There is a song I like by Alexi Murdoch called "Breathe". The refrain is Don't Forget to Breathe and after listening to it over and over sometimes I get it stuck in my head. As bad as that might sound it is actually good advice, so there are worse things that could be stuck there.
I am a recreational tennis player. When I am not playing as well as I should I make little adjustments to try and improve my game. Last weekend I was playing in a match and in one such moment I reminded myself to breathe before starting a point. What often happens when I am about to serve or am receiving a serve is I tense up in anticipation and then tend to overplay a particular point. By focusing on my breathing I found that I relaxed and started to play better. As you might imagine this concept has broader applications than tennis or sports.
In my yoga classes our instructor has us focus on a three part breath called dirga pranayama. Basically, you focus your attention on your breath as it 1) starts in your abdomen 2) expands your ribs and finally 3) fills your lungs fully. Exhale and repeat. On one level, it is ridiculous to focus on breathing since you cannot make yourself stop breathing for more than about a minute. After that, your body takes over and forces you to breathe in order to stay alive. Sometimes when I focus on my breathing I start to freak myself out because I am artificially interfering with something that I otherwise do naturally, without thought.
However, what sustained three part breathing eliminates is shallow breathing which we tend to do under stress. After several minutes of focused , conscious deep breathing, I almost always feel better, more refreshed and alive. So whether it is a tennis match, an important meeting at work or just walking around the grocery store shopping, don't forget to breathe.
I knew this day was coming. All of the signs have been there for quite awhile. His hands are bigger than mine. His feet have been bigger for some time. Still, although he has been taller than my wife for over a year, I remained the tallest member of my nuclear family.
My son turned 16 a couple of weeks ago. Then he was away camping with a friend's family for a week. When I picked him up last Saturday, I discreetly checked and I was still taller. Today when he came in to talk with me he must have realized he had grown because he immediately challenged me to measure. Standing side by side in the mirror, I knew it was not looking good. I noticed that his eyes were above mine. But it was not official until my daughter came in with her book. Standing back to back, the book was placed across both of our heads. Even I could see it was tilting down on my head.
We have entered a new era. From this day forward, I will always and gladly look up to my son!
There is a man I pass every day on my way to work. His job is to give away newspapers, or rather to get the commuters passing him by to take one. Under the category of "nothing is ever easy" he is in direct competition with another man at the same metro stop giving away a competing paper. Making the man I am writing about job harder, is that the newspaper he is giving away has a conservative, dare I say Republican slant, and my neighborhood is decidedly liberal. He does this in all kinds of weather conditions. These days have been brutally hot and standing in the direct sun he is often drenched in sweat by 8:30 in the morning.
By now you understand that he has a very difficult job and yet I can say with confidence that he gives away at least half of the papers taken at that stop, more than his fair share including one each day to myself. How does he do it you wonder? This man, and I am ashamed to admit that I do not know his name, says the best good morning I have ever heard. It makes one, me, happy to hear it. He is speaking but it comes out more like a song. "Good Morning!" he sings. "I am happy to see you! Have a good day!" emphasis on good. That is his basic patter, but it seems to come from such a deep, heartfelt place that you cannot fail to notice it and feel lifted up.
His generosity of human spirit is not limited to the regulars who take his paper, but is applied evenly to each person who walks by. The feeling he conveys does not seem attached to whether or not you take his paper nor does it seem to contain any trace of fear of being outdone by the competition. "Thank you!" he says when you take his paper "have a good day!" To me, he embodies the best of the Buddhist principle of non-grasping which sometimes can be confused with dull lifelessness. The happiness he puts out into the world seems unattached to his receipt of a particular response or recognition. Sometimes I read books about Eastern thought and religion. One talked about an eternal fountain of happiness and contentment, a veritable well contained deep inside each of us that we might all reach and tap into with only the right mindful meditation. I do not know what path has led this man to this job. I am fairly certain it does not pay very much or come with many benefits. And yet, I believe he has discovered his fountain.
There is a picture I like taken of me near the end of high school. It is summertime and I am at a lake. I have a tan and my torso is the classic V shape. A combination of track, football, good genetics and the vigor of youth yielded a happy result of which I am proud. To me it is literally my picture of good health. The truth is though, that at the time it was taken, if I had seen it then, I would have likely been critical that there was a little bit of acne on my face. It is only with the patina of time that I am able to view myself more objectively.
