Eat, Sweat, Engage … and Relax, Baby!

An Answer to the Plinky Prompt, “What do you do to stay healthy?”

“A bicycle does get you there and more…. And there is always the thin edge of danger to keep you alert and comfortably apprehensive.  Dogs become dogs again and snap at your raincoat; potholes become personal.  And getting there is all the fun.”  ~Bill Emerson, “On Bicycling,” Saturday Evening Post, 29 July 1967

“Healthy” is at least a three-ring circus (maybe more) for me. Circuses are fun, entertaining, and beneficial if taken in moderation. Moderation, I readily admit, is defined relative to the activity undertaken and the actor who’s undertaking it (the “undertakee”).  “Undertakee’s” age may be one of several relevant factors.  So here’s how I look at staying healthy.

Road cycling race in Hilversum

Physical health, mental health, and emotional health are indispensable members of a team, a team that lubes the running gears of a synchronous, synergistic and vibrant organism — my body — for maximum enjoyment and productivity. In my opinion, there is no team star; to neglect any one of the team members is a sure recipe for disaster, sooner or later.  And the team manager is courage, without which the team will never take the field.

The only “special diet” that interests me is the one that includes a well-proportioned intake of plenty of fresh vegetables & fruits (complex carbohydrates), whole grains, proteins and healthy fats, with a significant percentage of the fruits and veggies ingested in raw form. Raw juices with no pulp removed and no sugar added may be part of that mix. The sugars I eat (okay, I confess to the rare Snicker bar, Almond Joy, pastry and holiday pie) are raw honey, maple syrup (on Saturday pancakes or waffle) and all-fruit, no-sugar-added jellies with breakfast. Oh, and did I mention pure drinking water — lots of it? These days, I’m trying to drink 96 ounces per day.  The rule of thumb is that your intake should roughly equal, in ounces, half your body weight, so I overdo it a bit for my 170 lbs. For kicks, I drink a double shot of espresso every morning with breakfast — just to keep things moving. And a little red wine with the evening meal is not required, … nor frowned upon.

For me, the main ingredient of a workable physical exercise plan is and always has been sweat — and lots of it! I like to sweat when I’m working out; I know it’s one indicator that I’m accomplishing my goal through a consistent and sustained expenditure of energy under a stress load. If I work out right, hard enough and long enough, I’ll be sweating, and when I do, all my body’s systems — organs, muscles, endocrine system, skin, etc. – flush themselves of toxins. So I’m cleaning inside and improving/maintaining my cardio-vascular health. My favorite physical workout is a strenuous bicycle ride, riding rolling hills, doing hill climbs, or going all out on the flats. I love the singing of my tires, the wind and sun in my face, and the awareness that I’m working lots of muscles to the max! When other friendly cyclists are along, it’s even better.

This is also one of the surest ways to support optimum mental and emotional health, because as I rev up my physical motors, I increase blood circulation throughout my body, and especially my brain. This makes for better all-round vitality, and I know of no other way to achieve that. But good mental and emotional health also require other inputs and conditioning of a far less physical nature. I read much, I try to learn something every day, I engage in robust conversation with people of all ages and “stripes,” listening and sharing. I attempt to stay grounded or centered on who I am and what I want to be — both to myself and to others. And although I struggle in the process, I do my best to get adequate rest and downtime. Sometimes I listen to music or read; I often do creative writing, sketching or some other “release” activity to stay balanced and in touch with the rhythms of my life.

Remember when, in 1985 at the Washington Press Club’s “Salute to Congress” black-tie dinner, Washington Redskins player John Riggins told U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, ”Loosen up, Sandy baby. You’re too tight,” and then took a 45-minute nap on the floor during VP George Bush’s speech?  He was on to something, notwithstanding his public drunkenness and inappropriate familiarity/disrespect toward Sandra Day O’Connor.  Atrocious public conduct [Note: Riggins was arrested for his misconduct], but still apt for making my point that too much seriousness and uptight attitude toward life are not healthy.  We all need rest and relaxation – downtime – even a justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.  No one is immune to the need for good health habits.

I’m happier when my health is good, when I live like this.  And everyone around me is happier because I’m not as likely to be a grump. Go for it!

Carpe diem. Vita brevis!

