Ways to Fit Throwing Into Your Routine and Why

I've been fascinated with throwing objects for as long as I can remember. Some of my earliest memories include learning to skip stones across the Conodogquineg Creek, as well as life-or-death rock battles with the kids who lived on the other side of that creek. We didn't know those kids; they didn't know us, but the fact that we each existed in the other's self-deemed sacred land, called for rock fights of epic proportion.

Luckily, the creek was too wide for any of us to gain real accuracy behind our throws, but I still remember how mesmerized I was watching the stones arc up, then come down--as well as my fervent envy of the boys with a strong throwing arm.

Living in a rural area, at the threshold of the housing boom of the 1960s, it seemed as if a new house was built in every week, and the familiar farmlands sold off. What this meant for us boys, was great new places to play every week. Foundations were being dug out, new construction sites everywhere and -- joy of joys -- HUGE mounds of dirt from the continual excavations. These glorious earthworks gave rise to a whole new thrust in games of King of the Hill. Our new, improved, higher-stakes version was played with dirt clods--how I relished the way the dirt clods exploded off my brother Gary's back! To me, it was like a dust grenade off his back or butt... and there was nothing finer!

We had two basic rules:

1) No throwing dirt clods with rocks stuck in them

and

2) No throwing at the head--which was easier said than done!

Sometimes we had up to 15 neighborhood kids per team -- each and all vying for the coveted kingship of the hill. Akin to a chaotic, free-for-all dodgeball game -- but with hard clumps of earth -- if you were hit, you were out. In my boy's mind, in the throes and haze, I imagined a Civil War battlefield with choking dust and musket balls flying about.

It was amazing how very few injuries anyone sustained in all these shenanigans, nor was there any loss of an eye. In winter, after the construction season, our aggression remained and there were similar snowball battles, but nothing was as much fun as hurling those dirt clods.

Other times, there were orchard fights with the apples fallen from the trees. I remember being severely punished by adults for hitting my cousin, Teddy, upside the head with a half-rotted apple.

Throwing stuff, then, was an intrinsic part of my growing up in rural Pennsylvania. So much so that it seemed hard-wired into the genetic code that made me a human boy. Much later, as I came to understand more of what it is that makes us human, I learned that throwing is indeed one of the ten basic human movement patterns, and that our very survival as a species was dependant on our ability to throw, as well as to run. Poor throwers, well, they usually went vegetarian, for better or for worse.

My general fascination with throwing later transferred to a fascination with throwing implements. I made my own spears, which evolved still later into throwing javelin on the high school track team. This fascination also included training with the ancient style of sling (of the David & Goliath variety, NOT the latter-day Dennis the Mennis ilk) the throwing stick and...the boomerang.

I acquired my first boomerang at ten years old, and damn if I just couldn't make it work. Finally, I hit that magic moment, where with a single overhand throw -- accompanied by a wrist snap just so -- the boomerang sailed off in a beautiful, whirling arc, then came back to rest almost at my feet. It was a magical moment after hours of frustrating attempts at getting it to work. After a couple more successful throws like this, my precious boomerang cracked into a telephone pole and that was the end of that. Boomerangs weren't easy to find in those days, especially in a rural town like Carlisle PA.

I was pretty busy with football in the fall -- and wrestling in the winter -- so I directed my efforts into spring track and field. It was around this time, when I started playing organized sports, that I realized I wasn't a very good thrower...at all. Short lever-arms deprived me of the necessary impetus to hurl objects any great distance -- yet that didn't deter me! And though I was the second-to-worst javelin thrower on the team, it didn't dissuade me from practicing the skill for my own satisfaction. It was at this time I became aware I had no affinity for baseball, either, and in spite of my natural enthusiasm for the action and the art of its many aspects, I became discouraged in these social milieus.

I quit track after my sophomore year in high school and never went back to throwing as a sport. Later, as a college physical education major, my lack of throwing power again became painfully obvious. I'd become a specialist, and had put all my vital energy into my natural aptitude, which was wrestling.

While I acquired all the requisite sports of my major, that thing that had once been the source of such fun as a boy -- throwing stuff -- now induced painful feelings of self-consciousness and inadequacy when I compared myself to the amazing athletes among my peers.

After leaving college, and entering the personal training field, throwing was completely forgotten. It was only after I had a son that I began to re-explore throwing, as I tried to teach him the first steps of physical body mastery.

Fast forward again, and I'm doing research on Georges Hebert and Methode Naturelle. I realized I'd for too long neglected several key skills; namely, sprinting, jumping and throwing. Now that I'm no longer specialized in Brazilian jiu jitsu, and grappling in general, I've rediscovered my love of throwing. When I was in Ikaria, this past summer, I read about the long-ago sling throwers of the Balearic islands, recruited by the ancient Greek and Roman armies, whose rock slinging skills were more feared and dreaded than spears or bows and arrows.

On Ikaria, there were so many beautiful, round stones and this inspired me to recreate a long-neglected bit from my childhood. I fashioned myself an ancient-type of sling from some modern parachute cord and the tongue of a leather shoe. After viewing a ton of Youtube videos on proper sling technique, I settled on one I liked and even started getting pretty decent -- so much so that a vacationer from Syria rushed me on the beach imploring me to sell my sling and teach him how to throw on the spot!

These days, I'm in Australia and ready to rekindle my love affair with the boomerang. After a Google search, I contacted Rob Croll, ...set up an appointment, where he met me at a local park with a whole bunch of boomerangs in tow, some a variety with three blades. After a tutorial and demonstration of his own world-class skills, I had a go at it. I tried all the different kinds and finally settled upon the three with which I'd had my most successful flights.

3 boomerangs richer

Tests of young men have revealed an appalling lack of physical development, basic motor fitness, and physical toughness. -- Thomas Cureton, 1947

The very next day, I went down to the same park for another whirl... then I remembered an old workout from the venerable Dr. Thomas Cureton, godfather of American fitness.

One of the endurance workouts outlined in Cureton's book, Dynamic Health and Physical FItness, is to throw a boomerang 100 times, then chase it. Assuming you aren't very good with a boomerang, the worse your skill, the more you run. This is an amazing workout and I once again I knew the joy I'd had in childhood: throwing not for competition -- neither to meet anyone's arbitrary distance requirements nor regulations -- but throwing simply for the joy of the movement and the mesmerizing spinning of the implement in space. I felt like that young boy boy from rural Carlisle PA again, playing by and for himself only, out in the backyard. For me, this is what physical fitness is genuinely all about; its essence is hard play -- with a purpose.

Here are two throwing workouts:

#1
Jog the perimeter of a large, open field.
Each lap, run a smaller and smaller spiral until you find yourself in the center of the field.
Throw a boomerang, rock, or ball as far as possible; sprint to the object, then jog back to the starting point at the center of the field.
Alternate arms each throw -- even if you're uncoordinated.
Repeat 100 times.

#2
Take a large rock, medicine ball, or kettlebell.
Clean the rock to the chest, then heave it upward and forward as far as you can, using the legs as explosively as possible.
Jog to the stone; repeat 50 times.

You can also do this for distance: pick a far point, then go as many throws as it takes to cover the distance.

In Strength and Health!

Steve