre-War, although if those are surviving garments or new garments made in a pre-War style is not discussed. From that, I’m assuming that mostif not all clothing regular NPCs wear on the street is of post-War manufacture.

So, how the fuck are people making clothes? From what? Using what methods?

The sheer variety of clothing available points to small mechanical looms and sewing machines. Sewing machines are fairly simple machines and I’m convinced there’s a mix of surviving pre-War and post-War manufactured ones kicking around. They’ve also got a makeshift power grid, which means a decent wire-making setup, which means metal needles. Bone needles are probably more common among hand/home sewers.

Shoes are actually fairly easy- the game is lousy with giant geckos, from which you can slap onto leather and metal armor to create gecko-backed armor, which provides additional types of damage resistance. There’s a very cute poster in a fanzine about gecko hide boots. I have lifted this concept wholesale for my own fic, bc everyone walks everywhere and everyone needs good boots. Most boots in-game appear hobnailed or have some sort of traction on the bottom. I don’t think shoe leather is a problem in New Vegas, although more specialized shoes like waders and sneakers are probably much harder, since there’s no petroleum rubber (a main plot point of FO2 is that there’s very little oil and gas left) and rubber trees can only grow outside if they’re in zones 10-11, which is a chunk of California that got whacked pretty hard by the bombs. Is it possible that someone in New California has bioengineered isoprene and now they’ve got vast stocks of non-petroleum synthetic rubber? Maybe? Doesn’t really fit with the tech we see in-game. The shoe rubber we see can’t all possibly be repurposed tires.

Wool is harder but if we squint we can make it fit into existing lore without a ton of problems. The in-game large domestic meat animal, the bighorner, is a hair sheep not a wool sheep. Animal hair is useful for other things, but it’s hard to make yarn out of. There are probably fluffier breeds in higher not-desert altitudes. So we’ve got socks now, winter wear, and good blankets, and felt for hats. Various flavors of looms have existed long before the Industrial Revolution and I don’t see why they’re not in-game, or why weaving mills don’t exist in the Mojave. Knitting needles and crochet hooks are just fancy sticks, you can whittle them with a minimum of fuss.

Linen is also a little wibbly lore-wise but sort of fits- there are no flax fields in-game but flax is a very tolerant plant, so I could see regions outside the Mojave successfully growing it.

A surprising number of people wear jeans. Where the fuck is everyone getting jeans from? Cotton is not a staple crop in California today. Post-War California certainly don’t have the manpower or infrastructure for massive fields of cotton or the required processing, everyone’s a truck farmer or a Brahmin herder, to the point the NCR’s army is having extreme difficulty getting food for its troops. Is there some massive pre-War stock everyone’s been pulling from for two hundred years? Interestingly, the Legion’s armor is mostly football armor, so this does point to them having a pre-War warehouse full of the stuff somewhere.

The Brotherhood of Steel have really uniform uniforms, if that makes any sense, with less variation than the New California Republic’s standing army in (hemp?) canvas. They don’t have the tech to make new suits of power armor, although I can’t quote that bc I can’t find it again and I have no memory of where I heard it. @morrak is convinced they have the technology to make rayon (invented in the 1890s in our timeline), and I agree bc it’s a finicky multi-step process with lots of drying and waiting time and they’re all nerds stuck in a bunker although I do NOT know where they’re getting the cellulose they are in a desert and wood is at a premium.

The Raiders’ armor is mostly rags and spikes and sandals made out of old tires, which is also interesting and more of a scavenged Mad Max 2&3 vibe than the other factions, which fits their whole schtick.

This is many words and I’m reaching the end of my own attention span, I’m sure I have another couple thousand words in me about this but these are the thoughts I am dumping out of my head right now. I haven’t said a single thing about dyes and patterns and prints, for example.

#ain't that a kick in the head #ty!!!#i've probably yelled about at least some of this before #but my brain is a sieve #shiny-good-rock

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omnical · 7 years

Text

I Sing the Body Electric... (2/?)

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Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler knows a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari.

Genre: AU, Romance. Dark humor, supernatural elements.

Characters/Pairings: Angela, Fareeha, Pharmercy; minor: Lucio, Mei

Rating: T, mentions of body gore and third party violence, dark humor.

Links: AO3

Dr. Angela Ziegler did not know what she was doing with her life.

To be fair, she never expected to be haunted by her own insecurities, but Angela supposed reaching her thirties was the primary culprit of her sudden change of heart. She never used to worry, and never used to wonder if she was wasting her life by focusing on her work, until she found it barely made her happy anymore.

Sometimes Angela allowed herself to sink back into her memories. Mostly whenever feelings of intense sadness came into her mind, unbidden. Memories of when she was a child in her father’s study, wide-eyed and curious about his strange books, and colorful anatomical models with their detachable parts.

She remembered examining them with her pudgy toddler hands, lower lip sticking out as she took them apart -- cillary body, choroid, sclera, lens -- before putting the parts back together again. She liked putting them back together again.

She remembered her parents telling her how smart she was, how good she was, pride lighting their eyes. If she tried hard enough, Angela could still remember their voices. It helped lift her spirits up, sometimes.

However, her parents’ untimely passing did not exhaust love and warmth from her life. She lead a happy and carefree childhood, after her parents died. Her aunt and uncle tried their hardest to fill that silence in her heart with their own voices, and sometimes Angela thought it worked. Your mother and father would have been so proud of you, Angela.

And now, after making a living out of being smart, she became Auntie Dr. Angela, who sent the best sweets and the newest toys despite missing family gatherings for the holidays sometimes.

And birthday parties.

And weddings. Video calls.

Auntie’s funeral.

“It’s all right, my dear. Maybe you can come next year?”

...

Dr. Lindholm found Angela dissociating in front of her computer monitor one day.

He brought her hot chocolate from the coffee machine in the pantry, the beverage watery and clumped up with cheap chocolate powder. And with it, he effectively coaxed her out of her mental calisthenics. She was like a terrified critter hiding inside her burrow. “You always did think too much for your own good.” He said.

She had no one else to turn to, no one else to confide in, until Dr. Lindholm, poorly hiding the hurt he felt after Angela hesitated to tell him initially, managed to make her spill everything with one look.

“When I was your age, I ended up working myself to the bone, too.” Dr. Lindholm grumbled through his words, speaking with a gruff gentleness only a father of seven would have. “Until my poor wife knocked some sense into this hard noggin’ of mine, and I had to look back at myself and what I was missing. But that’s life.”

“Why did you decide to stay?”

“I was happy with my job and I still am.” He answered, tugging his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “Sometimes you need to figure out what’s best for you, get your hands dirty. But it is different for everybody, Angela. Whatever worked for me might not work for you. These things don’t come with a manual.”

“I see.”

“Guess that means you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“It would be easier if I knew what I wanted to do.”

“Take a day off.” Dr. Lindholm said, patting her shoulder. “Away from all this crap. Maybe that will help clear your head?”

Angela walked to a pub that evening with some of her coworkers, some of them surprised that one of their local recluse bothered to join them at all. She holed herself up against the corner of the pub at first, until Dr. Winston invited her to throw a few darts with him, which was fun despite missing the dartboard the entire time. She also cheered for a losing football team, got into a heated debate about rugby with a baffled stranger, drinking pint after pint. Mirthful brown eyes watched her all night.

After getting ‘plenty pissed’, she went home. Angela woke up with a bad hangover, her mouth sour, and a pulsing headache, wondering if her night out helped.

She felt inclined to disagree after vomiting all over her bathroom floor. It took hours until she mustered the strength to clean up after her own mess.

The next day, Dr. Angela Ziegler deleted her resignation letter, and never thought about quitting her job again.

The steel autopsy table glinted from the bright surgical lights overhead.

When Angela closed her eyes, blinding spots shaped like surgical light bulbs flashed behind her eyelids. She blinked, long and hard, willing them to go away.

When she opened them again, she noticed Lucio was sending her a look over the autopsy table, a pair of forceps in his hand.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

Angela looked down at their patient.

Hi .

Time to get back to work.

An assistant drone whizzed past Angela’s eyesight with a mechanical hum. Its gears and internal mechanisms whirring and clicking, its optical eye taking photographs of the cadaver, and stowing away details for the report; breaking them down into categories. Nails, skin, hair. And while the drone did its work, Angela exhaled, letting a long breath whoosh from her lips.

“February 8, 1:45 PM. Female, forty-eight years old. Found in her living room, seven hours after time of death, which was estimated at: February 7, 10 PM. According to investigation reports, she died from an unwitnessed cardiac arrest.” Angela frowned beneath her medical mask. “Her family wanted to be sure about the cause of death. As far as we know, she was alone at home. No evidence of assault or struggle.”

The patient’s feet were swollen. Taut skin stretched across sharp lines of bone. The corpse’s flesh -- once brown and aglow with the rosy hue of life -- was now ashen and cold. The patient’s face was expressionless, grim. Mrs. Tanner looked peaceful in her final rest.

I am so sorry.

“Assistant drones found some areas of her clothing were singed.” Angela said. “Very slight, almost undetectable. There were no signs of burns on the corpse, either.”

“That’s weird.”

“Very weird.”

“The police reports never mentioned anything which might have caused it.” Lucio said, “Think it’s conclusive evidence, doc?”

“Maybe. If only things can be that easy.”

Angela fiddled with the plastic shield protecting her face. She fixed her rubber gloves around her wrists, listening to it snap against her skin, as if the sound would quell the storm forming inside her heart.

“Okay, I am ready.” Angela said, “Let’s open her up.”

Lucio handed her a scalpel.

…

“Wanna order Italian later, doc?”

“That sounds great. I’m craving garlic bread.”

“I know this place that makes amazing garlic bread. They make their own bread -- fancy restaurants always make their own bread -- so you know it’s super fancy. It’s a walk away from here, but totally worth it.” Lucio said. “Better not have too much, though, people say garlic breath is a turn off for some people. If you know what I mean.”

Angela held the sternal saw aloft. She sent him a dirty look.

“Hey, I'm just saying.”

“We are recording this session, Dr. dos Santos.”

