wsj.com – Drinking After 40: Why Hangovers Hit Harder. A few excerpts…
- When you’re in your 40s, it’s pretty common to need reading glasses. You might need smaller wine glasses, too.
- That’s because alcohol hits people harder in their 40s and 50s than it did during their 20s and 30s.
- “All of the effects of alcohol are sort of amplified with age”
- Body composition starts to change as early as the 30s. As people age, they tend to lose muscle mass, while fat content increases. Alcohol isn’t distributed in fat. People also have less total body water as they get older. So if several people have the same amount to drink, those with more fat and less muscle and body water will have more alcohol circulating in their bloodstream. (This is also partly why women of any age tend to feel alcohol’s effects more than men.)
- People in their 40s and older simply tend not to drink as much or as often as those in their 20s and 30s, which lowers tolerance.
SMWI* = Saturday morning workout inspiration. Source: themetapicture.com
Notes: SMWI* = Saturday morning workout inspiration. Image Source: HungarianSoul
“To the age-old question of “what do women want,” Lay’s thinks it has an answer: Chocolate-covered potato chips. This month, Lay’s is rolling out milk chocolate-covered potato chips. The chipmaker says the salty-sweet combo is tailor-made for young women, who apparently can’t get enough of the stuff. Lay’s senior director of marketing, noted: “the increasing popularity of chocolate-covered snacks among our target audience, millennial women. … They are looking for those more indulgent, savory/sweet combinations.” The product’s debut will officially be a trial run, but the product could become a permanent part of the Lay’s arsenal if shoppers love them. As for other chocolate-covered chip combinations, “the possibilities could be endless,” says Saenz. (Source: Bloomberg BusinessWeek: “Men Like Potato Chips. Women Like Chocolate. Who Will Like Chocolate Potato Chips?“)
The possibilities could be endless. Right. Got it. May this NOT come to a store near me…Please.
Source: Thank you Steve Layman
“Jogging or whatever our sport is, then, is the way we move from actuality toward our potential, toward becoming all we can be. At the same time it will fill us with uneasiness, with what Gabriel Marcel called inquietude, the recognition that there is work to be done to fulfill our lives. And it allows us to see, as Theodore Roszak suggested, that our most solemn, and pressing, and primary problem is not “original sin” but “original splendor,” knowledge of our potential godlikeness. “We grow sick,” Roszak wrote, “with the guilt of having lived below our authentic level.”
~ George Sheehan, Running & Being
*SMWI = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
“Who are you to do something like this? What makes you think you can make a difference? What makes you think you can succeed? I was diagnosed with polio as a young boy. When I came out of the doctor’s office, my life was going to be very different. And even as such a young age, somewhere deep in there, I remember thinking, I refuse to let this define me.
Mongolia evokes the kind of emotion that I would read in an adventure book as a child. The place that was always winter and never Christmas. Ulan Bator is the coldest city in the world. There is a big problem. Thousands of children that have been abandoned, many of them living on the streets. Without the help of the orphanages, how many of them would be dead? They’re overflowing, I have to do something. I’m not wealthy. I’m not famous. And I started to think about what I could do.
I have to do something. What came up, was, running. I’m going to run 1,500 miles across Mongolia to raise awareness and support for orphans and vulnerable children.
My Dad left when I was 2 years old. Nobody should ever be abandoned. I would deny part of who I am if I didn’t at least try.
I want you see these children and spark a hope that you can make a difference.”
~ Brian Hunter. Donate to the cause here.
SMWI*: Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
Creator: Sarah Anderson, Doodle Time
*SMWI = Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
6:10 am. 70° F. Humidity: 100%. Thick. A mood dampener.
After an unexpected, unexplainable and unacceptable two-pound jump last week, Gadget Man replaced the seven-year old bathroom scale. I don’t need to wait three seconds of interminable flashing to see my test scores. If you aren’t getting results, replace the equipment. Pull the band-aid off and hit me.
The new scale is sweet. I step on the scale and it snaps to attention. No waiting, no flashing, no bad scores. This morning, this incredible technology signalled that I was a mere one pound higher than the challenge target, with another month to go. Now we’re talking.
Yet, what a miserable journey this has been. Rationing ice cream. Mouth salivating for pasta. A 3-cookie daily portion limit. People, this is not living. And the real question is whether this is sustainable.