These days, as a 46 year old man, I am even more critical of current photos. The cold fact is that the beautiful head of hair I once had is now gone and the fight now is more whether my torso will be more pear shaped or a basic square. Still, I realize that with enough patina of time, say when and if I am lucky enough to reach 70, I may yet look back at some of these current pictures and admire the vigor of my "youth".
I recently visited San Diego with my family. One of the things we did there was go to the zoo, which I think is beautiful and the best I have ever seen. There were many cool animals to see, but I was also people watching as well. For some reason it seemed there was a much higher than normal number of people there who were injured or needed some type of assistance to move around. Viewed positively, it was a good thing that they had all found a way to be mobile and could enjoy the zoo just like me. But I also wondered could my point of view be changing, that as part of growing older am I becoming more aware of human frailty, including my own and therefore more capable of noticing it in others?
The next day, while swimming in the ocean with my son, I stepped on a stingray. As you might imagine, it was extremely painful. As I stumbled out of the ocean to examine my bloody foot, I discovered a new magnitude of pain way beyond the bee stings and hits by jellyfish I had felt before. Fortunately, a nearby lifeguard told me how to treat it, and with the help of my wife and others, after hobbling about for a couple of days, I was mostly back to normal. I understand a certain branch of the military based in that area ascribes to the point of view that "pain is weakness leaving the body." For me, I would not go that far. Certainly, pain endured for a short time reminds me how grateful I am to be healthy again. Hooha!
One thing we always do in my yoga class, appropriately at the very end, is the corpse pose, savasana. I always look forward to it because it is really relaxing and by that point in the class my body has worked hard holding many poses. The basic concept is that you lie there on the mat, usually on your back as relaxed and tension free as you can be, as if you were, well, a corpse. Believe it or not this is hard for some people with racing minds, but it is not for me. I have always been able to enjoy a good nap and therefore I am always slightly annoyed when the little bell rings signaling it is time to resume movement.
Except today, after I assumed the position and took several deep cleansing breaths and started to relax, I noticed a slight tickling sensation on my left leg that felt like a fly had landed on me. Trying to remain as corpse-like as possible, I flicked my fingers toward it wishing it would move away. It took off, but sure as s___, in a few seconds it was back in a slightly different location. Now I started to worry that the instructor, who tends to wander around during this time might notice and I did not want to attract this type of attention. I mean, why was this fly singling me out from all the other people? Sure, it has been a while since I have been to class and maybe I sweat alot, but is that any reason to come crawl on me? I realize I am older than many of people there. Maybe the fly senses I am closer to death than the others and hopes he will get lucky.
Finally, and this made me laugh aloud right there on my mat, I realized that it was very corpse-like of me to attract flies and it must mean that I have mastered that position. The difference though, and this I presume, is that a corpse does not notice when a fly lands on him or her, and that, for now, makes all the difference.
I am doing this for myself, this losing weight and being more healthy thing. That said, I realize that I have made my goal and my journey public by doing this blog. As it turns out, I really do appreciate the encouragement I have received in the form of comments, and I have received many nice ones lately. It is a bit like when you run a long race and your spirits are starting to flag, it is so nice to have people along the way pulling for you and telling you that you can do it. Or you are in a football game and your team is down a few points and the crowd starts to go wild for you. But lately it has felt more like Rocky in the final rounds, eyes bruised and bloody when he want to give up but hears the crowd chanting, Rocky! Rocky! When that happened, Rocky was encouraged to keep going, to keep swinging and that is just what I am going to do. Thank you everyone!
I have always had this vague notion that losing weight in the summer is easy. My logic is that the weather is warm and therefore I am more likely to be outside and active. Likewise, summer is THE season for fruits and vegetables, so my diet should naturally be more healthy. You can see where this is going. The outcome of these two happy circumstances would be that I would lose weight without really trying, hence the living is easy. Except that it ain't. Rather than losing weight this summer, I have gained some back. I feel it in the waist of my pants and the tightening of my belts. I have been feeling too afraid to get on the scales to see what the damage is, but I forced myself to do it yesterday and I weighed 214 lbs. I have gained back half of what I lost since the beginning of the year.