“Nobody but us listens to it, anyway, what's the harm?”

“Ugh.” Angela turned the saw on and began to cut across the sides of their patient’s rib cage.

...

“Need help there, doc?”

“Yes.” Angela nodded. “Take this to the tray, please.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Working with the dead followed a careful step-by-step scientific process.

“Checking the pericardial sac. Scalpel, please? The small one.”

The other half of the job was to understand the abstract.

“Maybe a towel, too.” she added. “There is a lot of liquid in the cavity.”

Whenever Angela got bored during her trip to and from work, she found herself watching ordinary people mill about in their daily lives. A person showing signs of nicotine addiction. An elderly woman waiting in a cafe who was probably diabetic, her coffee order later confirming Angela’s guess. A child chasing a cat after recovering from a broken leg, maybe two or three weeks ago. They were textbook and precise observations, nearly perfected after years of practice.

Since their patients did not have the ability to speak for themselves anymore, or show discomfort, or express pain, they took it upon themselves to help reveal the dead’s final words. But it was the unpredictable human mind which added tons of variables and what-ifs in the equation; something unseen from the abstract could turn a murder case around and present truths from lies. Their patient’s final meal. Their medicine intake. Past ailments. Angela had a knack for the abstract.

“What do you think so far?” Dr. dos Santos asked, helping her lift a layer of flesh with a large pair of forceps.

Dr. Ziegler, hands deep inside the body’s chest cavity, answered. “Homicide.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Let’s call it a gut feeling, doctor.” An amused wrinkle appeared around Angela’s eyes, revealing the smile under her mask.

“Ha, very funny.” Lucio said. “Are you suggesting a killer clown appeared from her television screen and scared her to death?” He chuckled, “We should send that report to the Chief of Police. Get his grouchy ass storming our office.”

"Wouldn’t that be a sight."

“Speaking of the Chief of Police--”

Angela and Lucio jumped at the new voice.

A short woman, round-faced and perky, smiled at them from behind the autopsy room doors. “I am so sorry for interrupting you guys." she said with a nervous giggle, "How is the examination going?”

“Lucio and I are still not finished with this one, Mei.” Angela said, bowing her head in apology. “Would it be possible if you told Captain Morrison we will finish this after three?”

“Okay,” Mei shrugged, throwing the pair a knowing look. “I guess I’ll tell Detective Dimples to come back another time.”

Dr. Ziegler dropped her scalpel in Mrs. Tanner’s chest.

“Oh, shit.”

Detective Amari was here.

Detective Fareeha Amari.

Fareeha Amari. She was here.

Angela skidded to a halt outside her office door, and took a moment to stare at the twisted knotholes of the wood. Blue eyes, dancing like two fading matchsticks, unable to focus where she was looking until Angela concentrated all her intent on the silver of the doorknob. She had to find the strength to open the door eventually.

Angela worried her lower lip, fingers combing the messy rat’s nest of hair on her head. She tugged at the lapels of her white coat, which smelled of antiseptic and murk from the autopsy earlier. It stank on her skin, under her nose, and her eyes had deep bags under them, as if they were two small ditches dug out by a worn trowel. The scent and look of death always clung to her, but she thought it was impossible to look nice after spending hours in the morgue.

After a few moments shifting her weight between her feet, she willed steel into her bones and pushed the door open. A beam of white light from the hallway’s fluorescent lighting escaped through the gap, and as soon as she opened the door, a person’s shadow revealed itself stretched out onto the rug. She hesitated, her eyes adjusting from the dim room after walking through the hall. Dark clouds covered the sun, the rain pelting her window, overall encompassing her office with a dreary, gray overtone.

When her eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, Angela’s gaze followed the unmoving shadow to its source -- who was wearing a pair of soggy black shoes.

Her eyes traced up to dark trouser pants, pressed, creased, hiding a pair of elegant, long legs. A coat hung over their shoulders, limp and drenched from the afternoon rain.

Detective Fareeha Amari loomed above Angela’s desk, surveying the mass of documents and towers of folders strewn about. Her head quirked to the side, probably in curiosity, hair dripping with rain water. It was a miracle Detective Amari did not notice Angela leaning against the doorway, her knees folding over each other, wobbling like jelly.

Taking a shaky step forward, Angela closed the door behind her, careful so as not to startle her visitor. She licked her lips, mind racing over ideas on how to greet the detective without looking like a baffled idiot. Just a simple greeting. She had to sound calm, firm, use her customer service telephone voice. That always worked.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Detective Amari. You cut a dashing figure, as always.’

That was horrible.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Angela forced herself to abandon her thoughts, dragging her eyes away from the pair of long legs gracing her office, and into Detective Amari’s eyes. Dark brown eyes, almost black. It left her rooted on the spot, her knees stopped wobbling like jelly. “Glad to see you again, doctor.”

“Fancy dashing you here."

Detective Amari raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking to an amused grin. “I’m sorry?”

Angela cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There were a few things Angela knew about the mysterious Detective Fareeha Amari.

First. She had a stress ball tucked inside her jacket pocket at all times. It was orange, like a basketball.

Second. She wore a lady’s suit at work, and sometimes a baggy windbreaker jacket during colder days, instead of a blazer. She wore a pair of jeans and a baseball cap during stakeouts and sting operations. She always looked perfect.

Third. She did not mind being referred to as a they, or a he, or a she. “Doesn’t matter.” Detective Amari said once, “Please call me whatever you like.”

Fourth. A week ago, Detective Amari had a cut on her cheek and a broken finger. Two weeks before that, a suspect made her long nose crooked for a while. Three months ago, she broke her leg after falling off a flight of stairs in the precinct.

Today a broken arm hung over her chest in a sling, and half of her face was swollen and purple like a bowl of bruised mangoes and grapes.

Fifth. Fareeha knew a few things about Dr. Angela Ziegler.

"Please tell me those bandages aren’t hiding anything serious.”

“Got roughed up a couple of days ago." Detective Amari said.

“You should take better care of yourself, detective.”

“I’m used to it, doctor. Occupational hazard.” She smiled, motioning at her cast. “Comes with the territory.”

Angela shook her head and scoffed, trying to keep herself from being charmed by the curve of Fareeha’s full lips, and the grin reaching her eyes. “Oh, nonsense. Let me get you something.”

Detective Amari faltered, “I hope I am not intruding, doctor?”

Angela waved away her weak excuses, and began searching for a towel, a handkerchief -- anything that could help her friend. She ignored a few empty drawers, and quickly closed the one overflowing with rubbish before Fareeha saw her shame.

Finally, she found a hand towel from her tote bag, and handed it Detective Amari with an embarrassed chuckle.

“I guess I should have been better prepared, considering the local weather.” Angela said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Always raining, and dark, and...” -- stop talking about the weather, Angela -- “Anyway, I hope this can help.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Fareeha smiled, and took the offered towel from Angela’s hand. “To be fair, it’s not everyday a soaked idiot comes in dripping water everywhere after forgetting to bring an umbrella.”

“Indeed. I mean, you’re not an idiot. That’s not what I meant.” Angela twisted her fingers around each other, resisting the urge to caress the bruises on Detective Amari’s cheek. “And you are free to intrude on my work any time, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Detective Amari opened her mouth, pausing as if she was about to apologize for the second time, before changing her mind. “Thank you.”

“Wuh -- ” Words, Angela. “Would you like to take a seat and tell me why you got injured, this time?”

“Just a group of guys assaulting a kid in an alleyway.” She replied with a tight smile, shaking her head. “We didn’t expect it to turn into a car chase across the square to sixth avenue. Backed them up into a building, where they had friends waiting. One of them sucker punched me.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“I broke my arm after tripping over a rubbish bin an hour later.”

“Sounds... exciting.”

“And a lot of paperwork,” Detective Amari frowned. “Which is less fun compared to a car chase, I guess.” She handed Angela the damp towel after attempting to dry her face. Detective Amari took a moment to comb her hair back with her fingers, dark strands curling over her cheek, making it look both neat and tousled and... “Maybe you should take a seat, doctor? Your knees are shaking.”

Angela felt herself fall into her leather chair, boneless -- she cleared her throat. “So, how can I help you today, Detective Amari? Is this about a case?”

The detective tensed, her mouth turning into a frown as she leaned against the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the edge. “Yes, in fact.” She pulled out a thick case file from inside her suit jacket, and Angela wondered how she kept it dry and intact after running through the rain.

“We got a video clip.”

Dr. Ziegler flipped through case file, her knuckles white as she flipped through the pages. Pictures and reported evidence spread across desk in a mess, all of which she still remembered fresh in her mind, while the newly found puzzle-piece played on her computer monitor in a loop.

“Maybe the recording was tampered?”

“Maybe.” Detective Amari scratched the bandage under her chin. “Our techie couldn’t find anything suspicious in the recording. Or the recorder, for that matter. There were no time skips, no evidence of anything being erased. No tampering, as far as we know.”

“So his wife hid the camera inside the… ?”

“She hid the camera inside his bookcase.”

“Because she suspected her husband was cheating on her.”

“I know what this looks like. Jealous wife murders husband, plants fake or tampered evidence to get us off her trail.” Detective Amari said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It is true Mrs. Finnegan has a clear motive, but why would she give us the recording? She could have destroyed it, and we would have never known it existed.”

“Detective,” Angela pulled her glasses from her nose. She paused, resting the spectacles on her thigh. “Are you prepared to tell me he was killed by an invisible creature?”

They shared a look.

“These strange cases have been popping up left and right.” Angela said. “We were working on another case before you came to visit, and believe me when I say I can’t wrap my head around that one either.” She leaned against her chair with a tired huff. “They all look like natural causes -- our autopsies reveal they are natural cases. Oftentimes we leave it as is and shelf it, but I’m often at a loss. It always feels wrong, somehow. Off. Like there’s something missing.”

“I know.” Detective Amari pushed herself away from Angela’s desk. “I feel the same.”

The detective stared at the wall opposite Angela, deep in thought. After a while, the square of her shoulders deflated. “I just came by to inform you, doctor. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything. Invisible men, werewolves, body-snatchers, whatever you guys figure out.” she chuckled, finding no humor in her words. “As long as there's evidence backing it, I’m willing to hear anything at this point.”