©  May 9, 2011, by Michael E. Stubblefield. All rights to my original work are reserved.  Photo courtesy of Plinky.com.

One Child’s Wisdom

Don’t look at me all bug-eyed, as though you disbelieve!  The Boogeyman has been around a long time, and everybody knows it, even adults.  Kids, especially little kids, can tell you all about him — what he looks like, where he lurks and lies in wait, what he does when he gets you.  Adults can’t, though — or won’t.  We’re too sophisticated to believe in childish stories.  A boogeyman?  Nah!  But you can research the topic on the Internet if you want; there’s been a movie or two about him, and surely hundreds of stories over the generations by the likes of Stephen King and a host of others.  The Grimm Brothers’ Children’s and Household Tales were often about this grim character of folklore, in one form and name or another.  Not only has he survived, but he has thrived at the unwitting hand of humankind’s nurture.  Like you (I’ll bet) and millions of others, I remember being afraid to enter a dark room, get out of bed at night, or go outside in the dark because “the Boogeyman” might get me.  That was common knowledge.  All my school friends could, wide-eyed and gulping, confirm his existence based on independent experience, even if not an eyewitness report.

As I was growing up and battling the fear of such a specter, I was sure that he had many forms, that he was an omnipresent, evanescent creature with chameleon powers so that he avoided detection by his victims until it was too late and he had you.  He clearly had “the upper hand” — ALL the hands!  Enough to snare you, stifle your cries for help, smother you near to death, and use you for his nefarious purposes, purposes never apprehended by his young prey.  To be sure, we didn’t think then in fifty-cent words like “omnipresent” or “evanescent” or even “chameleon.”  But the unmitigated truth of the Boogeyman’s existence was without doubt.

Then Yann Martel came along and spoke in the profoundly simple-yet-vivid voice of a young, bewildered, shipwrecked Indian boy, Piscine Molitor Patel (“Pi”), to address — no, to call out! — the Boogeyman.  It’s an ancient story reborn.  But the Boogeyman doesn’t really exist!  Or does he?

Here’s how Pi puts it:

I must say a word about fear.  It is life’s only true opponent.  Only fear can defeat life.  It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know.  It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy.  It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unerring ease.  It begins in your mind, always.  One moment you are feeling calm, self-possessed, happy.  Then fear, disguised in the garb of mild-mannered doubt, slips into your mind like a spy.  Doubt meets disbelief and disbelief tries to push it out.  But disbelief is a poorly armed foot soldier.  Doubt does away with it with little trouble.  You become anxious.  Reason comes to do battle for you.  You are reassured.  Reason is fully equipped with the latest weapons technology.  But, to your amazement, despite superior tactics and a number of undeniable victories, reason is laid low.  You feel yourself weakening, wavering.  Your anxiety becomes dread.

Fear next turns fully to your body, which is already aware that something terribly wrong is going on.  Already your lungs have flown away like a bird and your guts have slithered away like a snake.  Now your tongue drops dead like an opossum, while your jaw begins to gallop on the spot.  Your ears go deaf.  Your muscles begin to shiver as if they had malaria and your knees to shake as though they were dancing.  Your heart strains too hard, while your sphincter relaxes too much.  And so with the rest of your body.  Every part of you, in the manner most suited to it, falls apart.  Only your eyes work well.  They always pay proper attention to fear.

Quickly you make rash decisions.  You dismiss your last allies: hope and trust.  There, you’ve defeated yourself.  Fear, which is but an impression, has triumphed over you.

The matter is difficult to put into words.  For fear, real fear, such as shakes you to your foundation, such as you feel when you are brought face to face with your mortal end, nestles in your memory like a gangrene; it seeks to rot everything, even the words with which to speak of it.  So you must fight hard to express it.  You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it.  Because if you don’t, if your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you.

~ Y. Martel, Life of Pi, Harcourt, Inc., 2001, p. 161-62 (underlining and bold emphasis added).

I believe Pi  — or Martel — nailed it, spot-on.  Does his description sound familiar to you?  And have not many sages, masters, prophets, teachers and divines down through the ages left a wealth of recorded wisdom on this very topic, spoken in other words and many languages?  Where else might we find that wisdom, those thoughts and principles verified so eloquently by the poor, shipwrecked Pi as he faced his Bengal tiger?

