Callouses
I’ve been training with kettlebells for about 18 months now, captivated by the focus they require as you fling a 20-pound ball of iron above your head. I love the strength they’ve given me, the correctives to my posture and my waistline. I was fortunate to have amassed a collection of them prior to the Pandemic, giving me an edge on everyone else when the gyms closed.
Prior to kettlebells, I was using old fashioned barbells at the gym, doing the Big 3 lifts–squats, presses and deadlifts.
Throw in the kettlebells and my hands were getting pretty tough. Rough, tall callouses across the palm at the base of my fingers.
In August, I was doing a high-volume snatch routine with my kettlebell, and somewhere around the 80th rep of about 100, one of those callouses ripped, badly. The torque, the speed, and the force of that particular lift is known to do to that, but so far I had been immune. I thought my hands were tough enough to deal with it.
Here’s the trick, as a Facebook friend, rightly pointed out. You actually don’t want thick callouses. They get in the way. You want to sand those suckers off, moisturize, pumice, shave, whatever you need to do to minimize their height. It keeps them from ripping.
It’s been a dark year. I’ve written in this space before about how those skills we have amassed, those of us who have had to hustle and scrap to get where we are, who may be good at stuffing emotion, or, more usefully, channeling it to motivating anger, how all that experience was giving us some tools to get us through all of this shit.
I stand by that.
But.
I’ve torn some callouses in recent weeks. Some stuff I thought worked for me, adding protection, broke down. Some stuff that actually is necessary and useful got worn down and failed to work.
It sucks. Like the days after the kettlebell tore up my hand, I’ve had to take some time, cover the injury and try to work around it. I have some wonderful relationships with some really amazing old friends who remember how I’m put together and are willing to help me ease the pain and carry the load for me for a bit. (and therapists…everyone should have one or three)
On this Thanksgiving Eve, amid this endless isolation and dark autumn stretching into a darker winter, I am thankful for them. I am thankful for all of you who are helping to lighten the load for others. I am thankful for those of you who have already carried a lot, and I hope you know you can set it aside for a second, even if just to have someone acknowledge the absolute madness of all of this.
My hands are better now. Proper maintenance has left the callouses tough where they need to be, and soft enough to be safer.
Go. Find. 