Muscle Matters: Why Having Strong Muscles Might Just Save Your Life

Body Shop Guy: "This is your car?"
Me: "Well, it... was."
Body Shop Guy: "And you were driving it?"
Me: "I was."
Body Shop Guy: "You're one lucky girl.  I wouldn't have expected you to be walking around like you are.  That was a bad accident.  But you look like you're o.k...?"

I was getting my things out of my car two days after the accident-- suspecting, accurately as it turns out, that my car would be totaled. I'd been T-boned on the driver's side of the car and spun out across a busy road.  My back tire was caved in about 20 degrees, the airbags had deployed, and the frame of the car had shifted enough that 2 doors were not able to function properly. As far as wrecks go, it wasn't that bad comparatively.  But it wasn't a fender bender either.

The body shop guy's comment creeped me out more than a little, especially since that was the first time I'd really looked at the interior of the car.  It was littered with bajillions of unidentifiable metal pieces, the leather had numerous rips, and my plastic tupperware boxes in the trunk were destroyed.

I, however, am fine.  I had some seatbelt burn, and a sore shoulder from the impact of the airbag.  Nothing some ice and advil couldn't help.

Trust me, there have been more than a few prayers of gratitude that have gone up.   I do feel lucky, and the thought of how much worse it could have been still makes me a little queasy. I'm glad I was in a car that was well designed for side impact.  Silly though it sounds, I'm also grateful to my body.

I frequently tell people that being strong matters.  Which is usually when women put up their hands and say "I don't want to be one of those body builder women." I resist the urge to roll my eyes and give my schpiel about women not having enough testosterone to do that...nevermind that I was talking about strength not muscle size.  I guess I'm really talking about functional strength, which is being strong enough to do what you need to do.  It's being able to carry a heavy purse without your shoulder coming out of socket.  It's being able to hold a cast iron skillet, or to get the thing off the shelf without having to call your husband.

It's also being strong enough to withstand an impact if you ever need to.

A big part of a  muscle's job is to keep a joint in place. My trainer uses the analogy of a corn dog.  (But he calls it a "Corny" dog.  I've tried to explain to him that he sounds silly.  He says that's what people say in Texas.) Imagine that the corn meal covering represents your skin, the hot dog itself represents your muscles, and the stick represents your joints. Now imagine that you could somehow take bits out of the hotdog, leaving the covering and the stick.  Of course, that'd be a mess--and the stick would be anything but stable.

If you don't take care of your muscles, they won't be prepared to do what you ask of them.   It means feeding them properly, with enough protein and variety of amino acids so that the body can do it's work of repairing wear and tear on body parts.  (If you aren't getting enough, your body will actually eat it's own muscle to get the amino acids it needs.  No joke.  More on that later!)  Taking care of your muscles also means using them.  "Use it or lose it" is about the truest statement there is when it comes to muscles.  Sitting around on an ever expanding butt is not only causing weight gain and a host of other problems, it's destroying the quality of your muscles.

I'm not exaggerating when I say having strong muscles can save your life.  (Literally, man!) My trainer tells a story of being young and dumb, and being thrown from a motorcycle into a tree at 40 mph.  The doctor looked at him and said "The ONLY reason you are alive is because you have so much muscle."  But I saw it happen with my parents too, when they rolled their car three times across a busy interestate. Dad got an earful of dirt because the caved in sunroof acted like a shovel.  Mom had a cut on her toe that required seven stitches.  And that was it.  Were all these people lucky? Absolutely.  (And divinely protected?  Oh yeah.) But it was also that their muscles were ready to do their job.

Think it doesn't matter?  Go watch the "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up" commercial.   That doesn't just happen to octogenarians.  It happens to people who don't take care of their bodies.