This morning, I’m determined to drive this weight down. Way down below target to give me cushion. In one run.
My head is saying: 10 miles.
My body: Groaning. [Read more...]
This is a bit of a departure from the usual SMSI* (Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration) clips but no less inspiring. The imagery on this short film is stunning. This video was filmed in Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin in cranberry bogs. This extreme sport is called winch boarding which involves “being pulled by a large machine while on a skateboard, surfboard, snowboard, or other type of board.” Don’t quit on this one too early.
(Source: The Minneapolis Egotist: Two Locals & Red Bull Created a Stunning Cranberry Wakeskating Video.
It’s Saturday Morning. Time for the weekend warriors to get inspired to Exercise. Here’s four of my favorite recent articles on the subject:
A Question That Can Change Your Life: ”For years I’ve exercised every day — doing weights, cardio, yoga — but despite my continuous effort, I haven’t seen much change. Until a few months ago. Recently, my body has changed. My muscles are stronger, more defined, and I’ve lost five pounds along with a visible layer of fat. Let’s start with what I didn’t do: Spend more time exercising. In fact, I’ve spent less. So what did I do differently?…“
25 More Rules of Conquering the Gym: “…Gyms are tricky relationships. You fall in and out of love. Commitment fades. Maybe you have a torrid affair with ice cream sandwiches. All you know is that you used to go to that gym five times a week, and suddenly it becomes two, and then two becomes one, and one becomes none, and none becomes a brand new size of jeans…#3: No, you’re not getting a six-pack. You’re just trying to take off your shirt at the beach without people running to their cars…#6. Here’s a helpful rule on gym clothing. If you’re not sure your shirt smells? Your shirt smells…#22: The best gym on earth is outside, and it’s totally free.” Read more here. And if you’ve missed the first installment (even funnier), read it here. [Read more...]
“As the spot unfolds, you notice that 1950s Man’s lifestyle is simpler and more active and his diet is healthier than Mr. Modern Man. He’s just happier. As the ad ends, you discover that the men are grandfather and grandson. The lovely bit of splitscreen nostalgia scored by the Tom Jones toe-tapper ‘It’s Not Unusual’ features one actor playing both parts…This ad shows that the lifestyle enjoyed by our grandparents — moving more, eating well, taking it easy — can be beneficial. ” (Source: Buzzfeed)
(And if we’re slugging back Coke Zero, Coke wins too! )
6:00 am, August 4, 2013: 60F. Gentle morning breeze: 3 MPH. Spectacular day for a run. I’m off. Thoughts chattering. Legs pumping but heavy. Thighs stiff. Bottoms of feet tender. All aches emanating from yesterday’s run. Marquis whispers: “Middle age is the time when a man is always thinking that in a week or two he will feel as good as ever.” Yep, that’s about right.
5:30 am, August 4, 2013: Morning weigh in. 60 days left in the Biggest Loser Challenge. I expect a bad outcome. Expectations realized. Loser! Weight: Back up 1.8. And this after yesterday’s grueling 6-mile, rain-soaking trail run with the wolf pack — slopping around in wet woods, dancing on slippery rocks, and sinking in gooey mud. Somehow escaping injury. Rambo. No, Chubby Rambo. I step (waddle) off the scale in disgust. It’s all about intake and yesterday’s feedings.* So Mr. Lewis**, when? When do I learn?
7:30 pm, August 1, 2013: Rachel returns home from work. Dragging. In a mood. She runs upstairs. Comes down. Attired in florescent, glow-in-the-dark green shorts. Matching shoes. Ear buds in. iPhone in hand. Styling!
“I’m off for a run.”
“Wait, I’m coming with you.”
“No Dad. I would rather go alone.”
“NO, I’m coming.”
“NO Dad. I don’t want you to come. I’m not interested in running a time trial.”
“Rachel, you stand right here and wait. I mean WAIT.”
She waits. We go. Road narrows. Evening traffic heavy. I slow to let her pull in front and we run single file. Her hair tightly wrapped in a single braid which bounces up and down in the center of her back. She has a graceful, confident stride. In contrast, my legs are heavy – - long day at work… 3.5 plates of pasta for dinner…laboring to keep up. I’m breathing heavy.
