Tag Archives: Fitness

I want to look good naked

13 Mar

Sure, exercise could extend my life, fight off depression and all kinds of other positive things, but I exercise for the same reason you do: to look good naked. And that’s not easy to do at 41.

American Beauty is one of my favorite movies. What? I’m insane? I wouldn’t know a good movie if it crawled up my what?  Just watch the clip or at least read the dialogue.

Lester Burnhan: I figured you guys might be able to give me some pointers. I need to shape up. Fast.

Jim Olmeyer: Are you just looking to lose weight, or do you want increased strength and flexibility as well?

Lester Burnham: I want to look good naked.

I’ve been attending an hour-long YMCA class appropriately called “Boot Camp.” It’s clear I’m not in the best shape of my life, but it feels like I’ve found the proper motivation to hold me to a proper, enduring exercise routine, something I struggle with during the cold months.

The best thing about Boot Camp is that I can’t lie down and take a nap after ten minutes, which is what I’d do at home if I planned my own sixty minute exercise routine. In the group class we have a fit instructor guiding us, urging us to “push it.” We feed off of each other’s energy and determination. We smell (and slip) on each other’s sweat and tears. We motivate each other.

I have none of that at home. It’s hard to find motivation at home when you have couches and cookies and computers and books and pillows everywhere. If I’m sweating at home, give me some heavy blankets and drugs because I have the goddam flu. And if there’s someone in my house shouting instructions, that just means my wife’s home from work.

“Scrub that floor! Come on now, don’t stop! I know you can do it. Push it! Push it!”

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Some Randomness and then “Why You Should Use a Bicycle for Transportation”

2 Oct

Do you see the stuffed opossum finger puppet down there? Okay, how about the salad spinner down a little further? Everything between the opossum and the salad spinner I wrote yesterday. Unfortunately, it was giving off a “this all sucks” vibe, so I slammed my laptop lid and walked away from it. Today I wrote everything before the opossum and after the salad spinner. (And don’t think for a second that I believe what I wrote today is better than yesterday.)

Right now I’m in Sacred Grounds–or what we call The Coffee Shop. A middle-age couple is to my right, up by the window, arguing about something. They’ve been at it for an hour.  Papers are scattered on their table along with a laptop. It’s absolutely killing me not knowing what’s going on between them. I can’t make out a single word they’re saying. Why can’t they yell like normal couples? Are they divorcing? They’re not arguing over who’s going to mop the kitchen tonight, that’s for sure; it’s something serious. Am I too nosy?

Two couples at a table in front of me are playing bridge. They’re older than the fighting pair. They’re getting along just peachy. I can hear most of what they’re saying, but it’s all boring. They all look happy. Probably because it’s 10:37 in the morning on a Tuesday and they’re in a coffee shop playing cards. I know nothing about bridge. I suspect I’m too young for that game.

But I have been spending an inordinate amount of my time playing Animal Planet “Go Fish.” Ainsley seems to be carrying the cards around with her all day. We played two games before bed last night and two more this morning before we rode off to school.

Ainsley’s school is 1.5 miles from our house. To begin the school year she was riding the bus back and forth, but we’ve switched over to riding our bikes instead. Why you ask? Why go to all that trouble when I can walk a few steps to the bus stop? Well, there’s several benefits and I’m going to clue you in on a few because I want you to get on a bike too.

  • Riding a bike everyday will become your Fountain of Youth. You might be old and creaky now, but after a month of daily riding, you’ll look and feel younger and you’ll probably weigh less than you did before. In 1513, Ponce de León went to what is now Florida in search of this legendary spring and didn’t find shit. Do you know why? Because he didn’t get there on a bicycle. Stop reading and go stand in front of a mirror. See how tired and pathetic you look? Mark the calendar and begin using your bicycle for errands. Get a rear rack and some panniers so you can carry some groceries. After a month of this, stand in front of the same mirror in the same light. See how much better you look? Yeah, you look decent now. Keep it up.
  • A bike ride obliterates bad moods. Today Ainsley was riding behind me when I decided to ride in some small, loose rocks on the side of the road. I came this close to losing control and eating pavement, but cat-like reflexes and balance saved me. I had planned to skid a little–a teeny bit–to provide some Monday morning humor for Ainsley, and it worked. She giggled as my heart pounded. It’s not that she wasn’t in a fine mood before. It’s the breeze on our faces. It’s our heart pumping faster, and our muscles working harder that provides an instant shot of happiness.
  • Every bike ride is an adventure. Friday on the way home from school, I passed what I thought was a piece of ribbon or rope. I didn’t even really look at it. Behind me, Ainsley yelled “There’s a snake in the road!” I said no way and she said “Yes,  turn around!” I said I didn’t see a snake and she said “Yes, turn around!” I stopped because I wanted to see this play out. If it was just a piece of black rope, it would be hilarious and we would laugh about it. We turned around and went back and there was a freakin’ garter snake in the middle of the road just sitting there all calm and relaxed. This was the first snake I’d seen all summer. (I guess I don’t hang out in weeds enough.) Anyway, this was a semi-busy road, so I used my front tire to convey “Get on over there in the grass before you get smushed little snakey.” On another day, Ainsley crashed into a hedge; it’s always something different.