“This is something your techie can figure out more than I can.” Angela said. She smoothed down the crinkles of her dress shirt, trying to find something her fingers could be busy with while the detective stood too close in front of her. Their knees were almost touching. “Strange video recordings aren’t my forte, unless...”

Detective Amari froze.

“No.”

“Unless I -- ”

“Absolutely not.” Fareeha pivoted around her heels and began to pace, her hand expressing her words wildly. “May I remind you about the last time you took a plunge? Light bulbs exploded, things floated around, creepy voices. And I think that body moved.”

“That was completely my fault. I forgot to mention temporary reanimation can happen sometimes.”

“You fainted and you stared at your hands for an hour, doctor."

"Now, I don't remember that..."

Fareeha shot her a dry look. "You were talking about yellow eyes.”

“Sometimes they get annoyed.”

“I nearly -- ” Fareeha closed her eyes and pulled away, biting the insides of her cheek. “I won’t let you go through that again. It’s too dangerous.”

“We don’t even know if I will make contact.” Angela glanced at the door in case anyone else was listening. “Besides, last time was just a tiny, tiny oversight.”

“A tiny oversight?”

“Fareeha, please listen to me?”

Fareeha closed her mouth and shook her head in disbelief, but decided to do as Angela insisted. Instead, she grabbed the orange stress-ball from inside her jacket pocket, and squeezed it with an iron grip.

“I have lived with this curse all my life, and I wasted so much time trying to forget it ever existed. I’m out of practice, I admit, but I am ready to keep trying.” Angela said. “Two times out of ten it can get worse. Three times out of eight, nothing happens. But there is a fifty-percent chance of us getting the answers we need."

"With the remaining fifty-percent possibility of the guy’s head spinning around? I can deal with poltergeists, maybe, but not that."

“The body’s head didn’t spin.” Angela groaned. "Look, whatever, or whoever is running around in this city, innocent people are getting killed.”

“And we’ll do our best to stop them.” Fareeha said. “We’ll search for other solutions. Our techie can check the video again, she’s a genius. The toxicology report is still pending. Maybe he got stung by a bee and he’s allergic. I dunno.” she winced. “Contacting crazy spirits should be our last resort, doctor. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“And what if there's no other way?”

“I’ll find another way."

“I can do this.” Angela said, almost jumping up from her chair. “I know I can do this.”

“Yes, but I can’t--” Fareeha said with a frustrated sigh, squeezing the ball hard until her hand shook. “I just wanted to update you about the case and tell you what we found. I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing my mind."

"You didn't show this video to anyone else, did you?" she asked, her sentence a statement more than a question. The detective's accompanying silence was enough of a reply.

"I can’t ask you to risk your life again." Fareeha said. "If something happens to you…“

Angela’s shoulders fell.

The rain outside seemed to grow in volume as they both regarded each other, silent and tight lipped. Heavy droplets pelting the windowpane, her desktop computer whirring, thunder rolling across the dreary city.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Fareeha spoke again. “I can't lose you to one of those things, doctor. You are one of the few good friends I have.”

Angela felt her heart flutter. “Well,” she mumbled, inwardly cursing herself for folding under the spell of Fareeha Amari’s words too soon. “I’m, um, same. You are the same, to me, I mean. A friend.” She breathed in awe.

Detective Amari’s lips twitched into a weary smile, tucking her stress ball back inside her coat pocket. “Don’t fret about this case too much.” Her voice deepened in confidence, and Angela felt her back stiffen in attention. “Please leave it to me. I promise we’ll figure something out. Invisible creatures or no.”

“We will.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Angela croaked.

“Good.” Fareeha sighed in relief, “Shit, I need to go. Busy day in the precinct.”

“Of course.”

“Please take it easy, doctor, and don’t do anything without me. My apologies for taking too much of your time.”

Fareeha gathered the case documents from Angela’s desk, shoving it back inside her coat, and began to walk away before Angela could form a coherent reply. “You have my number, Dr. Ziegler, call me any time. I mean it.” Fareeha blindly reached for the door as she turned to look at Angela. Her dark eyes gripped Angela’s attention like a vice, that it seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the room. “Give me two weeks and maybe -- if all else fails -- maybe I will consider helping you do the other thing.”

“How about next week?” Lunch? Dinner? A movie?

An early morning jog around the park?

Oh, forget that, Angela. You can’t jog even if your life depended on it.

Fareeha laughed. “You are, by far, the toughest, most stubborn woman I have ever met. I’ll give you that, doctor.” she winked. “Two weeks, tops, and I promise I will help you.”

“I will take your word for it, detective.” Angela swallowed, her throat pushing down her traitorous thoughts, as if it would spill out of her mouth if she allowed them to stray.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Angela tensed, her fingers digging into the arm of her chair as she watched the detective pull her door open with nary a backwards glance. “Wait, Fareeha.”

“Yes, doctor?”

Angela faltered, chewing her lower lip. Her heart aching as a billion sentences rolled through her head, most of them spontaneous invitations to places she has never seen before. But wouldn't it be nice if she had? With someone like the detective?

Live a little.

“Thank you.” Angela said, “For looking out for me.”

Surprise lit up Fareeha’s face. Her smile crooked, and her eyes warm. They felt like a hearth in Angela’s cold office.

“Any time, Dr. Ziegler.”

Detective Amari was already closing the door behind her before Angela could find it in herself to speak again. The last edges of her shadow disappearing underneath the frame; and with it, the final traces of her warm presence.

Notes: This took so so damn long, I'm not gonna lie folks, we spent the entire two month hiatus to expand this little one-shot into a hopefully more proper multi-chapter. We had a lot of fun plotting and planning things out, but man... did you know you can watch human autopsies online? Yeah... you can watch human autopsies online, full and very graphic ones. Very educational!

Anyway, unfortunately, we can't promise another prompt update (though at least now I know which direction and style we're goin with this), since I'll be moving apartments sometime around next month, and things will be incredibly busy as heck, but we will most definitely do our best :D

Thank you very much for reading! Have a nice day, everyone~

Edited (24/09/17): So soon! Had to post this very late and caught a few minor errors I overlooked :)

#pharmercy #body electric ow ff #my fics #pharmercy fanfiction #pharmercy roulette

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martinlawless · 5 years

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Tour of Malta 2019

Foreign National, General Classification Staged Race Masters E1234 10-13 April 2019

Extracts from my tour diary, to CC Ashwell’s club forum…

Tour registration day Wednesday 10 April 2019

Team CC Ashwell have arrived in Malta all safe and well. Mitchy - riding for Contour Cycles - had a nightmare getting over but he got here eventually. Me, Dave W and Jenny are representing the club. My dad and young Ellie Mitchinson are here in support. The Tour of Malta is a four stage GC race, registered as a Foreign Race with British Cycling, so hard to earn points for individual stages and overall GC are out there for the taking. But primarily, this is racing at its most enjoyable. It’s truly a friendly Tour, very much in the Maltese spirit. We are messing around on bikes in a warm country and drinking coffee in between: so we're all winners.

Among the registered riders, former multi GB national champ, Colin Sturgess, is in with me and Dave in the ‘Masters’ (40+) GC. A former stablemate of Bradley Wiggins, I fully expect to see Colin's wheel briefly before he rides off into the distance. Go get him Mitchy!

I’m staying in the official Tour hotel, so it's nice to bump into others, including Steve and Rachel from Verulam in St Albans. The weather forecast is pretty good. Around 16-20 degrees. Dry. Windy. It’s always windy on these small Mediterranean islands. Malta looks pretty in the Spring with lots of flowers and the grass not yet sun-baked brown. The drivers here are friendly. Just as well, as the major roads are quite busy and some of them are in poor quality.

The first stage is a 7 miles TT. I remember it from last year. It uses one of the National courses here, up and down the hill several times, besides the amazing ancient walled city of Mdina. It’s a nightmare to get any kind of TT rhythm and doesn’t play to whatever strengths I might have. But that’s the way it goes for us all. Fair enough. After that, there are three road race stages. The fourth of which is the one featuring the famous local climb of San Martin: Malta’s mini Alpe d’Huez. We’ll be hitting that seven times.

To check my bike over, I rode a few miles to Mosta this morning to buy a pump. Mosta is famous for its massive domed church, where in the Second World War a gigantic bomb landed through the roof but failed to explode. Sending an already ultra-religious nation into overdrive. Hopefully, this big failing bomb is not a metaphor for my performance on this tour. My objective is to simply enjoy it this time.

I spoke to an old boy outside his bicycle workshop in Mosta. Turns out it’s 78 years old John Magri. Maltese cycling legend, several times national champ and among other accolades finished 31st in the 1972 Olympics. Over an hour later, I’m getting nano-detail on some of his best races and cycling stories from this complete stranger. He’d make a great guest speaker for a Club social evening. He fixed his first bike in 1949. His gran opened the bike shop in 1899. I bought a pump from his son who now runs the shop who laughingly asked if his dad had been talking to me for a while...

In the afternoon, we all met up to ride gently over to Golden Bay for a coffee in the beachside cafe. Dave and Jenny had a swim in the sea and we tootled back. A leisurely way to spend an afternoon. The climb up San Martin has been partially resurfaced, but up top, the surface is not unlike Paris-Roubaix.This Stage 4 will have a bit of everything.

We register this evening and get briefed and find out out TT start times for tomorrow. Then a bit of local pasta and an evening of fettling with bike and kit. I’ve had a decent winter of training by my standards. It’s not at all scientific, but I gauge myself as being just about as fit as last year - so let’s see how we get on. The word is, the Masters field is tougher this year in general.

We'll be updating this thread as much as we can. Writing helps pass the time as we don't really want to ride or drink or eat too much to rest in between stages. And the messages of support give us a great boost. Racing day after day for four days is draining. Imagine the pros doing it for three weeks in a grand tour!

If there was ever a bike race to suit Ashwell, it would be this: it has the competitive element and camaraderie of our grass track events... But with sunshine. They drive on the left, use three-way plugs, Malta has it all. Stick it in your diary for 2020 and it will motivate you to train throughout the winter.