6:50 am. 67F. 87% humidity. Mom’s gone for the weekend visiting family. Zeke’s not happy. Mom walks him every day. Every single day. Three times a day. 2 1/2 hours a day. Daily routine – I wave to them from the couch as they head out the door. This morning, he’s out of sync. Discombobulated. He sees me gearing up for a run. He scrambles into his cage and lies down. He’s knows what’s coming. I grab him by his collar and drag him out of his cage. He snarls, baring his teeth. (I don’t need this sh*t. I don’t want to go either but we’re going. Pure Bred Running Dog who hates running. Owner is carrying him to the car. What a picture this is. He looks me in the eye – not a happy look. I glare back.) I shift his weight to my left and pull him tightly to my chest to free up my right hand. I reach for the door handle of the car. And, pull my lower back. And grimace. Oh, boy. I open the door. Heave him into the back seat. And curse.
I fire up the car. Shift uncomfortably in the seat. Lower back. Hmmmmm.
I back the car out of the garage. Zeke climbs from the back seat to the front. And starts licking my face. ”Sit down. No bloody kisses.“ (He knows that I’m pi**ed.) He sits down in the passenger seat. His seat. And sulks.
And we’re off. Mianus Park. Plan: 5-Mile Trail Run. We arrive at the Park, leash up, and walk through the entrance. He pulls back on the leash and lies down on the bridge. He will not move. He will not accept a treat. (Oh, yes. A test of wills. Just what I need.)
Another dog owner walks by. One older German Shepard Mix. Another is a happy looking mutt with tail wagging furiously. (Did she just give me that look? Like, how’s that pure bred workin’ out for ya?)
I stop pulling on his leash. He’s now lounging, looking down at the river below. (How many shades of humiliation are there?)
I decide to pull a Mom and talk nicely to him. ”Come on buddy. Let’s go for a nice walk in the woods. Come on. Let’s go.” (Oh, for God’s sake. I can’t do this. Is this what I’ve come to? Man-up. 206 lbs of fighting machine against this 70 lb beast and he’s got the upper hand. No chance.)
I look at him. He looks up at me. His tail swishing on the bridge deck. (Is he smiling? Could this be funny?)
“You are going to come. Right now. And run.” (Our last visit to this Park was not a great show. And an Elephant never forgets. And this one has a plan. I will not let him off leash to have him lie down in the grass at the bottom of the hill forcing me to back track. No sir. Not me. I will drag him for five miles, if that’s what it takes.) [Read more...]
8:24 am. 74F. 66% humidity. Late jump. Two capsules of Nyquil Flu & Cold down the gullet the night before. Slept like a baby. This morning, I’m woozy. After five consecutive days of 96F+ scorchers and too much in-doors time, I needed to get out.
I’m off. Head in a fog. How is it possible to have a head cold in the middle of a July heat wave?
I’m at Mile 1. I start sizing the GERM opportunity. A quick week in review:
- Grand Central Station: 750,000 commuters a day. 1000′s of hands touching my exit door, all spilling out into Manhattan.
- MetroNorth: 1000′s of touches on each stainless steel handrail we grip to hold steady while the train lurches to and fro.
- Lunch. Food particles in the cracks on table. Water spots (one hopes) on spoon. Table top has a light sheen from being wiped with dish towel, after 7 other tables. Grab water glass, warm to touch, soap smell mixed with heavy chlorinated water. Rapid table turnover = > cash flow.
- Bathroom. Hundreds of touches on the door handle a day. (Did your Mamma teach you to wash your hands after going to potty?)
- Taxi cab doors and window handles. Office door handles. Elevator buttons. Conference room tables. Arm rests on chairs.
Do I grab the handle high, or grab it low, as most grab the middle? Or lean on door with shoulder? Or slide jacket sleeve over hand? Or, do I surreptitiously slow my pace to let another open the door in front of me?
And from these touches, a frictionless hand-off to my pen, my blackberry, my phone and my computer keyboard. Hand to nose to face to mouth. The germ baton is passed on; a leaf in the wind, a feather in the air, all silently and deadly landing on yet another unsuspecting prey.
But the moment that sticks is a split second decision to shake a hand prior to the kick-off of a meeting. A natural reflex. A custom. A greeting. A courtesy.
Some, very funny. Some, not. Some, clearly manufactured for TV. Strong finish.
- SMWI* = Saturday Morning Work-Out Inspiration
- The posting of this clip is inspired by Brenda @ space2live.
