On Life, Loss, and Longitude

Last week I called my dad on the walk home from the gym to boast about my run.  It was only two miles and it had been pretty difficult, but I can always count on my dear old man to congratulate me on what ever small feat toward my good health I'm able to accomplish.  Especially recently.  He knows how hard it's been for me the past four or five months.

He let me talk, gave me the praise I sought, but he sounded tired.  Exhausted, even.  "I have some bad news," he said with a downward slope to his lack-of-inflection.  I hounded him with a quick list of family members who could be in trouble.  "Do you remember Dan?" he said finally, sounding sad and regretful.  Dan.  His good pal, Dan.  My facebook friend, Dan.  Weekly household laugh, Dan.  Sent my parents a Christmas gift, Dan.  Of course I remember Dan.  "Yeah," he continued, "he passed away last night."

Let me just say that I have no authority on health that I plan to exercise in this post.  I have tracked maybe four days of a week's seven on average this month -- and my non-plan days have been party days.  Eat this because you may never have the freedom again days.  Because you wouldn't be able to otherwise days.  "Weight Watchers" is a sinful phrase days.  Peanut butter days.  Ice cream days.  Little hands squeezing your heart days. That's how I have been practicing life lately and that is my very humble disclaimer, so please think of this post as a reflection on my life and Dan's, and how they routinely and ideologically intersect.

A few weeks ago, I began to worry about my health on a deeper lever.  Its like I'm reverse-Weight Watchering.  I mean, I'm watching my weight... but I'm watching it go up.  What about my heart, I've been thinking, what about my cholesterol?  But my health, my wellness, my life always seem salvageable.  Reversible.  Do well for three days, run without pain, and be fine.  Check.  Dinner time?  Snap out of it Kels, it's a lot more substantial than that.

I think whenever someone dies it's common to take a look at your own life and take perspective, make comparisons, connections, prioritize.  Especially when that person leaves unreasonably and unresolved.  Now, I don't know a lot about Dan, his life, his health, or the "big picture" in terms of his lifestyle, so I will not speak for him, but I know the very funny, seemingly jolly man was, in part, depressed.  Or stressed.  Or something.  I know he worked from home, survived a few sour marriages, indulged in junk food, cigarettes, and alcohol, and I know that he lived for his dogs.  I know he loved to joke around with my dad, hundreds of miles away, over the internet.  I know he rested his head at night on his couch in front of his TV.  I know that was where he was found, having let go, due to natural causes.

Dan's life lived and life lost resonates like a parable in my mind.  Happy, but sad.  Not sick, but self-medicating.  I want to learn from it, I instantly thought, I want it to inspire me.  To change me.  But, like most potential movie-moments in life, that isn't happening and it shouldn't be something I ask for.  That's a really selfish thing to want.  ...but then again, I should be being selfish.  I should want the best for me.  Yet more pointedly, I should want to do the best for me.  And that's something I really need to work on.

When health becomes a matter of life and death, it's so easy for the rest of us to, say, start chopping broccoli, take a walk, eat an apple, run a few miles.  But the problem is that health is never a matter of life and death and when the latter in those two polar opposites becomes a possible option, the "simple" challenges of individual decisions no longer matter.  Because life and death is the bigger picture.  It's the grand scheme.  It's not one mile, but a thousand.

I have complete respect for Dan and as far as I know, he was a wonderful, jovial, interesting man and he made my dad's past few years at what was otherwise a grueling job bearable and sometimes even fun.  It's a really sad thing, his passing, but I think the best I, our families, everyone can do after coping with a loss like his is respect the absence by respecting what's present.  Thank our bodies.  Live our lives.  Take care of ourselves just a little more.  I'm sure anyone who's ever lost anyone to a stroke, a heart attack, or another poor health-related cause can tell you: when it really comes down to it, your health is not just for you.  It's for them.

January 31: 80 Apples, 47 Miles.  

Rest in Peace Dan Howard.  

The next hundred are for us.

I Don't Have Time to Write this Post

I was slowly fading in my Anthropology of Prisons class today when I reached for the grapefruit-sized Honeycrisp I had at the bottom of my backpack.  The coffee I had this morning did not sufficiently complete the waking up process and my mint gum wasn't doing its normal trick.  Maybe I need food to wake me up, I thought, as I still believe food is the answer to all of life's problems and uncomfortable circumstances, so I bit into the crimson globe.  Crunch, suck, gulp.  Zing! Pop! Hello!  It was insane: I was instantly awake.