Tour of Malta, Stage 1 Individual Time Trial Mdina Bypass Thursday 11 April 2019 It’s warm and calm today. In fact, it’s the hottest day that I’ve raced here. It’s going to be a fast day. Certainly faster than this stage last year in the wind and rain. Luckily, it’s still quite early. All stages start at 10am.

The team muster on a side street off the TT course: which is a modern dual carriageway bypass road, bookended by roundabouts, by the side of the UNESCO World Heritage ancient walled city Mdina, which is not out of place if it were in Game of Thrones. The road is pretty much a straight line with quite a slope on it: think like the gentler part of the slope to Tadlow on our TT course, but around a half mile long. We have to repeat the loop five times for a 7 miles course.

The local teams always turn out in force and set up well: gazebos, pumping music, bottles and gels neatly laid out, rollers, their DSs do a great job. It gives each stage a festival-like feeling. We chat to various people. We spot (World Champ) Colin getting ready. He looks big and strong. We are friendly with Mosta Cycling Club mostly, so park ourselves there. We see our smiling Italian friend from last year. The Gibraltar team have good team branded kit: I note to up our tour kit game next time. We catch up with a few Brits. Everyone is pepped and excited, and a little nervous too of course and keen to get going.

With the road closed, we tootle around to warm up and familiarise ourselves with the loop and test our bikes. I’m delighted to see that last year’s dodgy eroded part of the road is well patched up. At the bottom corner, there is a lot of debris. Daryl, from CC london who we have adopted, asks the organisers to brush it, but I take the opportunity to remove the big bits while down there. I pick up a twig, then realise it’s a squashed giant centipede. As big as your big finger. I’m reminded that we’re not that far from Africa and Libya.

Team Ashwell and Contour prep well. Everything is easier when the weather is good. I've removed my bottle cage. Put on rubber aero socks. I’ve got tri-bars on which means I have no computer to look at, but actually don’t mind that: I intend to not use numbers - but riders - to gauge my effort and define my power exertions.

Jenny is the second rider off. Before you know it she is up and down the loop like a yo-yo. The start/finish is in the middle of the course and we get a good opportunity to cheer our team on twice a lap. Soon enough Dave is off, then Mitchy is off just in front of me and Daryl a few riders behind.

The good conditions mean we get the ramp start. Quite a nervous thing as there’ll be instant gravity in effect from the moment you’re released: you go hard instantly or you’ll slide off. “Watch this one, he’s Lawless. Breaking the law.” say the organisers in thick Maltese English, fascinated by the surname as I’m counted down. Three two one. Go. I’m off.

Despite the initial climb, months of stockpiled adrenaline from thinking about this start is released in an instant and I go off like a rocket to the top of the loop in what feels like three breaths. This course is technical in as much as gear selection is everything with no level section. I turn and go down in a high-ish gear not really knowing if I’m being optimal. The legs instantly hurt. To be expected. I can feel a soft wind in my face going downhill and think it will suit me as it will inhibit the power guys who can smash me on this section. I turn quite confidently in the good, bone-dry conditions and break the imminent uphill down into parts: an easier first bit until the fifth lamppost and then a hard gear on the steadier section in search of a good rhythm before nudging back a touch for the steeper peak and then turning for the downhill again. I count each lap out aloud to myself when going over the line. Without a computer I have a small fear that in the midst of the effort I’ll ride too few, or too many, laps.

I can’t yet see my minute-man, but on the second lap, Daryl goes past me on the downward section like a rocket. I know he’s good but all the same am impressed he’s caught me so soon. I’m delighted, all of a sudden I’ve got a perfect rabbit to chase after: someone better than me. It really focuses me. On the uphill, Daryl is surprised that I actually overtake him, such is the difference between my uphill and downhill power outputs. But I only serve to galvanise him and 20 seconds later he’s back in front. But this is good for me and I can sense I am pushing hard as I’ve got quite a stitch now and breathing hard. The air is hot. I move to my highest gear on the downhills to try and keep sight of him. It’s super hard and hurtful: but I know it’s short-term.

By lap 4, Daryl is too far ahead to be any use as a marker. I’m motivated by my team mates’ cheers and picking off the various riders on the course. Some are way off any TT form: but credit to them for turning up on a working day and having a go and enjoying themselves. Into the last lap and I spot my 2-minute man. He makes a good target, but eventually I catch him with three-quarters of a lap to go. It’s the downhill run and I’m like John Noakes in that Blue Peter episode when he’s training with the paratroopers in a plane in high-up thin air and he can’t remember his name or the name of Shep. I endeavour to glance at the big digital clock at the start line, on the other side of the road as I go past - because I start to doubt myself on how many laps I’ve done. It tells me I’ve got exactly two and half minutes to cross the line if I want to break 20 minutes. Righto: I’ve got one final thing to aim for to make me push hard in the final run in.

Out of nowhere, ‘Safety Dance’ by Men Without Hats pops into my head. It’s a song I know is very short and just over two and a half minutes long as it took a tiny amount of space on my Now That’s What I Call Music album. I hurtle down to the bottom of the course with ‘We can dance if we want to...’ going through my mind. I turn for the uphill and happily go into the red in the knowledge I can blow up over the line. ‘Am I in the second chorus bit?’ I think to myself as I see the finishing line coming up. ‘It’s the Safety Daaaaance’ I can hear as I make out Jenny urging me on on the line. Surely there’s still some of the song left? - I think as I blast over the line and glide to a stop where Mitchy is recovering by the side of the road.

We stumble back to the start, sweat is dribbling down my face and my uncomfortable TT helmet is about to get thrown into the cacti as I find out that I had broken 20 minutes with 19:46. Happy days!

There’s a short wait for all the Masters to complete their rides to find out I’d come 8th. I’m delighted. I’ve beaten local sports legend Fabio by 3 seconds, who has his own branded car with his face on it and ’Team Fabio’ written on it and everything. Dave W is 15th and Mitchy 6th. Jenny is 7th in her race, smashing the gap to the winner from over two minutes last year, to just 40 seconds. Wow. So, great results for us all considering the quality of the field. Of course, Colin Sturgess wins the Masters. Indeed, his time beats the winner of the Elites race. Wow. He will be hard to undo for the GC race in the next three road stages - that’s for sure. It will be great to be involved as things unfold. Daryl gets 3rd and takes the podium after we have a drink in the most delightful cafe nearby that’s utterly hidden away from anywhere.

So, we are now prepping for Stage 2. A hilly crit near the hotel, essentially. We’re all unsure as to how the dynamic of the peloton will work out: if it will break? More than once? Who’s where? How everyone will place and how it will affect GC? These are the thoughts I will take to my 10 euro buffet hotel dinner downstairs.

Tour of Malta, Stage 2 Road Race St Paul’s Bay Friday 12 April 2019 Last year, this stage got cancelled. It’s on top of a big hill really near where we are staying and totally exposed to the weather. It was so windy it wasn’t safe, and some club gazebos and the podium blew away.

This year: it’s much better. It’s a bit cooler this morning than yesterday. Mainly because of the stiff breeze coming in from the sea. But it’s fine. Sunny. This stage sends us up and over the road seven times. Each side is a bit like the climb up through the Weston Hills tunnel Baldock bypass road: about as long as it takes to get to the roundabout at the top and yes, pretty steep!

We make our base at the start/finish line at the top of the hill, sign on and prep. I realise I’ve left my aero socks behind, so will be racing in my bed socks that I left on all morning. Other than that, we’re all good. We are all thinking a one bottle strategy as this race is only 26 miles or so. I need to think carefully about this for the fourth stage as I drank much more than anticipated in the warmth and ran pretty low towards the end. We wonder what Colin will do who is in the Red Jersey following his win yesterday. The Elites start first. Then us in the Masters and Juniors races, then the Ladies race, with Jenny looking to improve on her last time here two years ago when she got dropped from the peloton.

We’re off. We take it fairly easy at the start, as to be expected. The first climb is almost like a warm-up. Everyone is settling in and it’s a bit cagey. The riding standard seems pretty high and there doesn’t seem to be any wild antics from anyone. Up, we crest the top and get cheers, then lurch down the steep winding west side of the hill into the wind. It’s a fairly tight turn on both sides. My new brake blocks squeak to let me know they’re working. We turn to climb back up east. This side is steeper. I resolve to keep it in the big ring all the way - but am in the granny ring at the back. The angle suits me and find it OK to stay at the spearhead of the peloton. All eyes are on Colin, waiting to see what he does. First lap done though and he keeps his cards to his chest as we descend to start the second lap.

It starts to crank up from here. Eventually, Colin shows a bit of his strength. The group respond. A few Maltesers have a go but are brought in. The big Gibraltarian who smashed the TT yesterday has a dig. I’m impressed, he’s a big powerful unit. He must have lungs the size of a blue whale. It’s great to have Steve from Veralum around whose wheel I can trust. He’s a very animated rider and nosing around at the front a lot. I’m just being careful and being really quite disciplined on positioning among the riders and tuning my position to shelter from the breeze.

The climb east is hurting some riders and I can hear it getting quieter at the back. I can see Dave W is over his bike in a way to suggest he’s in the red. There’s nothing I can do to stop the momentum of the front and eventually I catch Dave in the corner of my eye when he’s detached with a couple of other Brits who are forming up a second group.

Colin and co are doing that thing of putting the hammer down as we crest the hill so that there’s no respite. I’m holding on OK all the same, as are Mitchy and Daryl. We begin to tonk it down the long descent, comfortably holding 38mph until we squeak brakes, turn and generally take it easyish for the climb. The group puts in pulses of effort and I can see we are shelling riders. Soon, I see its down to twelve of us. Of which, I’m very much in the lower ranks! I ride alongside Colin. He’s a strong looking fella. I get the sense he could do us all if he wanted to. But hasn’t really done so yet.