5:00 am. 75F. 89% humidity. Need to get a jump on the heat. Weatherman calling for 91F by noon. It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. Right. (Bullsh*t.) I’m off.
Feeling good. Three consecutive days of running. Not bad. Yet, a bigger deal? Avoiding all food intake after 7pm last night. Now, this, this, was a major accomplishment. A single break in habit. A lifetime of four more-than-square meals a day. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Bed-Time Snack. (A hard Pivot? A Break? Hmmmmm. More like a kink in a fire hose. Or overnight bout of constipation. Dam will burst. It’s just a question of when. And it won’t be pretty.) But…let’s focus on the positive here. Six days into my Biggest Loser Campaign and the trend is my friend.
July 1, 2013. First day of 2nd half of the year.
Add 200 pounds to that little puppy up there and that would be me. Head bowed in shame. Or perhaps he’s trying to find his belly button. In which case, I’m in huge trouble.
I hit a new low. Or a new high depending on your perspective. 30 pounds over collegiate playing weight.
Suit pants are now snug. Feeling “things” growing over my belt loop. This discomfort plus increasing levels of humidity = a radiator that’s steamin’ and going to blow.
More in. Than out. More in. Than out. More in. Than Out. [Read more...]
Alpinist Kyle Dempster embarked on an inspiring journey to bike across Kyrgyzstan’s back roads on his bike. His goal – ride across the country via old Soviet roads and climb the country’s most impressive peaks along the way. He was alone. He carried only a minimalist’s ration of climbing gear. Ten Kyrgyz words rounded out his vocabulary. He’d purchased his bike just weeks before and had never bike toured. Upon arrival, Kyle found himself pulled into the Kyrgyz culture – heavy drinking, friendly curiosity and families carving existences out of yurts in the foothill. From his maps, he picked a circuitous path of back roads between the regions incredible mountains. When he arrived, he found that the roads had been abandoned. Crumbling roads led deeper into the heart the Kyrgyz wilderness before disappearing all together. After crossing a few rivers and nearly being swept away in the process, Dempster realized that his path back was blocked. He had to keep, pedaling, pushing and carrying his bike. It meant crossing rivers raging with summer snow melt and navigating game trails. As his options dwindled, Dempster became more desperate. The camera becomes an outlet. Overwhelmed by his predicament home, he narrates a letter home telling his family he loves them. He executes one final river crossing before reconnecting with civilization and its roads. Part meditation on true spirit of adventure and part epic travelogue, The Road from Karakol is the story of a unique spirit who pedaled to the road’s end and decided to keep going. The documentary is slated for release later this summer. Watch the trailer and get ready.
“When the road ends, will you keep going”
“I hate flies”
“Definitely gotta love the Pantera that’s just pumping through my headphones right now!”
See more @ Tastefully Offensive
“His brain and body shattered in a horrible accident as a young boy, Bret Dunlap thought just being able to hold down a job, keep an apartment, and survive on his own added up to a good enough life. Then he discovered running.
You know what people think. They see jeans too short and winter coat too shiny, too grimy, and think, homeless. They watch a credit card emerge from those jeans and think, grifter. They behold a frozen grin, hear a string of strangled, tortured pauses, and think, slow. Stupid.
You learned too young about cruelty and pity. You learned too young that explaining yourself didn’t help, that it made things worse. People laughed. Made remarks. Backed away. So you stopped explaining. You got a job, got a cat, got an apartment, and people can think what they want to think. You built a life without explanation and it was enough…”
Read more here. Long. But so worth your time. Having trouble getting off the couch to work out? Having a tough day? Week? Year? Forgettaboutit. Inspiring story of the year? Running away. Read this man’s story.
SMWI* = Saturday Morning Work-out Inspiration
Source: Runner’s World
5:30 am. 59F. Birds up and singing in all their glory. It’s still. Very still.
I put on my Adidas running shorts. Rachel’s scolding from months back surfaces: “I can see your tan line. They’re too short. Those are Perv Shorts. Embarrassing. Go change.” I growl. Now, each time I put them on, I’m thinking Perv-Man. Words. Killer. What a delicate flower.
“What do you want to do for Father’s Day Dad?“
“I’d like to be left alone for the day.“
“Yes, if you could arrange for me to be sitting alone next to Thoreau, at Walden Pond, listening in on his thoughts, that would be a perfect Sunday.”
“Forget it Honey. Forget it.”