Carpe diem.  Vita brevis.

© April 30, 2011, by Michael E. Stubblefield.  All rights reserved.

Lineage (or Line Dancing)

“Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, Here I am, Stuck in the middle with you.” ~ Stealers Wheel, 1972

There is no line,

There’s a fine line,

Or a design line,

And a telephone line.

The color line,

The gender line,

A product line,

Two party lines.

The union line.

A picket line,

A boundary line,

The welfare line.

The free-throw line,

The half-court line,

The three-point line,

A goal line.

A yard line,

The baseline,

A morning line and

The scrimmage line.

(Oh, and the line drive.)

One bowling line,

And a hard line,

A half-cup line,

And your waistline.

Battle lines,

Cemetery lines,

Soup lines, and

Skylines.

A pipeline,

Customer service line,

An electrical line,

And a hemline.

The railroad line,

A bus line, airline,

A clothesline,

And assembly line.

Song line,

Long line,

Invisible line,

And wrong line.

Ancestral line,

Defensive line,

A tree line,

And the water line.

Get in line!

You cut in line!

You stole my line!

We’ll hold the line!

A white line,

A bright line,

A thin red line,

And a long blue line.

We must get in line,

Send word down the line,

To follow the line

To the end of the line.

You stand in line,

Johnny walks the line,

The demarcation line –

Where I draw the line.

Zipline! 

Any more lines?

∞

© March, 2011, by Michael E. Stubblefield.  All rights reserved.

No Dogs Allowed

Exclusions abound in this world.  Consider the dog, a creature often excluded from the affairs of man.  They wait, tied outside, while their owners buy coffee, sit and read books, shop, etc.  Dogs are often associated in speech with disrespect (whether accurately or not) , as in “I’ve been working like a dog,” “He treats me like a dog,” or “The world is going to the dogs.”  Even though they enjoy a great deal more affection and attention from owners these days, they are still creatures of comparatively low station – perhaps moreso because they often cower before humans – that are only occasionally honored for utilitarian value. This is so even though some of the dogs I’ve seen do credit to their masters.  As Mark Twain said, “If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and a man.” Judging by the sign at right, dogs may be smarter, too!

Speaking of dogs — have you ever had someone say, “We can talk about that if you’ll agree not to get emotional” (or more precisely, “all” emotional)?  Talk about an exclusionary structure!  Emotions are the dogs of human discourse.  “You can come in, but don’t bring that dog (your emotions)!”  Think about how many times that restriction is applied to the affairs of everyday life.  About the only place “getting all emotional” receives any respect is in the shrink’s office.  Oh, and in the sports arena.

Consider whether perhaps there’s some reparation and repatriation due the outcast of human conversation known as emotions.

* * *

I reconnected with an old friend the other day, one I hadn’t heard from in several years.  As is often the case, distance and life’s circumstances had broken the bond of commonality.  In earlier times, our friendship involved frequent and serious discussions held in good faith about a lot of life’s issues – politics, economics, education, children, church and religion in general, science, etc., — and often they went on for hours in generally healthy directions, incorporated a great deal of agreement or concurrence, involved sporadic rabbit trails, and sometimes got really earnest.  To my recollection, there was never anger, even in the midst of disagreement.  But now I wonder.

Our recent resumption of dialog began with random possibilities for conversation when the following add-on suddenly lurched to the top: “… that is, if we promise to discuss it without emotion ….”  His comment hung like the poised blade of a guillotine, ready to terminate our exchange. I restrained the immediate impulse to ask, “Why did you say that? Is there something more you wish to say, or is this merely an arbitrary prohibition?”  More to the point: “What is wrong with emotions?”

But his statement seemed determined – his underlying implication being that “emotions” have no valid place in human discourse.  That’s often the case with conversation, isn’t it?  People want to banish or exclude emotion and will often describe third parties as “too emotional,” especially when they disagree.  Emotional expression, other than saying something acceptably funny, is often the conversational equivalent of disclosing a deadly disease, as hilariously lampooned in Gary Larson’s The Far Side cartoon entitled “Canine Faux Pas.”  Larson’s cartoon shows a bunch of upright dogs at a party, all with drinks in their hands and — all but one — shocked looks on their faces, when the one shouts to another over the noise of the party, something like, “My vet told me today I have worms!”  A sure turn-off, the canine equivalent of HIV.

