Trust the Thrust

In the spring of 2020, I bought the last 24kg/53lb kettlebell from a Dick’s Sporting Goods in Arlington, Texas.

Changed my life.

Or at least changed how I trained.

What started as an aborted attempt at the 10,000 swing challenge as a response to gym closings thanks to the pandemic has turned into what promises to be a lifelong journey into these cannonballs with handles.

What followed that initial purchase was the usual rabbit holes when I start a new special interest: lots of internet research, YouTube videos, Reddit dives.

Learned a few things, and will probably have to relearn those as well as learning a few more.

One of those things?

Hips drive, arms guide.

The most basic kettlebell movement is the swing.

You’ve seen someone doing those if you’ve been in a gym in the last several years.

The hardest part (for me) about learning the swing was that, like any barbell lift, is that you’re not raising the bell with your arms.

The bell’s momentum is generated by that ballistic hinge of the swing, and you use your arms to guide it back down.

“In thrust we trust was,” I think, an old motto for Pratt & Whitney jet engines, and it applies here.

No, this isn’t a post about exercise and fitness, but about learning to trust something new.

Could be a process at work, a new boss, neighbor’s new dog.

We build trust in those things the same way I learned to build trust in my hips, and not in my arms: over time.

In the reps.

Consistent ones.

And then in the results.

The process got results, your boss turned out to not be a complete psychopath, Muffins isn’t a biter.

We give and gain trust in the same way: over time, often slowly. We lose it very differently: a single miss, quickly.

Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t trust.

Just that we should always be careful with it, as givers and receivers.