“Have to say Dad, you have to stop your incoherent mumbling.” [Read more...]
You read. Articles. Books. Magazines. Posts.
Much of it blows in one ear and out the other.
Not this one. This article is from The Monthly and is titled Fat City. It has stuck with me since last weekend. It’s long but captivating. Seared in long term memory.
Karen Hitchcock is an Australian author and medical doctor.
A few excerpts:
- Barring the gravely ill and a couple of men, everyone I know wants to lose weight.
- As a doctor, I no longer know what to do about the obese.
- people quit smoking, cut down on their drinking and sometimes lose weight. But usually counselling people to lose weight is hopeless.
- and obesity seems simple: more in than out
- love reading articles with titles like ‘How I Lost 25 Kilos’, even though the answer is always the same: I ate less.
- Who wants to eat less – of anything – when food is so good and plentiful?
- It’s hard to say no to something that is right in our faces, promising a bit of easy pleasure.
- It is especially hard to say no when the consequences of overeating come about in such a distant, gradual and mysterious way.
- I find it difficult to believe that an extra scoop of ice-cream will end up as fat somewhere on my body
- If you make a fat person thin, you are sentencing them to a lifetime of hunger. [Read more...]
- Fitness can protect you from cancer — even 20 or more years down the road
- Men who were the most fit in middle age were the least likely to die a quarter century later even if they were unlucky enough to get cancer
- Men who were the most fit at age 50 back in the 1970s were the least likely to develop lung or colon cancer 20 to 25 years later
- Men who did get lung, colon or prostate cancer, the fitter they were in their early 50s, the less likely they were to die of it.
- Two things you can’t change are your genes and your age,’ she said. “But you can get more fit.
- This important study establishes cardiorespiratory fitness as an independent and strong predictor of cancer risk and prognosis in men
- These results indicate that people can reduce their risk of cancer with relatively small lifestyle changes.”
- Many studies have shown that exercise lowers the risk of cancer, but this one is one of the first to show it can also reduce the risk of dying from cancer.
- SMWI*: “Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
- Image Source: labelle-et-lebadboy
- SMWI*: Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration. Spoof of Nike’s “swoosh” symbol and “Just Do It” exercise ad campaign.
- Source: TheMetaPicture
- SMWI*: Saturday Morning Workout Inspiration
- Source: TheMeta Picture
He was born with cystic fibrosis, a chronic progressive disease characterized by a thick, sticky mucous that clogs the lungs. Each day, he takes 50-70 pills. And he hooks himself up to a machine called the vest that shakes his upper body for 1-1.5 hours a day to loosen the mucus from his lungs. All this – - so he can run. He’s run 6 marathons, five of which have been under 4 hours. Why does he do it?
“I do it because I want to prove to myself that I can…I run because one day I might not able to.”
Source: Thank you lybio.net
Running shoes worn in the last Boston marathon were used to create this image. Learn more on how this image was created at: Boston Magazine.
5:25 am. Headline machines spewing darkness: “Curled up on a bloody boat.” (CNN) “A Grim Day for a Small Town. Bodies recovered after blast. (WSJ) ”Raped. Delhi 5 year old in serious condition.” (BBC News) This last one too much for me. I shudder. Evil. Mimi describes her contrasting realities this morning. And I’m in search for a contrast to my mental image reality. I turn away from the gloom.
5:55 am. 47F. Drizzling. I’m out the door. Need a new route. Need a change. A new path. I’m determined to run long. Man looking for accomplishment. Looking for my body to ache. The kind of ache deep in your bones. A soreness that hurts – - the achy hurt – - your body telling you that you pushed it today. That’s it.
19-year old boy shivering under tarp in the boat. Curled up. Lying is his own blood. Chopper circling..spot lights illuminating the darkness. Is his Mother watching? [Read more...]
5:50 am. I’m off. 100-year old men running marathons and I’ve been filling the couch. Now there’s inspiration.
45F according to Weather Channel. Walk outside. Feels like 60F. Strip off running jacket. Fat man goin’ to fly.