I realize some people have less than two legs and are thinking “What’s wrong with this jackass, talking about riding a bicycle–like everyone has two legs.” And I apologize. For you I recommend a handcycle. Looks like fun. And I’ll bet you’ll have fabulously toned arms in, like, two weeks.

I also know some of you live out in the boonies where you’ll be mauled by a large animal if you venture more than ten feet from your front door. And if you live through the deadly attack, you’re looking at a twenty mile trip to Kroger. For you I suggest a Trek Madone 7.9. It’s light. It’s fast. And it costs $11,549.99. I know, that may sound a little high for a bike, but it’ll make the bear’s head spin and get you there and back so fast you’ll … I don’t know what you’ll do. Maybe you’ll just shrug, sit down, and drink some tea.

Ride on.

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Skunk Bustling in My Hedgerow

8 Sep

Today I got up at 4:30. It’s the best time of the day for me to write, run, bike, or any other type of exercise, including yoga. But this morning I was reminded of one downside of being outdoors so early: furry little creatures with sharp fangs and claws are still crawling around the neighborhood.

As I pedaled to the end of the driveway and paused for an approaching car, I saw something walking away from me, into the street. I thought it was either Timon from The Lion King or a primordial drawf because it seemed to be walking on its hind legs. But as the car came closer, the headlights showed me a fluffy white and black tail pointing to the sky. Skunk. It was probably chillin’ under our car as I rolled right past it. It could have reached out and shredded my ankles.

I don’t know much about skunks. I’m clueless about whether they always prance around with their tails up or if they only raise them when they’re pissed off at early birds like me. Do they squirt from under their tales or do they face their enemy, stand up on their hind legs, pull down their little skunk pants and squirt like a deranged man whizzing on a tree in a public park?

I can write with confidence that a skunk shower would have ruined my day. This afternoon I’ll be in St. Louis cheering on the New York Mets (The Mets did, in fact, beat the Cardinals). A severe beating would be in store if I showed up smelling of skunk wearing a Cubs hat hurling caustic insults at Matt Holliday (He didn’t even play). People around here already think Cubs fans are a little “off.” Some would even tell you–don’t believe them–we’re a bit smelly in general.

During early morning outings I’ve encountered foxes, cats, skunks, opossums, squirrels, moles, deer, and critters I couldn’t identify. And I live in DOWNTOWN Edwardsville, not out in the sticks. It would be different if it was like: “Oh look at that cute fox thirty yards away.” Instead, they sprint from nearby bushes, drop from trees in front of me, or are standing so still and inconspicuous that I almost run right up their ass.

This happened with a deer early this summer. I was jogging, not paying attention, just kind of watching the ground in front of me, when I suddenly noticed I was standing next to an unfazed deer. I could have ridden him home. Finally he looked at me and smiled–I swear it looked like it!–and bounded away and disappeared between a baseball diamond and the Children’s Museum.

And I forgot to mention the skunk-sized crows that get pissy when I’m outside early. They caw caw caw at me and pretend they’re itching to peck my face off. They sit low in trees I jog past and raise a big stink about my presence with their flapping and cawing before they fly off, leaving me with a dangerously elevated heart rate.

 * * *

Note: The above is all mock complaining. I even love skunks. I would even kiss a skunk if I knew I wouldn’t be sprayed. But not on the lips. Probably on the top of the head. So, yeah, it’s humans that are continuously encroaching on animals. So boo on us!

“They paved paradise to put up a parking lot”

- lyric from Joni Mitchell’s 1970 song “Big Yellow Taxi” recorded in 1970.

 

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Ahhh! There’s Blood Everywhere!

31 May

On Saturday I ran a 5k (a good thing) and then bit the hell out of my tongue (a bad thing).

Now, there’s a difference between “biting the hell” out of my tongue and simply “Ow, I just bit my tongue.” I was chewing the hell out of a piece of gum a short time after the race. Again, “chewing the hell” out of my gum is different than “chewing gum.”

Some runners experience an altered mood after a race. It’s an elevated mood; everything is faster, better. So I was jazzed up and chewing about 50% harder. I was opening wider. My CPM was near 90. That’s Chews per minute.

So I’m chewing the hell out of this gum–bubble mint–when the left side of my tongue somehow got in the way of my teeth. My tongue being pounded by my teeth sounded like this: cckkccrunch.

My hand shot to my face and my face wrinkled into an ugly mess. I didn’t yell though. It was more like a hum combined with a moan. With blood pooling quickly, I said “Shit, this is going to ruin my whole day.”

