Icing and Exercise : Why online may not be the way to go.

Ah, the holiday season. A time for warmth, cheer, and naturally engaging in the age-old tradition of cookie making. This past weekend, my girlfriend and I ventured into this festive territory, reaching the step she most dreads: the royal icing. Now, for those unfamiliar, royal icing is a culinary paradox a simple concoction of three ingredients: egg whites, vanilla extract, and confectioners’ sugar. But its simplicity belies its complexity. The magic lies in the consistency, achieved through the delicate addition of water, which allows it to serve its multifaceted purpose.

To hone our royal icing craft, we turned to the omniscient teacher of our age: YouTube. We sought guidance on the elusive "flood" icing a smooth, glossy surface that transforms cookies into edible art. The technique involves adding water to the base mixture, creating various consistencies measured by how long it takes the icing to settle into a smooth surface: ten-second icing, twenty-second icing, and so on.

We stumbled upon a video with excellent production value. A pristine kitchen set, a clear view of the process, and a well-paced explanation of steps. As the creator piped the icing onto the cookie, they narrated the process with authority, counting aloud to ten to illustrate the ten-second rule. And then, with apparent confidence, they declared the cookie done.

I hit pause.

The icing wasn’t smooth. Blobs and air bubbles marred the surface. I rewound the video, counting silently as the icing continued to settle. At twenty-seven seconds, it finally achieved the promised smoothness. Not ten seconds twenty-seven. Again, I rewound, counted, and confirmed. The icing was decidedly not ten-second icing. Why claim otherwise?

The answer, I suspect, lies in post-production. The script said ten seconds, the editing reinforced it, and so ten seconds it was reality be damned.

Now, what does this have to do with fitness?

Let’s make a few substitutions. Imagine the creator is a fitness instructor delivering online programming. The icing becomes an exercise seemingly simple yet intricate, with layers of complexity. The cookie flooding is the performance of the exercise. And just as with the icing video, many fitness demonstrations fail to reflect reality. The instructor’s squat, meant to serve as the gold standard, often reveals flaws: a collapsing knee, a forward-leaning torso compensations that contradict their verbal instructions.

Where does this leave you, the consumer? Like the cookie, if your icing your exercise fails to match the example, frustration sets in. You assume the problem lies with you. You followed the instructions, yet the result is lumpy, uneven, painful even. The truth is, the flaw often lies not with you but with the demonstration itself. Without an understanding of your body’s unique variables its imbalances, its compensations you’re left to repeat movements that may ultimately lead to discomfort and disillusionment.

At MyoBio, we pride ourselves on a different approach. With over thirty years of experience, we identify imbalances and pinpoint compensations that hold you back. Your body carries its own history, its own narrative. It’s our job to listen, to interpret, and to guide you toward movement that is not just functional but transformative.

So this holiday season, as you flood your cookies or tackle your squats, remember: the key lies in understanding, not just following. And on that note, I’m off to enjoy a well-earned cookie. Happy Holidays, everyone.Make Life More