Feeling HEAVY. Thanks to my enabler friend Lori. She sent a can’t miss recipe after last week’s Spaghetti Bolognese post. Zeke (dog) and I were sniffing around like crack addicts for 10 hours while the bolognese simmered in the slow cooker…with the aroma from the meat sauce oozing into every pore of the house. When the 6pm dinner bell rang, I was at the table with fork, salt shaker, large plate. Salad? NO. Bread? NO. Vegetables? NO. Keep all distractions out of the way. I told Zeke to stand back, I needed room to feed. Four plates later (at least I stopped counting at 4), I was licking my plate…and telling myself, maybe it’s time to stop. Bliss. Peace. 10 years from today, new FDA research will find that eating Spaghetti Bolognese extends life. And you’re going to think back and say that crazy man was right. You read it here first.
Back to the run. So, here we are. The day after. A DIRIGIBLE. LARGE AND BLOATED. On the road again trying to knock out some lbs. 100-year old running man drifting in an out. I’m half his age and can’t get the pistons firing. Wonder if he lied about his age. (That’s not nice. But something seems off. He looks better than 100. Hell, he looks better than I do.)
On February 23, 2013, 101 year-old Fauja Singh finished the Hong Kong 10km (6.25 mile) event in one hour, 32 minutes and 28 seconds. (That’s it! I’m going to kick his a** today. I’m sick of being embarrassed by 100 year old men. It’s sad. Really it is.) [Read more...]
- Fauja Singh ran his first marathon at age 89 and became an international sensation.
- Records? Fastest to run a marathon (male, over age 90), fastest to run 5,000 meters (male, over age 100), fastest to run 3,000 meters (male, over age 100), and on and on they went.
- By his second birthday, Fauja’s parents had cause for concern: He couldn’t walk. His legs were short and spindly, capable of movement but too weak to support his body. He turned 3. No steps yet. Then 4. Still crawling. Children called him danda, Punjabi for “stick.” Family members worried he might be crippled for life, so they consulted village doctors…At age 5, he developed enough strength to hobble. Proper walking didn’t come until around age 10.
- His goal? Get into the Guinness Book of World Records for finishing a Marathon at 100 years old. The race: The Toronto Waterfront Marathon on October 16, 2011. He’d finished in 8 hours, 25 minutes. He waved to the crowd as he walked across the line, then lifted his arms and accepted a medal. There were smiles and handshakes and photos with friends and strangers, then a rambling news conference for Fauja to reflect on his record. Amid the chaos and congratulations, however, Fauja never noticed the absence of one celebrant they’d expected. Guinness. (Guinness would not recognize Fauja Singh for the record. Read why at this link.)
Epilogue: On February 23, 2013, Fauja Singh finished the Hong Kong 10km (6.25 mile) event in one hour, 32 minutes and 28 seconds. (Source: BBC News - Oldest Man Runs His Last Race)
DK Note to Self: Get. Off. The. Couch.
6 am. I’m off. No slackin’ today.
32F. Feels like 27F according to Weather Channel.
Snarky Man is on the move.
Black wind breaker. Blue sweat pants. Red shoes. Black Chargers Tuk.
(How do you spell C-L-A-S-H?)
Reach for draw string to synch up sweats. Only find one end. The other end is buried in hole about an inch back. Are you kidding me? Paused for 1 second – - no chance I’m going back to change. Veer way wide of the Man today. He going gangster. Let his sweatpants hang off his a**.
It all started yesterday. 3 am.
Morning ritual of stepping on the scale. Followed by Morning Delusion. LED flashing. Flashing. Flashing. (Think 10 pm on Christmas Eve as a Child .)
And then BAM.
Followed by SHOCK.
The scale reports a new 5-year high.
“Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are anger and courage; anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are.” — Augustine of Hippo
I don’t know who Mr. Augustine is. But I’m looking like a Hippo. I have one daughter and not two. And her name is Anger.
I get off the scale. Inhale. Exhale.
Technology! Has to be that I jumped on the scale too quickly. It didn’t find its equilibrium. It needs to set itself.
I gently step back on. (Like, if I treat it more kindly, I might get a better outcome.)
Flashing. Flashing. Flashing. Flashing. Flashing.
Enough. We enter Day 1 of my new weight reduction program.
And as I reach Post Road on my run this morning, I recall my first day…
I’m off. 35F. Feeling good.
It’s the day after Good Friday.
The title of LaDona’s post banging around in my head like a 50 Cent Rap song – - the tricked up Chevy heaving up and down to the beat:
This Place Was Made By God.
This Place Was Made By God.
This Place Was Made By God.