In a lull, Daryl goes for it and pings off the front. On his wheel an Italian I’d not really noticed before. Daryl and the man from Milan quickly establish a gap of several seconds. The rest of us look to Colin who is watching his Red Jersey disappear. But there really isn’t a response. I can see Mitchy isn’t in the mood to chase his friend, or risk doing a lot of work on his own and blowing up. As we approach the last two laps, it’s clear that the break won’t be chased down and the two brave breakaways will get first and second. Well done to them for their bravery.

So, back in the bunch of ten, it’s going to be a bunch sprint for third place onwards. I really don’t want the last two places and be out of the BC points in eleventh or twelfth. I also want to preserve my GC position too if I can. It’s the bell lap. It’s laughably slow on the initial climb. I even find myself on the front for the first and only time here. Me: in front of this group. lol. I get a bit irritated after a while as no one will take the front off me, even though I'm doing that snakey whiplash thing across the road to shake the front. Then, Mitchy bursts through to ripple the group and I’m relieved of duty. We shoot down the other side and turn for the final climb. I look to see if somehow we’d dropped anyone, but alas, two people will miss on points here.

I’m feeling pretty good as we climb for the final time. I tell myself I can do all right and spin in a strongish gear near the front. We get down to the final 200 metres and there are several riders dropped from the Elites race in the way ahead of us. It’s a bit of a mess as we lurch into the gallop and I miss out on having a decent clean sprint. It’s eyeballs out. As we approach the line, I see Fabio in front who I have 3 seconds on in GC and focus on his wheel. Another 25 metres, I might have caught him, but he beats me by 0.5 second. In the cheering and melee, it’s hard to count my position, but I’m excited to think I got 10th. Mitchy beats Colin in the bunch sprint to get 3rd. Verulam Steve gets 7th. Daryl gets 1st by over 40 seconds and we work out he’s taken the Red Jersey off Colin by around 15 seconds or something (GC positions unconfirmed at the mo) I wander to the race HQ and see I’m confirmed as 9th. I’m delighted.

We gather and swap stories. Dave and Ellie go for a photo with Colin and he gives Ellie his cap! Jenny comes through for the Ladies race finish. She’s in the lead bunch and grabs 6th. This is proper amazing when you consider she got spat out on this same race two years ago. She has transformed herself in that time. Dave, working with the Brits, comes in 17th. I’ll be keen to see that he has kept or even improved on his GC position.

This afternoon, Jenny gets a massage. Mitchy and Ellie go to the beach. We catch up with Dave for a coffee, and then spend ages cleaning kit with hand wash in the bathroom sink. It’s Friday night. But all revelry is to be bottled for Sunday night. Stage 3 tomorrow is designed to give our climbing legs a rest: it’s a flat crit. Surely it will be a bunch sprint. Will it? Will it?? Or, will it? Tune in tomorrow for the continued adventures of Ashwell racing abroad.

Tour of Malta, Stage 3 Crit Zebbug bypass Saturday 13 April 2019 Today was a flat, super simple crit. It’s designed to give the legs a break after yesterday’s hilly road race - and in anticipation of the fourth and final stage: the San Martin road race stage with its steep climb. The course is quite far away from the hotel base and in the middle of the island.

In truth, the straight lined course does tilt. Gently so, but with a fierce headwind on top, today wouldn’t have the simple rhythm that could have been expected. It would swing from steady to bullet fast - depending on head or tailwind.

We would do 10 laps of the 2.6 miles course in the Masters race. As would Jenny in the Ladies race. The wind made the weather feel fresh. It was sunny, but there would be very light showers now and then all morning.

Most of this race went as predicted. Any idea of a break was impossible to imagine. Dave W was clearly loving his favourite course ever - and happily burning watts on the front during the fast tailwind side. There were silly solo attempts, including one by Fabio who I have to keep in check as I only have 3 seconds on him in GC. I think he just wanted to give the fans something to cheer for a little while. But we hauled him in soon enough. At one point it was all Hertfordshire and surrounding areas on the front, with me, Dave, Mitchy, Daryl and Steve from Verulam in a line. Indeed, we were always generally knocking around the front or thereabouts.

10 laps is hard to count accurately what with everything going on. What doesn’t help is when the lapboard gets out of sync which I’m fairly sure is what happened. We thought we were approaching one lap to go, when Colin’s team mate launched a late attack - in an obvious attempt to lure us and give Colin an opportunity to spring the trap. But we brought him in eventually quite easily as we had further to go than thought.

As we approach the final lap, I hear the sudden bang and hiss of a puncturing tyre. Sadly, it turns out to be our Dave. Rotten luck - especially when he’d animated the race so well. He’d hit a pothole at high speed. To his massive credit, he runs to the Start/finish line where young Ellie Mitchinson is waiting with a spare rear wheel. He’d lose a good couple of minutes from the rest of us, but finished and still holds on to a good chance of clawing back up the GC in Stage 4.

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Meanwhile, back in the bunch, it’s all winding up to the big sprint finish we’d anticipated. This would be one for the sprinters. Without the ability to compete, my plan was to go long and build up momentum. Weeks and weeks of road race training all winter with all the talent down at Welwyn had taught me that if I can make the sprint over 20 seconds, I begin to compete and negate the power of the fast sprinters. As we turn the final corner, there’s a lot of hustle and bustle. A few shoulders to shoulders. Mitchy touches wheels with Colin - and quickly apologises. This bit is not for the faint-hearted. Some riders back off. But, I’m loving the rush. I’ve got my eye on Colin and Mitchy and plan to jump into the gap they will leave when they fire the afterburners. The line is fast approaching and I can hear the shouts of support. It cranks up early as I’d hoped and indeed I seize the gap. I’m clear on the right and have a delightfully clear dash to the line. I can’t hear riders huffing behind me but quickly running out of road to do more damage up front. I’m 8th. Mitchy: wins! Beating Colin by a handsome margin. Daryl in the Red Jersey is on my left in 6th. Verulam Steve is 10th. He’d have placed higher for sure but did way too much work on the front earlier on.

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We cruise around and congratulate each other for a good race. I tell Colin how impressed I was by his racing style: so bullish and confident. We get back to see Jenny finish. She’s in the bunch chasing 2nd place downwards, and comes in 7th. She is frustrated as other riders lolling after their race got in her way and pegged her sprint. It’s a shame, but still a massive result. She’s got no team mates and fighting on her own all the way, all the time.

We reconvene and swap stories as we wait for the presentations. It’s great to see Mitchy get a win and pop the champagne on the podium: all in front of his daughter. Daryl retains the Red Jersey. It will be an exciting final stage as a final race, and in GC it will be a great game of chess. A lot can change. Friendships, pacts and allies will be made, then turn on each other. We will be doing calculations in our head to work out time gaps. There will be competitions within the competition. There’ll be heroes, villains, good fortune and cruel fate played out on the winding slope of San Martin hill, its vertiginous descent towards the sea and the crazy fast tailwind valley, repeated seven times. The French say ‘Allez!’, the Maltese say ‘Imshi!’.

Tour of Malta, Stage 4 Road race San Martin Saturday 13 April 2019 In GC terms, this final stage is the decider. Forget what has gone on before.

The San Martin race course is famous here. It has three parts: a vicious, long climb. With a much needed switchback. It varies from not very steep at all to out of the saddle steep for a mile or so. It levels off at the top for a flat fast section before turning for a fast descent on new tarmac. We then turn for a ridiculously fast flat road section through the valley until we start the climb again. For us Masters and Ladies races, we’d do this six times.

The day was pretty fresh, but very warm in the sun. A lot of riders were nervous about this race, though I was pretty calm. I was quite philosophical about everything. What will be will be.

Off we go and Dave hits the front for most of the first lap. It’s steady enough, though I feel my legs are tired. I’m a bit surprised by this and wish I’d done some massage work. We turn for the first climb of San Martin. One of the Italians, Gerloamo, pings off the front straight away. There’s an initial lull as we don’t think the guy is a contender. Then, there’s a surge. Led by another Italian, Tommaso. On reflection: this was a pre-planned Italian move. The weaker guy (not that weak) getting a head start before the stronger guy then stretches the group ensuring both make it.

It’s the first climb, and we are absolutely and suddenly in the red. We are attacking on a massive slope. This is outrageous riding. I know that we’ve instantly shed riders and the race hasn’t even done a lap. This is brutal. Like organ failingly brutal. Seeing stars. Can’t feel my hands. Can’t think. Breathing like a steam train. This is the fastest climb of the hill I’ve ever done, in the smallest group. I cling on as the climb stretches out and try and hold onto the selection at the top. I almost make it, but six guys make a few bike lengths of distance, including Mitchy, Daryl and Colin, while I’m with Verulam Steve and six others in group two. By the time we approach the descent, there’s not enough firepower into our group to bridge back and we have to work with what we’ve got.

That’s not to say things got easier. The GC factor kicks in. This second group is aggressive too. Derek from Gibraltar wants to keep his high place. Fabio wants to do me in. Steve knows he can climb the ranks. The second climb of San Martin is equally devastating. Steve, a rider considerably better than me, records his highest power 5 mins, 15 mins, 1hr and 90 minutes on this race. I mirror him so will have likely done the same stats.

We spin like mad to the top. I don’t know how I do it but I keep with the second group. I keep thinking that I've come all this way for this so am not going to give in. We drop big Derek, but he fights back. I really know we are burning watts: when we catch and pass the Elites race! They started two minutes ahead too. It’s a mess, but we get through them. This race is nuts.

Again and again we go up. It’s super hard. The Elites peloton eventually passes us on the climb. Fabio jumps on to the back of their bunch. A probable DQ in Britain, but acceptable here. He disappears out of view and I know I’ve slipped down a place in GC. At the top Derek puts in a great effort. I can’t believe his power: he’s a proper unit but can do the climbs too. Amazingly, he solos off the front and he too consolidates his GC position when I least expected him to do so.

So six riders up front, plus Fabio and Derek in between us in the second group, means we’re fighting for 9th place down.

We enter the last lap, I lob one bidon and squirt all but a swig of liquid from the other. Grammage counts now. As we climb San Martin for the final time, I actually feel pretty good. I take to the front with Steve and get into a rhythm. I can tell somehow that i’m hurting the others. No one is coming through and it’s very quiet behind me. We approach the line and Steve takes a lead. I hold his wheel but I can’t get past it and to be fair: he’d done so much work on the front, I'd feel bad if I nicked him on the line. Steve gets 9th and I get 10th. Despite the pain: a single BC point for my efforts. All good.