Well, it hasn’t exactly ruined an entire day, but it’s lessened the pleasure of eating and increased my love of sucking on ice.

I knew it would be annoying me for days. This is day four and it feels the same as it did on day two. I can’t put my tongue in a sling. The slimy thing’s moving all around in there, 24 hours a day. I’ve looked at my tongue more this week than I have in the past ten years combined. It’s ugly. Just ugly.

And it’s swollen. I can’t eat right. I can’t talk right. If I could pull the damn thing out of my mouth and slap the shit out of it . . . I would.

Heal! Heal! You stupid-ass tongue.

** The Race **

You might have been wondering how bad I smoked the field during the race on Saturday. Oh, you weren’t. Hmm. Anyway, I finished 218th out of 551. I should be happy that only 217 people beat me, but I beat over 300 people. Smoked ‘em. Sure, some of those I finished ahead of were fossils. (That was an insensitive, derogatory thing for me to write). Some had leg injuries. Some were twelve. Some hopped the entire 3.1 miles on one leg. Still . . . I beat ‘em.

But it’s depressing to see that I would have finished 5th out of 12 in the men’s 60 to 69 field. That’s not so hot. I’m re-thinking that “fossil” comment up there. I wrote that before I saw how fast those geezers can run.

** Chloe’s injury **

Oh, I have another injury report. My daughter, Chloe, dropped a circular piece of thin metal on her toe. It’s the size of a large pizza (the metal, not the toe). It’s supposed to hang on a wall to tack notes onto with magnets. If I would throw this thing at you like a Frisbee, it would definitely cut your head off. Right off. Messy.

I saw it happen. It cut right through her toe nail, near the base. It was bloody (from all the blood) and loud (from her freaking out). It looked painful and I wished it had happened to me instead. (No I don’t.) Now she keeps banging it on things, but it’s healing better than my tongue.

She had planned on running the race too, but the toe injury happened Friday morning. She won her age division at her first 5K earlier this Spring. I really should write about that separately.

Please, pray for my tongue tonight.

NOTE: This was written 2 or 3 days ago. My tongue is finally healing. Thanks for your concern.

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Caffeine Before Cardio

8 Mar

I thought I might run this morning. I got up at 5:40 and quickly decided not to. I went outside to grab the New York Times from the driveway. It was cold and rainy. For a second I felt better about not running. I can’t run anyway; it’s raining!

But before I had my hand on the paper my mind went to my running gear:

  • Arm warmers
  • Running gloves
  • Water-proof cap
  • Head band
  • Face mask
  • Water-proof  jacket
  • Running pants

Weather excuses don’t fly, but I have other obstacles, like coffee and comfort.

The walk from my bed down the stairs to the kitchen is foggy and difficult. I’m cold and cranky. I tell myself I can’t run before I have coffee. That’s bullshit, of course.

The walk from the kitchen down the stairs to my office is filled with anticipation. I’m carrying my coffee and the newspaper. I almost want to run to my chair and to the blanket I keep near. I turn on the big TV to Morning Joe on MSNBC. The two PC monitors flicker to life. I call it my command center. The gray cat settles in my lap.

I visit Gmail, Politico, The Daily Beast, Kindle Dail Deal, maybe Facebook. Sometimes I write. I have about 40 minutes to myself before before attention shifts to the dogs and kids. That means making oatmeal, packing lunches, walking and feeding the dogs, seeing one kid off, waking the other, cleaning, and on and on.

It’s nice to get the hard things out of the way early. In the past I have. Now I start my day in comfort, but it leaves me feeling guilty and anxious about when that run will come, or the other “hard” stuff I put off.

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Can We Catch What We’re Chasing?

26 Dec

Last week I learned about a man named Jim Fixx from–of all places–a term life insurance website. Jim Fixx was a runner. He wrote the 1977 bestseller The Complete Book of Running.

From Wikipedia: “. . . he is credited with helping start America’s fitness revolution, popularizing the sport of running and demonstrating the health benefits of regular jogging.”

He wrote that running would extend your life.

Then he had a heart attack and died while running on July 20, 1984 at the age of 52.

On some days I feel like Jim Fixx.

In my last “real” job I worked with a guy everyone called “Bud.” I don’t know if that was his real name, but it fit. He was short and simple. A thin, ugly, gray cubicle wall seperated us. I heard every word out of that guy’s mouth. I heard whispers to his wife. Needless to say, I brought in a solid pair of earphones.

I declared my vegetarianism at that job, towards the end of my stay. Bud scoffed. He said things like, “I could die tomorrow, so I’m going to enjoy myself. I’m going to watch a lot of sports and eat a lot of meat.”