I look around. Trees reflecting on the still waters of the Long Island Sound. Sun’s up in its full magnificence. Sky is a brilliant blue. Who else could have made this?
She goes on. This place was made by God, a priceless sacrament; it is without reproach.
(She’s so d*mn sure.)
And on. The most sacred day in the Christian calendar, and indeed, in Christianity itself. Inspiration for stunning, poignant music across the centuries. Even if you don’t believe, or if you do and God seems far away, the music speaks. And touches. And heals.
(I’m right there with you Sister on the far away part. And right there with you that the music speaks, touches and heals)
Then the mind, faster than a switchback on a BC mountain highway, turns to a conversation with a colleague on Thursday: [Read more...]
Leo Babauta at Zenhabits asked his one million followers for tips on “how they formed exercise habits and made it stick.” What works for me? (When it works.) Four strategies:
- GET YOUR WORK-OUT GEAR TOGETHER. Do it the night before. Make it easy to grab it and go. Save yourself the agony of the rationalizing self-talk: I’ll do it later. It’s too cold. It’s too hot. I’m tired. Let me check my emails and then go. Or worse, Oh, just forgettabout it.
- DO IT EARLY. Period. Or it doesn’t get done.
- GET STARTED. Take the first step. Walk out the door. Step on treadmill. Put on your shoes. Once engaged, I get propelled by the Zeigarnik Effect, the need to complete the task.
- RECORD RESULTS. You are what you measure. I record my weight and my work-out (dates, results) in a spreadsheet on Google Drive. Then, when I look at it and find gaps (e.g., No workouts for days. Shocking Weight Gain.), I find myself shamed into re-firing the engines. This works.
A goose bump story from Deadspin. Anthony Robles was born poor and one-legged in Mesa, Arizona. Anthony never met his biological father. He longed for acceptance from his stepfather who wouldn’t forgive him for the color of his skin. He criticized his step-son mercilessly and physically abused his Mother in his presence. Anthony was bullied at school and he chose wrestling to toughen up. He lost every match at first. Then he found the key… Opponents were baffled. Four years later he was a national champion. And now he planned to quit a sport just as he had come to dominate.
Whether you love, hate or are indifferent about sports or wrestling, this is one of the most powerful human interest stories that I’ve read. Some excerpts:
“The day Robles entered the world, doctors whisked him from the delivery room, to spare his mother, 16 years old and single, the shock of seeing her one-legged child. He was what’s known as a congenital amputee, and the cause of his condition remains unknown. When the doctors finally returned him to his mother, she looked her boy over carefully and predicted that the smooth declivity where his right leg should have been marked the end of her freedom forever.”
“Three years later, another doctor thought Robles would walk better with a prosthesis and fitted him with a heavy artificial leg. The boy promptly took it off when he got home and hid it behind a piece of furniture. At five, he shinnied 50 feet up a pole outside his house.”
“But if Robles was willful and assured by nature, a childhood of being stared at and taunted eventually saddled him with terrible self-consciousness. ‘I wanted to fit in so badly,’ he later said of his elementary and junior high school years. ‘For a while I tried to hide … to be camouflaged.’ But the bullies were not put off, and Robles gave up trying to disguise his differences.”
I share exercise inspirations on Saturday mornings to get me off the couch and out the door. This share by Steve Layman may be the most powerful story and research that I’ve read on this topic. A few excerpts…
The story starts with a Phil Bruno “super-sizing again…He was only a mile from his house, where his wife, Susan, was cooking the usual big Italian dinner for their family of five, but he was hungry now. The urge was automatic…Ten minutes later, with a bag of burgers steaming on the seat beside him, he pulled into a McDonald’s and ordered a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, an apple pie, and a chocolate shake to wash it all down…Phil had always loved food, which was part of the fabric of his tight-knit Sicilian-American family: Grandma and her lasagna were right down the street. But he’d been athletic in his youth, playing high school football and carrying a robust but reasonable 215 pounds on a six-foot-three-inch frame. Then, in his mid-twenties, he’d stopped working out, as many of us do when life starts to chew up our time. Over the years, his regular meals and high-calorie bingeing had turned him into a physical and emotional wreck. His joints ached whenever he used the stairs, his heart hammered, and he was possessed by a strange, burning thirst that no amount of ice water could quench. “I was 47 years old,” he says, “but I felt like I was 80.” [Read more...]