We are all breathing hard, but soon recover to chat. Fabio gives us all respect for holding on to the second group, and my nemesis Ivan from last year is very friendly and kind and says he remembers me from last year and is impressed with my improvements. I was in awe of everyone: this race was a brute to take on.

Mitchy gets 5th from the front group. Colin wins the stage, but Daryl preserves his Red Jersey and we get to see him on the podium to celebrate his GC win.

All of a sudden, it’s all done. The trophies are handed out and we make plans to watch Paris-Roubaix in the hotel bar with everyone. Johnnie, the MCF president and main organiser, has a tearful moment while wrapping everything up, having had the chance to meet the Pope recently for all his efforts to promote cycling in Malta. It’s a big deal to this highly Catholic country.

Jenny comes in 7th on her race. Another great performance on the front bunch. She really has had a strong Tour: up there and in the mix at the tip of each race. Dave comes in around 20th in a third group, along with a couple of friendly Colchester lads who thought Malta would be a bit like Majorca.

10th place today, and 10th in GC for me in end. A very successful trip, especially when the quality of the field is accounted for. The Tour of Malta has awarded me I think 12 BC points. Half the total required for preservation of 2nd Category status. I can’t wait to hit the grass track and score more.

:-)

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These yogis hang out in cadaver labs

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/these-yogis-hang-out-in-cadaver-labs/

These yogis hang out in cadaver labs

Beverly Boyer knows bodies—the registered massage therapist soothes living muscles every day. But when Boyer describes the first time she peered inside a corpse, her voice lowers as if she’s recalling the start of a great romance. “Everything clicked,” she says. “Everything I had learned through my education—the anatomy, the physiology—I could see it right there.”

It’s a Tuesday night in February, and Boyer, standing in the basement of a funeral parlor, is doing her best to share her macabre love interest with others. In 2014, she founded what’s now called the Colorado Learning Center of Human Anatomy, which rents space in a Longmont mortuary, to give other flesh professionals—massage therapists, yoga teachers, acupuncturists, and energy workers, among others—access to deceased and donated bodies. Each week, dozens of Boyer’s students gather here to manipulate the soft tissue of cadavers, hoping to gain anatomical insight to apply to their own day jobs.

Hers is one of a handful of cadaver schools for the nonmedical crowd that has risen up in the past several years. They promise unconventional students a sort of anatomical enlightenment, focusing on the body’s fascial layers, muscular origins, insertion points, nervous systems, and biomechanical functions (and dysfunctions).

As a local lover of science, yoga, and all things strange, I’ve long wondered what these idiosyncratic dissection enthusiasts get out of their evenings with the deceased.

Tonight, I’m watching Boyer run a class for about a dozen yoga instructors. But she is not the teacher. That title belongs to Vesalius—the dead man whose foot the students are now passing around. Just prior to this, the students had nervously chattered while donning paper gowns, rubber gloves, and masks sometimes daubed in eucalyptus oil to staunch the stench of formaldehyde. But with Vesalius’ sole laid bare—whitish-yellow, oddly plush, threaded through with fibrous muscle and tendon—they fall silent.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” asks Boyer. She encourages them to feel the heft of their teacher’s heel in their hands.

As the foot makes its rounds, Boyer removes a towel covering the torso. She lifts layers of muscle and bone from his skinless, dissected midsection. “It looks like turkey,” says one of the students. Someone giggles, then stops abruptly.

Boyer is rooting around for Vesalius’ erector spinae—a muscle group that spans the length of the vertebral column. In yin yoga, the specialty of today’s group of students, one might access it with a long child’s pose, a forward bend that relaxes both the muscle and the fascia that covers it. The theory is that this release activates the parasympathetic nervous system, calming the body’s fight-or-flight impulse and unraveling physical stress.

As Boyer dips her hand into Vesalius’ hollowed-out torso, one student bounces from foot to foot; another’s eyes shine with what look like tears.

Dana Balafas, a bespectacled woman with Instagram-worthy bangs, stands away from the rest of class. As Boyer describes the erector spinae’s role in helping the body fold forward, Balafas suddenly drops her head down to her legs. Boyer pauses to ask if she’s feeling well.

“Yeah,” says Balafas, snapping back upright. She’s just trying to make sense of her own erector spinae.

Not long ago, few who weren’t doctors, coroners, or med students had a chance to handle a dissected cadaver. And as late as the 19th century, the corporeal cleavage that gave medical professionals their best pre-MRI glimpse into bodies came from plundered graves or the victims of public executions. Curious vivisectors broke all kinds of laws and social taboos to practice their craft.

“Even doctors and staff at medical schools were involved in grave robbing,” says Raphael Hulkower, an endocrinologist who penned a research article on the history of dissection. The means may have been unsavory, he says, but grave robbing supported students’ desperate need to understand the workings of the biological machines they sought to repair. Even in our age of digital medicine and computer simulations, academics still believe that cadavers are the best way for students to study anatomy. It’s little wonder that yogis, driven as much by a desire to respect the body as to see its inner workings, have gotten into the act. And Colorado—with two other facilities within a 100-mile radius of here regularly offering similar courses to Boyer’s—turns out to be a unique haven for those looking to get out of corpse pose and into some actual corpses.

Boyer beat them all by a couple of decades. In 1995, two years into her career as a massage therapist, she persuaded a professor at Ohio State University to give her a tour of the cadaver lab. It would take a while, but she finally got into the business for herself. Nearly 400 students came through her doors in 2016, and more than 700 in 2017.

Among those who donate their remains to the stretch-and-release sciences: lawyers, construction workers, nurses, and teachers, most of them from the community and some of whom were yoga practitioners themselves. While still alive, donors can help decide which classes they will teach in the academic afterlife. They can also choose how much Boyer reveals to students about their lives and professions, information that can assist in the teaching.

Tonight’s teacher arrived at the center with only two identifiers (88, colon cancer). Boyer has named him Vesalius for a 16th-century Flemish physician known as the founder of modern human anatomy. To encourage her students to connect to Vesalius, she shares the backstory she has given him based on his distinct physiology; she calls him her “rancher” because his right supraspinatus muscle—part of the rotator cuff—carries tension lines that suggest repeated overhead use, lasso-style. And because his knees show hardly any signs of arthritis (very odd for a man his age), Boyer proposes that maybe he spent more time on a horse than his feet.

“He had really nice knees,” she says.

Though devoted to my own yoga practice, I’m wary of the exaggerated claims and pseudoscience often associated with the discipline. It might offer stress relief, help with pain management, and make people more flexible, but at its core, yoga is spiritual—and more often than not, spirit and science seem to diverge. So my ears perk up when Boyer veers off the hard-science stuff and pronounces the word “chakra,” the wheel-like energy centers that Eastern religions associate with one’s life force.

Is she about to show us some cluster of nerves that can explain the “blockages” or “vibrations” of the third eye, or why a hip-opening yoga pose might realign out-of-whack sacral chakras and restore emotional well-being?

Not exactly. She stops short of making any scientific extrapolations, but she’s happy to connect the dots.

“Here’s where his heart chakra would have been,” she says. She gestures toward Vesalius’ thoracic cavity in a moment more of meditative reflection than instruction. “The heart takes earth and stomach and connects it to heaven.”

Vesalius’ heart may connect him to heaven, but his butt is in a plastic bin by his feet. Boyer hands the tissue to a student. “That’s the glute,” she says. “Here, pull.” The student tugs on a long, leathery piece of iliotibial (IT) band.

His butt is in a plastic bin by his feet.”

When attached to a leg, the IT band stretches from the posterior iliac crest above the gluteus maximus to the knee, helping the hip move. Tonight, Boyer uses Vesalius’ backside to demonstrate the resilience of connective tissue.

“Pull harder,” Boyer says. As the student lets it go, it settles back into place. Boyer puts the butt back in the bin.

Boyer conveys a profound respect for people who donate their organs to science. She’s already committed her mortal remains to lie on the same steel slab one day. “Please thank the teachers in your own way tonight,” she tells the students as the class breaks up.

Chattiness returns as the trainees slide out of their gowns, shoving used gloves into the trash and washing their hands. The towel-covered bodies still lie splayed on tables beside them. (A few quietly agree that Vesalius does indeed look a lot like turkey jerky.) But from now on, they concede, they’ll see dead people when they downward dog.

I gaze around at the mysterious-looking spray bottles, the moisture that drips from the cadavers and down drains in the metal tables, the quote about kindness displayed beside anatomical charts. Balafas tells me she’ll think of Vesalius’ spine whenever she’s tempted to skimp on her stretches, and as she prepares sequences for her yoga students. But having earlier handled the heart of “Miss V,” a teacher who died of brain cancer in her 80s, Balafas now has a curious request: She’d like to see inside the woman’s skull. Balafas’ mother, it turns out, died of the same. Boyer reveals an open cranium with the flick of a towel, explaining where the cancer was located and how little of the brain it compromised.

“She has a beautiful brain,” Boyer muses.

Erin Blakemore is a Boulder, Colorado–based journalist and author.

This article was originally published in the Summer 2018 Life/Death issue of Popular Science.

Written By Erin Blakemore

#Science

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best-trampoline-reviews · 7 years

Text

Indoor Trampoline

The 5 Best Indoor Trampolines to Enjoy a Routine of Physical Exercise at Home

Did you know that rebound exercises are an excellent alternative to get fit?

Besides being a fun activity, jumping on a mini trampoline can burn more than 400 calories per hour. For that reason and others, we dedicate our article of the day to this wonderful athletic tool, stay with us and know everything you need to know about the best indoor trampoline.

The great advantage of this wonderful exercise is that you can practice it from the comfort of your home, without leaving home and without paying expensive memberships of sports gyms, while simultaneously improving your motor skills and your sense of balance.

You will be surprised to know that jumping on a trampoline can exercise the 638 muscles present in your body, it is a low impact activity, capable of revitalizing your entire body.