In human conversations, the “emotional” tag  is inextricably tied to “reaction,” and that perception strengthens with every repetition like a snowball gaining mass as it rolls downhill.  We want to kick emotions out the door as quickly as possible.  Reactions are seldom welcome, unless in response to a physical emergency, at which point they are not only welcomed but encouraged.  Otherwise, though, you can check ‘em at the door because they are second-class citizens, the stuff of unsophisticated harshness, raw, unpolished society, the “lower classes.”  Even when someone asks you for your reaction, as in “What’s your reaction to today’s news that …?”  If you give them something they weren’t expecting, you may get blamed with “overreacting” or “getting all emotional” even if your response was measured and calm.  Why?  Is it, perhaps, because we fear that we’ll be touched by the emotion, don’t know how to cope with it appropriately, or will be unable to defend against it?

What responses fall within the definition of “emotional”? And what emotions, if any, are acceptable in culture?  Easy ones come to mind.  While it’s perfectly acceptable to cry at a wedding or funeral, an award ceremony, or upon receipt of sad news, it’s far less acceptable to cry when someone makes a snide remark to you, when your boss or spouse is unnecessarily blunt.  Likewise, it’s perfectly acceptable to yell things, even stupid things, at a sporting event, but not so where a disagreement arises, even though both are expressions of emotions and may convey no more than the speaker’s passion on a certain issue. One just “should not yell” when in conversation; the unspoken assumption is that one must be contained at all times.

But passions [here, not to be confused with a romantic or sexual context] and emotions are sometimes not so easily identified or separated, and neither should be dismissed out of hand as being inherently disqualified.  After all, we want our employees, board members, players and coaches, students, et al., to be passionate about our team, our products and services, our organization, our accomplishments, etc., but when it comes to passionate expressions in the discussion, it’s usually “Katy, bar the door!”  Why are we so eternally ill-at-ease with another’s emotions and passions? Are the two related?  Can one be distinguished from the other in the midst of conversation, and if so, how?  Are we reasonable in expecting others to abide by the arbitrary fiat that an emotional or passionate tone is not allowed into civilized conversation?  Can one have her/his say without being preempted or prohibited for bringing an important human element to the conversation, that of emotion or passion?  Don’t we all come packaged or hard-wired with emotions that, to varying degrees and according to our personalities, convey something important about who we are, how we feel, and what we stand for?

Some of the most articulate and memorable quotes down through history have been passionate, emotional statements. Look at Patrick Henry’s “Give me liberty or give me death!”; Nathan Hale’s “I regret that I have but one life to give for my country!”; Abraham Lincoln’s immortal Gettysburg Address, about two minutes in length.  All are laced with raw emotion formed in the crucible of war or the contemplation of it, all three statements issued by sane men and calculated to instill courage in the listener, or at least express the urgency of the moment.  When Admiral Farragut yelled “Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!” as his fleet momentarily flinched in the face of mortal danger upon sailing into Mobile Bay in 1864, he issued a stirring call to action.  Would you remember it – more important, would his men have appropriately acted – had he calmly said, “You know, I’ve been thinking that perhaps we should not worry so much about the torpedoes and just keep forging ahead”?  Of course not!  Totally inane, and insane, bereft of any power.

Our ability to communicate – whether expressed in words, gestures, art or music – often embodies the need to express powerful, eloquent and important messages that can penetrate the very essence of the moment.  Emotions and passion are able to cut through the fog and get down to reality, reducing much fumbling verbiage to a few concise words or phrases that pierce the veil.  We need not fear, and ought not forbid, expressions of emotion and passion when used within reasonable constraints and amenable circumstances.  Once we overcome the knee-jerk wish to suppress them, we often are able to learn, to hear, to feel, to respond and even to sympathize or empathize with the feelings of urgency, hurt, anger, despair, jubilation, inspiration, admonition, or encouragement we hear.  Instead of denying the privilege, we should embrace and extend openness to the expression of raw emotion — one of the great gifts of human creativity.

Carpe diem. Vita brevis!

©  September, 2010, by Michael E. Stubblefield.  All rights reserved.