MSI Press Blog

  The following is a precerpt (book excerpt prior to publication) from  Grandma's Ninja Training Diary  (Leaver & Renz). Of Spiders, Stairs, and Ninja Instincts Last week, I learned an important lesson about physics... and pride. I'd just lugged 40+ pounds of groceries up 17 stairs, both hands full, feeling like the domestic Hercules. As I approached the door, I spotted an intruder: a spider crawling just above waist height. My options? Put down the bags and squish it like a sensible person… or attempt a ninja-style door kick with one leg while gripping two unevenly weighted grocery sacks. I chose violence. I got the bug. But physics got me. When my foot hit the door, the force reverberated like a bad plot twist. I staggered backward, bags swinging, and slammed my wrist into the railing. I didn’t fall. I recalibrated mid-collapse, channeling every ounce of aging grace and stubborn dignity. The wrist puffed up. I thought: “It’s broken. I’m doomed.” My doctor, on th...

Precerpt from Grandma's Ninja Training Diary: The Secret to Losing Weight: It’s Not Just Eating Less There is no question that beyond serious muscle training, I needed to lose weight. The weight, though, did not just disappear, though I tried hard to eat less—a lot less. Thanks to Brittany, my trainer, I learned that it really was not how much I ate, but what I ate.      Like most people trying to lose weight, I thought cutting calories was the answer. If I just ate less, surely the pounds would melt away. But instead of feeling lighter, I felt exhausted, cranky, and constantly hungry. Brittany took one look at my food choices and explained that my body wasn’t getting what it needed. It turns out that the key to weight loss wasn’t starvation—it was nourishment. I had to shift my focus from eating less to eating right. More protein, more fiber, and fewer empty carbs. More whole foods, fewer processed snacks. Instead of a tiny bowl of cereal that left me hungry an hour l...

  Grandma Ninja: 1 Flying Monkey Stunt: 0 Walking up the stairs, reading texts on my phone with my left hand, and pulling a heavy box with medical supplies with my right hand, I lost my balance when the big box ripped open, throwing me over the railing into the elephant ear plant below. Beside the plant was a metal garbage can. As luck would have it, I landed right on top of it. Crack...! Two ribs fractured. So, the ER doctor told me it would take six weeks for my ribs to heal. Six. Weeks. Grandma Ninja apparently heard “six days” and went with that instead. My PCP confirmed it this week. Lungs clear. Movement normal. No restrictions. (Except “no more flying monkey stunts,” which seems fair.) He asked how the plant I dove into was doing. I told him he should be asking how I am doing. He said I’m tough and would outlast it. I didn’t argue. Was it the calcium? The Fosamax? The prayers? Maybe all of the above. I suspect the real culprit is Grandma Ninja — the balance work, the breat...

Most days, Grandma Ninja can take on the world. Steep hills? No problem. Ninety‑pound garbage cans? Bring them on. Workouts with planks, glute bridges, and Russian twists? Just another morning in the dojo. But then came a pinched nerve, followed by prednisone. Not the whole‑body‑weakening, can’t‑lift‑a‑thing kind. Oh no. Prednisone chose a far more mischievous strategy. It went after my balance . Not my strength. Not my endurance. Not my ability to haul a garbage can down a 30‑degree incline while a well‑meaning neighbor tried (and failed) to “save” me from it. No — prednisone went after the tiny stabilizer muscles. The micro‑adjusters. The little ninjas inside the big ninja. And suddenly, the BOSU ball — my old friend — became a treacherous, wobbling island. One moment I was centered. The next, I was sliding off like a cartoon character stepping on a banana peel. Strength? Perfect. Coordination? Fine. Balance? On vacation. Prednisone had declared itself the new s...