If you are excited about the idea but you are one of those people who do not count the space available at home to install a large trampoline, do not despair. Today we have at our disposal small versions of trampolines, also known as ” rebounders “, to enjoy all the benefits that it offers us from the living room of our home.

What is the best indoor trampoline? Having a fitness trampoline at home will put at your fingertips a fun and innovative way to exercise, to lose weight, increase your stamina levels and strengthen your immune system.

However, finding the perfect trampoline for you is a more complex task than it seems. We live in a world full of alternatives and current market is a reflection of this reality … To navigate with skill the sea of available options is necessary to be well informed.

Keep these factors in mind before buying your dreamed trampoline: The price, the brand , the design, the size, the opinion of the user community and of course the characteristics of each model.

Thinking of you, we prepare a comparative list , consult our 5 suggestions and find a good quality trampoline to equip your home.

AFW 106012 – Professional trampoline It tolerates a maximum weight of 200kg.

We present you a super trampoline, this mini trampoline is the perfect tool to tone your body and improve your health.

This design gives the user a high-density jump zone, reinforced with an ultra-resistant double layer synthetic fabric. In addition, it comes equipped with a clamping system of 36 extra strong springs to provide a safe and functional product.

The package includes a detachable 124 cm support bar.

AMDirect Fitness Trampoline Trampoline

Available in different sizes and in 2 colors: Red and blue.

It is a wonderful folding trampoline for interiors, a cheap and super versatile model. This equipment has a jump area of 96 cm and a safe and non-slip support system.

It can be easily installed without the need to use tools. Tolerates a maximum load weight of 100kg.

Its folding design makes it easy to transport, it can be folded in 2 or 4 sections to save space when storing it.

SportPlus Fitness Trampoline with Adjustable Handle

It tolerates a maximum weight of 130 kg.

It is the ideal equipment for practicing exercises at home , this trampoline has a jump area of 84 cm and comes equipped with a removable and adjustable support bar that varies in height from 85 to 119 cm.

The structure has 36 bungee cords for cushioning, to offer the user a stable, safe, silent and low impact product for the joints.

This trampoline weighs a total of 11 kg. And it is available in 3 different colors.

Marcy-Fitness Trampoline Fitness

Excellent relation between quality and price

It is a mini folding trampoline , economical and very useful when toning the muscles, legs and abdomen . The equipment has a jump surface of 70 cm and a support bar of 88 cm in height.

The legs of the trampoline have anti-slip rubber to provide maximum stability to the user. In addition, it is capable of tolerating a maximum weight of 140 kg.

The design is very versatile since it allows to assemble the trampoline with different heights and angles.

Hudora folding trampoline Includes a transport bag made of polyester

We present a great folding trampoline , the structure comes with 8 feet of steel with anti-slip rubber to provide greater safety and protect the installation surface. In addition, it has 48 ultra resistant support springs.

The equipment holds a maximum load of 100 kg. The design has a folding system that allows to bend the trampoline in 4 sections to facilitate the task of transporting and storing it.

Benefits of using a trampoline If you thought that using a trampoline was simply a recreational activity for children, think again! Many scientific studies have proven that using a mini trampoline for your physical training gives your health countless benefits, here and now we tell you everything about it.

Strengthens your cardiovascular system: Trampoline jumping makes your blood flow, which brings more oxygen to your cells. Stimulate your lymphatic system: The movement you do when jumping up and down stimulates your lymphatic system, allowing your body to release toxins. Reduces stress levels: Jumping on a trampoline releases endorphins and reduces the production of cortisol, the stress hormone. Improve your balance: By jumping frequently improve your balance, posture and coordination. It helps increase bone density: This activity prevents diseases such as osteoporosis, since the rebound benefits bone mass by strengthening the bones.

How to choose the right bouncer? Make a good investment depends exclusively on you, investigate and consider every detail, remember that information is power … In that order of ideas, these are the factors that you should consider when choosing a perfect bouncer.

Comfort It is a determining factor. Some available designs allow you to jump barefoot, others require the use of shoes at the time of training. Being really comfortable will depend on the design of your preference.

Rebound type The level of rebound will depend on the design you choose. Some trampolines have a higher level of rebound, this does not mean they are more effective than other designs.

The trampolines with the highest level of rebound are designed for cardio routines, while the models with little rebound level are designed to stimulate the lymphatic system.

Quality of the painting Make sure you choose a resistant product, to achieve it choose a model with a firm and stable frame, capable of withstanding the wear and abrasion generated by frequent use.

Size Indoor trampolines usually cover about 1 meter wide. However, after an exhaustive search you can find some designs of larger or smaller size.

Choose one that suits the space you have available in your home.

Mat They are usually manufactured in nylon, plastic or canvas. The best quality mats will allow you to jump barefoot without hurting your feet.

Springs Vs. Strings Both systems have their advantages, it will depend on you to choose the one that best suits your life. The ropes are durable and offer greater stability. The springs give you more bounce level but they must be replaced every so often.

Stability bar Some routines require a point of support. Opt for a trampoline equipped with a removable bar, so you can remove it and put it as the occasion warrants.

Maximum capacity Each model tolerates a specific maximum weight. Choose a design that can support your weight without problems, remember that this factor will determine the level of security offered by the equipment.

from Best Trampoline Brands Reviews http://bit.ly/2ovSM9t via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Best Trampoline Brands Reviews

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cristinajourdanqp · 7 years

Text

CrossFit Training: How to Add Mass and Build Strength with Primal

Gaining mass and building strength while CrossFitting should be a breeze. You’re lifting heavy things using compound full-body movements like squats, deadlifts, and presses, providing a potent growth stimulus to your muscles. Yet, many people fall short of their goals, perhaps losing weight and improving performance but failing to really gain any real muscle or strength.

Today, I’m going to explain how going Primal can help you achieve both goals.

First, you must understand the very Primal reality of your body’s hormonal systems and their relation to the environment: Acknowledge that you are an organism whose endocrine system is acutely attuned to the inputs it receives. It’s actively engaged in the world around you, making predictions and taking actions based on your perceptions. If your body thinks it’s living through a famine, it will conserve energy and eliminate wasteful extravagances like big muscles and 2x body weight back squat. If your body thinks it’s living through plentiful times, it will be more liberal with energy and allow the growth of extracurricular tissues, like big muscles. Create an environment of abundance—or even the impression of one—and you will be more likely to gain muscle and strength.

First and Foremost, Eat More Calories

Providing a caloric surplus doesn’t just provide the raw materials necessary to build more tissue, though that’s a big part of it. It also sends the message to your endocrine system that you’re living in a resource-rich environment and that it’s okay to splurge a bit. Your body, first and foremost, just wants to survive. CrossFitters have a higher baseline because of the stressful training they engage in, so the calorie excess is really important here. Start by adding about 10% to your calorie intake.

Get Your Precursors!

People forget that hormones—the anabolic foremen directing the operation that constructs new muscle tissue—are material things with physical precursors, triggers, and building blocks. Most of the necessary precursors, triggers, and building blocks come from the food we eat.

Protein Is a Major One

The muscles are made of protein. That’s why eating the skeletal muscle of animals is the best way to get a dense whack of protein. It also means we need to eat protein to build more muscle. But protein helps stimulate muscle protein synthesis by another route, too: spiking insulin, which shuttles amino acids into muscle tissue.

A 2011 paper on optimal protein intakes for athletes concluded that 1.8 g protein/kg bodyweight (or 0.8 g protein/lb bodyweight) maximizes muscle protein synthesis, whereas another suggested “a diet with 12-15% of its energy as protein.” 0.8 g/lb is probably a safe baseline, and you may not need much more than that.

Carbs Are Important As Well

While they aren’t necessary for muscle gain, they can certainly help when used in the right context. For one, they spike insulin, which helps shuttle amino acids into muscle for muscle protein synthesis. They replenish lost glycogen, which you need to support future strength training endeavors. When you do eat carbs in a post-workout context, keep fat low. Fat is a huge factor in muscle gain (as you’re read below), but not in an acute, immediate sense. In the post workout carb-loading window, dietary fat is more likely to be stored.

Eat as many carbs as you earn.

Favor Saturated and Monounsaturated Fats over Polyunsaturated Fats

The more saturated and monounsaturated fat you eat, the higher your testosterone. But as you increase the amount of omega-6 polyunsaturated fat you eat in relation to saturated and monounsaturated fat, you lower your testosterone, increasing your cortisol:testosterone ratio and impeding your ability to gain muscle and strength.

Eat Seafood on a Regular Basis

The omega-3 fats, found in fatty fish, fish oil, shellfish, and cod liver oil, have been shown to improve muscle protein synthesis in healthy young and middle-aged adults. Seafood tends to be rich in micronutrients that are important for building muscle, like zinc (oysters). An added bonus that seafood itself provides a bevy of pro-anabolic nutrients. Even codfish protein may have particularly potent muscle-building powers.

Increase Your Cholesterol Intake

Yes, increase. The current scientific consensus is that dietary cholesterol has nothing to do with heart disease. On the contrary, cholesterol is a precursor to testosterone; extra dietary cholesterol may increase testosterone production.

Increase Your Zinc Intake

Zinc is another important precursor to testosterone production. In young adults subjected to daily training, supplementing with zinc prevented the normal reduction in thyroid and testosterone production. Oysters and red meat are the best sources of zinc.

Eat Plenty of Vitamin A and D

Preferably vitamin A pre-formed in animals, and vitamin D from the sun.

Both vitamin A and vitamin D interact to increase muscle protein synthesis. Liver is the best source of vitamin A. Cod liver oil is also good and comes with vitamin D.

Foods to Prioritize for These Nutrients and Precursors

Whole eggs, not just the whites. Pastured eggs will contain far more micronutrients than conventional eggs.

Oysters and mussels.

Cod liver oil.

Beef and chicken liver.

Sardines, wild salmon, cod.

Other Variables To Improve Your Gains Prioritize Strength Training

I said at the start of this series that I wouldn’t make recommendations that interfered with your workouts. After all, your whole purpose is to support your CrossFit training. Most CF boxes I’ve known include straight strength work alongside, or sometimes as a replacement for, classic metabolic conditioning workouts (the WODs).