Okay, that’s fine. I would reply that NOT eating meat was enjoyable to me. Me not eating meat was the same as him eating meat. So, Bud–Buddy Boy–I’m doing what you’re doing, see? We’re the same! We’re both doing what’s best for us at this particular point in our lives. Get it? No, he didn’t get it at all. I wanted to pound him. I didn’t like that guy from day one.

That was–wow!–seven years ago. I stuck with it. I dropped meat “cold turkey,” to use an awful cliche. Three years later, I upgraded to veganism. Now I eat mountainous salads. I run. I lift. I make sure I get eight hours of sleep every night. I don’t smoke or drink. If Bud could see my overall lifestyle today, he would–I’m sure–scoff.

“You what? Run? Run to where? Around the block? What for? Well, I could die tomorrow, so I’m going to relax, have a beer and a beef stick and watch football all day.”

What do you say to this, to people like Bud?

I get it, I could die tomorrow too, but running makes me feel good; having ran makes me feel even better. I understand his philosophy though. He’s going to “live life to the fullest” by eating a bunch of meat and watching a bunch of sports or whatever. Pleasure before all else. Many dead philosophers would have agreed.

But, please, Bud-types, don’t think that it works for all. If my lifestyle was a pair of underwear and I made you put them on, you’d go “Eww, gross, get these off me, I can’t stand your underwear right now.” But maybe ten years from now, you’d stop by and say “Hey, remember me? Uh, you wouldn’t by chance still have those underwear, would you?”

When Jim Fixx died, Bud-type people struggled from their recliners, pointed and jabbed their fingers, and screamed “See. See. See. See what happened to Jim Fixx? He dropped dead while running. Why waste all that time? Why put yourself through all that?”

Most people have these thoughts. I do. Exercise is hard. Watching TV is easy. Ice cream tastes better than Broccoli. I know I could croak tomorrow, so why not go “out” the easy way . . . with my head submerged in a giant bowl of chocolate pudding.

Uh, no.

For one thing, running didn’t kill Jim Fixx. He didn’t run until he was 35. He was a heavy smoker and he weighed 240 pounds. He also had three other strikes against him: an enlarged heart, heart disease in the family, and a stressful occupation. If I was magic I’d close my eyes and see what would have happened if he had never started running. Maybe “Oh, I’m getting a vision of Jim Fix. Oh my God, he died on his fortieth birthday, eating an elephant ear in a Porta-Potty at the Wampaloo County Fair.”

Who knows, right?

If you’re looking for my motivation, I could tell you in a thousand different ways, but today, at nine in the morning, on the day after Christmas, 2011, I’ll say:

When I’m alone, in silence, I want peace. Among the damning thoughts I fight to ignore–I’m not good enough– I want to feel I’m doing all I can to create the good ones–I’m doing fine–and to work hard to live long enough to figure some of it out–this “human life” business.

Some day I know I’ll be able to relax.

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An Uncommonly Fine State of Mind

24 Jan

So far this year my fitness routine has shriveled up to a shell of its former self. I’ve fallen into walking through a single Saturday afternoon workout while the girls are in tumbling class. That’s just not gonna cut it if I want to have huge muscles and live to see the age of 115. The problem is that when I drop Ainsley at school at around 9, I’m anxious to get to Borders to read and write because, well, I’ve written about how I love Borders ad nauseam, and, besides, sweating in a gym is not usually a holiday for me. Still, before this writing habit took shape, I went straight to The Y on most mornings.

Last night in the middle of a bedtime reading (and working…I love the “That’s Silly!” section) of a Highlights High Five magazine with Ainsley, I received this stunning vision from Beyond–delivered by a scantily clad siren–of actually doing BOTH this morning: Go to The Y Mike, get your damn workout in, and then still go work for three hours. And don’t be such an freaking baby about it. This mystical encouragement, though unnecessarily snarky, did the trick.

Breakfast always sets the tone for the day. I have to keep it light and healthy or I could be throwing the morning down the toilet. I ate two bananas and what was left of the girls’ coconut-spelt-teff pancakes for breakfast–about four bites. Then after the workout I picked up two organic apples to quell any annoying hunger that arises here in Borders (The vegan selection here is limited to an overpriced nut & fruit bar). So I feel good this morning (despite dealing with two crabby-ass kids this morning, Oscar The Grouch would have been frightened). Better than a normal high mood, in fact. That’s rare, folks. I’m listening to the world’s most depressing song and I still feel terrific.

I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liar’s chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

I’ve dealt with some weird, distressing moods lately. Like I wrote before, I can blame some of that on fighting away the medication (I’m still taking five tiny white balls of Cymbalta each night, next week–four!). As with everything, what goes up must come down. Most of us live somewhere in the middle between ecstatic and dreadful.

After a quick glance of this mess I have written, it’s obvious that high moods compel me to inject a crap load of parenthetical interruptions. All I can do is pray I feel like shit tomorrow.

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