It is true that I have been playing more tennis this summer, which I love and generally is good exercise. There was even one day where I jogged to our community pool - two miles away, swam 20 laps and then jogged home. The problem has been a lassitude of my attitude. Exercise this summer has been more as I feel like it or as an opportunity comes up, rather than regular, planned, and vigorous. Likewise, although I have been eating more fruits and vegetables, I have also been eating more of everything else and not writing it down, keeping track or holding myself accountable. I have been counting on increased exercise to keep the balance tipped in the right direction, but it has not worked out that way. At the end of June, I returned from a vacation determined to get back on the straight and narrow. I viewed July and August as my best opportunity to get below 200 lbs. Now July has come and mostly gone and I see I it will require tremendous effort to get back near my low point (205 lbs). At least the catfish are jumping.
I was walking my dog yesterday morning through the neighborhood when I saw a young couple, who I do not know, saying good-bye. At least, that is what I assume they were doing. The were standing by a car, or rather the man was standing. The young woman had her legs wrapped strongly around his hips, their arms were in full embrace and they were lost in a deep kiss. What passion, what intensity and enthusiasm, I thought. Now THAT is a good-bye!!! As I started to turn my head, embarrassed to see such an intimate moment, and starting to feel pangs of nostalgia wash over me, another neighbor, who I do know drove between me and the lovers. This woman is closer to my age, in her late forties. I am not sure whether she saw me, the lovers, or not. She seemed to be looking straight ahead. To me her face looked slightly weary, perhaps she was lost in her thoughts about her job, her husband or three kids.
I could not help but contrast these visions with another I had seen earlier in the week. I visited a funeral home a few nights ago to pay my respects to the family of my neighbor who lived across the street from us for fifteen years. She had passed away and I recently figured out that she must have been 68 when we moved here to start our family. At that time, she was still grieving the loss of her husband who I never met. She was reclusive and suffered from a mental illness, but she was also fiercely independent, living alone, mowing her own yard and walking regularly more than a mile to and from the grocery store. At times it seemed her greatest joy in life was tending the beautiful flowers she grew in her yard.
At the funeral home, like a coward I stayed near the front door of the reception room, meeting a couple of her grown children for the first time. I few times though, I could not help but to steal a glance towards the rear of the room, where, with an open casket, it was clear that all the vitality had gone out of the bloom.
In terms of being physically healthy, it would be hard to have a better role model than my dad. My father is 6'2" and has always been in good shape and incredibly strong. He has what is known as "country strength", that is a strength gained from doing strenuous labor, originally on a farm, day after day. Country strength is different and more natural that what someone gets by lifting weights and running around a track, which is inherently artificial. When little boys say "My daddy could beat up your daddy", in my case it was true.
By the time I was born, Dad no longer lived on a farm. But his pattern of hard never left him. After working a full day, driving around, meeting with people and doing his paper work, he would come home, change his clothes and begin his "second" job doing one project after another to improve our property. Just one example, one of the houses we lived in did not have a basement. My father wanted a basement so with a pick, a shovel and a wheelbarrow, over the course of a few months he dug a basement by hand. I was invited to help and participate in these projects, but never forced to do it - he respected the need to study. Although my inclinations were more toward mindless TV watching and later reading, I often joined in his projects as a cement mixer, flashlight holder, tool finder, just to have time to hang out with my dad.
Dad was always fairly disciplined with his diet, generally staying with healthy food. A few times he started to gain weight, in the rare instances when he was between projects, and then would cut back on what he ate, especially at lunch when he was working. For exercise he had a book promoted by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police that involved a regimen of sit-ups, push-ups, stretches, etc. There was also short stint where he a a few men in the neighborhood started jogging in the mornings. Someone suggested that they were all running around in their underwear, which when I think about it, was probably not true, but it became part of the myth. Mostly, what he did and still does today is hard work.
My father is now in his early 70s and is still in good shape. He has been retired for many years, but still works outside on his projects almost every day. The latest I heard about was a brick sun-deck he built down by the lake. He told me a story recently about when he and my mom were traveling. They stayed in a place with a small fitness center. Dad was trying the machines and did the one for leg presses - he pushed over 500 lbs. What I am saying to you is, if you ever have the pleasure of meeting my dad, do not mess with him, because he could still beat you up.
|
RSS Feed