If gaining mass and muscle and strength is your primary goal, consider switching out a metcon or two for some of these straight-up strength training sessions, or maybe modifying your approach to the metcon. Instead of going for time, go for intensity. Focus on hitting the lifts, even increasing the weight if need be, and allow yourself more rest. You won’t place first, but you’ll provide a different stimulus that should increase strength gains.

Don’t Forget Your Tendons

Muscle is great. Everyone can appreciate a bulging bicep, a striated calf, a wide back, prominent traps. They exude strength. They produce strength. But there’s another aspect to strength that goes unacknowledged: the tendons.

Tendons are rather mysterious. What do they do, exactly, and how do they figure into strength?

They attach muscles to bones. Muscles transmit force through the tendon and make movement possible. Contracting your muscles pulls on the tendons, which yanks on the bone, producing movement.

Tendons also provide an elastic response, a stretch-shortening recoil effect that helps you jump, run, lift heavy things, and absorb impacts. Think of it like a rubber band. A healthy, strong tendon can provide a lot of recoil strength.

CrossFit, in particular, places a lot of demands on the tendons. All those Olympic lifts, those kipping pullups, those muscle-ups, those box jumps? The tendon shoulders the load and makes the movements possible. You need to support them, make them stronger, to get stronger yourself.

Eccentrics (lowering the weight) are the best and simplest treatment we have right now for treating and even healing tendon injuries. Since heel dips can heal Achilles’ tendinopathy and single-leg decline eccentric squats can heal patellar tendinopathy, doing them before injuries occur should make them stronger and more resistant.

CrossFit is about moving as quickly and safely and cleanly as you can, but consider weaving in some light-ish, slow eccentric movements. Downhill walking, slowly lowering oneself to the bottom pushup position, eccentric bicep or wrist curls, and anything that places a load on the muscle-tendon complex while lengthening should improve the involved tendons.

Don’t Shortchange Recovery

Cortisol production is a normal part of the post workout hormone response in addition to a healthy circadian rhythm and stress response. However, when those levels are chronically too high, the effect can be catabolic rather than anabolic. This nterferes with the degree of muscle growth that’s possible compared to the potential with proper rest.

Get Your Collagen

Our tendons contain a ton of collagen, and few people eat or make enough of its constituent amino acids to cover all our tissue-building needs. Eat collagen, drink bone broth, or eat plenty of gelatin-rich meats like skin, oxtail, shank, and neck to provide adequate glycine. Taking 15 grams of gelatin with vitamin C an hour before your workout enhances collagen synthesis in connective tissues (which include the tendons).

There’s a lot of advice out there for gaining weight and building muscle and getting stronger. Much of it is effective—you do what they recommend and you’ll get stronger—but most of it is incomplete. After today’s post, I hope you feel equipped with more information, and I hope that information helps you unlock new and greater gains.

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care!

This article was co-written with Laura Rupsis, Level 1 CrossFit Certified, Primal Health Coach Certified, and owner of Absolution CrossFit in La Grange, IL.

Want to make fat loss easier? Try the Definitive Guide for Troubleshooting Weight Loss for free here.

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fishermariawo · 7 years

Text

CrossFit Training: How to Add Mass and Build Strength with Primal

Today, I’m going to explain how going Primal can help you achieve both goals.

First and Foremost, Eat More Calories

Get Your Precursors!

Protein Is a Major One

Carbs Are Important As Well

Eat as many carbs as you earn.

Favor Saturated and Monounsaturated Fats over Polyunsaturated Fats

Eat Seafood on a Regular Basis

Increase Your Cholesterol Intake

Increase Your Zinc Intake

Eat Plenty of Vitamin A and D

Preferably vitamin A pre-formed in animals, and vitamin D from the sun.

Both vitamin A and vitamin D interact to increase muscle protein synthesis. Liver is the best source of vitamin A. Cod liver oil is also good and comes with vitamin D.

Foods to Prioritize for These Nutrients and Precursors

Whole eggs, not just the whites. Pastured eggs will contain far more micronutrients than conventional eggs.

Oysters and mussels.

Cod liver oil.

Beef and chicken liver.

Sardines, wild salmon, cod.

Other Variables To Improve Your Gains Prioritize Strength Training

Don’t Forget Your Tendons

Tendons are rather mysterious. What do they do, exactly, and how do they figure into strength?

They attach muscles to bones. Muscles transmit force through the tendon and make movement possible. Contracting your muscles pulls on the tendons, which yanks on the bone, producing movement.

Don’t Shortchange Recovery

Get Your Collagen

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care!

This article was co-written with Laura Rupsis, Level 1 CrossFit Certified, Primal Health Coach Certified, and owner of Absolution CrossFit in La Grange, IL.

Want to make fat loss easier? Try the Definitive Guide for Troubleshooting Weight Loss for free here.

0 notes

milenasanchezmk · 7 years

Text

CrossFit Training: How to Add Mass and Build Strength with Primal

Today, I’m going to explain how going Primal can help you achieve both goals.

First and Foremost, Eat More Calories

Get Your Precursors!

Protein Is a Major One

Carbs Are Important As Well

Eat as many carbs as you earn.

Favor Saturated and Monounsaturated Fats over Polyunsaturated Fats

Eat Seafood on a Regular Basis

Increase Your Cholesterol Intake

Increase Your Zinc Intake

Eat Plenty of Vitamin A and D

Preferably vitamin A pre-formed in animals, and vitamin D from the sun.

Both vitamin A and vitamin D interact to increase muscle protein synthesis. Liver is the best source of vitamin A. Cod liver oil is also good and comes with vitamin D.

Foods to Prioritize for These Nutrients and Precursors

Whole eggs, not just the whites. Pastured eggs will contain far more micronutrients than conventional eggs.

Oysters and mussels.

Cod liver oil.

Beef and chicken liver.

Sardines, wild salmon, cod.

Other Variables To Improve Your Gains Prioritize Strength Training

Don’t Forget Your Tendons

Tendons are rather mysterious. What do they do, exactly, and how do they figure into strength?

They attach muscles to bones. Muscles transmit force through the tendon and make movement possible. Contracting your muscles pulls on the tendons, which yanks on the bone, producing movement.

Don’t Shortchange Recovery

Get Your Collagen

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care!

This article was co-written with Laura Rupsis, Level 1 CrossFit Certified, Primal Health Coach Certified, and owner of Absolution CrossFit in La Grange, IL.

Want to make fat loss easier? Try the Definitive Guide for Troubleshooting Weight Loss for free here.

0 notes

watsonrodriquezie · 7 years

Text

CrossFit Training: How to Add Mass and Build Strength with Primal

Today, I’m going to explain how going Primal can help you achieve both goals.

First and Foremost, Eat More Calories

Get Your Precursors!

Protein Is a Major One

Carbs Are Important As Well

Eat as many carbs as you earn.

Favor Saturated and Monounsaturated Fats over Polyunsaturated Fats

Eat Seafood on a Regular Basis

Increase Your Cholesterol Intake

Increase Your Zinc Intake

Eat Plenty of Vitamin A and D

Preferably vitamin A pre-formed in animals, and vitamin D from the sun.

Both vitamin A and vitamin D interact to increase muscle protein synthesis. Liver is the best source of vitamin A. Cod liver oil is also good and comes with vitamin D.

Foods to Prioritize for These Nutrients and Precursors

Whole eggs, not just the whites. Pastured eggs will contain far more micronutrients than conventional eggs.

Oysters and mussels.

Cod liver oil.

Beef and chicken liver.

Sardines, wild salmon, cod.

Other Variables To Improve Your Gains Prioritize Strength Training

Don’t Forget Your Tendons

Tendons are rather mysterious. What do they do, exactly, and how do they figure into strength?

They attach muscles to bones. Muscles transmit force through the tendon and make movement possible. Contracting your muscles pulls on the tendons, which yanks on the bone, producing movement.

Don’t Shortchange Recovery

Get Your Collagen

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care!

This article was co-written with Laura Rupsis, Level 1 CrossFit Certified, Primal Health Coach Certified, and owner of Absolution CrossFit in La Grange, IL.

Want to make fat loss easier? Try the Definitive Guide for Troubleshooting Weight Loss for free here.

0 notes

cynthiamwashington · 7 years

Text

CrossFit Training: How to Add Mass and Build Strength with Primal

Today, I’m going to explain how going Primal can help you achieve both goals.

First and Foremost, Eat More Calories

Get Your Precursors!

Protein Is a Major One

Carbs Are Important As Well

Eat as many carbs as you earn.

Favor Saturated and Monounsaturated Fats over Polyunsaturated Fats

Eat Seafood on a Regular Basis

Increase Your Cholesterol Intake

Increase Your Zinc Intake

Eat Plenty of Vitamin A and D

Preferably vitamin A pre-formed in animals, and vitamin D from the sun.

Both vitamin A and vitamin D interact to increase muscle protein synthesis. Liver is the best source of vitamin A. Cod liver oil is also good and comes with vitamin D.

Foods to Prioritize for These Nutrients and Precursors

Whole eggs, not just the whites. Pastured eggs will contain far more micronutrients than conventional eggs.

Oysters and mussels.

Cod liver oil.

Beef and chicken liver.

Sardines, wild salmon, cod.

Other Variables To Improve Your Gains

Prioritize Strength Training

Don’t Forget Your Tendons

Tendons are rather mysterious. What do they do, exactly, and how do they figure into strength?

They attach muscles to bones. Muscles transmit force through the tendon and make movement possible. Contracting your muscles pulls on the tendons, which yanks on the bone, producing movement.

Don’t Shortchange Recovery

Get Your Collagen

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care!

This article was co-written with Laura Rupsis, Level 1 CrossFit Certified, Primal Health Coach Certified, and owner of Absolution CrossFit in La Grange, IL.

Want to make fat loss easier? Try the Definitive Guide for Troubleshooting Weight Loss for free here.

The post CrossFit Training: How to Add Mass and Build Strength with Primal appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

Article source here:Marks’s Daily Apple

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