On the radio a couple of weeks ago, Ryan Seacrest (yeah, I know, but bare with me...) equated eating an apple to having sex.  "I'm invigorated all the way to the middle and I get tired afterward," he said.  Now, while I do really, really love apples, I'm not exactly on board with such a comparison, but maybe it's because I don't get sleepy afterward.  The opposite happens for me.  And I have reason to believe I am not alone.


Why was Ryan Seacrest talking about apples on his radio show in the first place, you ask?  Well, in the slough of random facts shared on air, as is routine for most radio shows to do, his co-host shared the following, fascinating tidbit:


Apples prove more energizing than coffee.


There is a wealth of information to back up this statement and a simple Google search will provide any curious apple-eater-coffee-drinker (like myself) with the sizable list of reasons why this is true, but I think my case study of myself today was evidence enough.  Apples hit you faster, they're refreshing and crisp, it was said conversationally on the radio.  I couldn't agree more.  I even passed up my usual noon coffee an hour later.  "An apple contains natural sugars, so it has longer lasting effects and is a healthier alternative than a cup of coffee with caffeine that will wear off quickly...Coffee only acts as a stimulant while an apple's sugar and fiber will provide long-lasting energy" (thestylus.net.  McKay, Hailey.  Coffee's Healthy Alternatives.  2009.).  I'll name myself case in point, though I did crash at around 1 PM, but I think that was mostly due to digestion sleepies from my decently sized lunch.


But also, give me a break.  I'm a college student.


I have: a full course load, a part-time job, 10-15 hours of rehearsal a week, a high GPA I'm trying to keep on the rise, a social life that's as active as possible, a 15-30 minute commute to any given location, oh, and did I mention I'm trying to eat right and run ALL THE TIME?  Damn.  These crispy, juicy spheres better be giving me energy, because who has time to sleep anymore?


That's the fantastic thing about apples.  How easy are they?!  Not only are they wonderful little portion-sized, individually packaged, grab-and-go snacks, but they don't get damaged very easily, don't go bad very quickly, and they are practically sold everywhere.  Add to the list that they are relatively cheap, grow year-round, and wake you up!  This is exactly what I need.


Those moments in life when something you already knew you loved suddenly becomes much more worth loving are really magical.  I'm trying to rekindle that flame with many things in my life right now that once contributed to a healthier, happier me: running, tracking, Weight Watcher meetings, measuring, avoiding half the foods in the world (until I summon them to me, of course)... I'm glad to have found that with my lovely apples.

Resembling my current self portrait...

Being busy is a common tunnel to unhealthyhood, but I think that with the right planning, busyness can also help render a healthier person.  No time to prepare meals, no time to snack.  No time to exercise (no, really... I'm losing miles as we speak), no time to be lazy.  No time to make the right decisions, no time to make the wrong ones.  It's a curse, being busy, but it's also something I chose and a state I believe I am privileged to be in.  The true test, I think, is what I choose to do with what little free time I have... a test I've been recently failing but am determined to pass.  Soon.  Now.


It's excellent I have my apples to keep my on track.
Running will happen when it can, but Thousand, I am still planning on completing you.


Must stop writing now...
So much to do!

Exercise and Gratification: a Chronology

In 2006, 2.1% of high schools provided daily physical education in the United States (Robert Wood Johnson Foundation.  ActiveLivingResearch.org).  In 2006, this was a statistic I was happy about.  With P.E. offered only one semester of only one year, my high school most definitely was not in that measly two percent and I was sittin' pretty... fat.  No, I'm joking.  I was a little overweight (probably about 40 lbs) and in 2006 I was dancing almost daily.  I was good at it and I enjoyed dancing though movement still got me winded and it would be great, I thought, if no one ever made me run.  Ever again.

Dancing in Salvador da Bahia in Brazil, 2007

In 2004, I cheated on my physical education final.  It was the first semester of my freshman year and I had drudged through first period hot and sharp and in pain.  My social life was pretty good, but I did have an enemy: the track around the football field.  I hated that my new friends (cross-country runners, basketball players, one who's now a nationally-ranked volleyball star) could complete the assigned laps in conversation, barely breaking a sweat.  I used to tell myself, "Just get 20 more feet, and you'll be thin."

"Complete this lap and [crush of the hour] will ask you out."

"You can do this!"

But in 2004, I completed not a single lap without stopping, walking, or breaking the rewarding promise I'd made.  So when the final came to run a mile (and thus get an A), and when the first students finished as I was on lap 2, and when my chest ached sharp, dry pains, and when I was the last one out there just having started the fourth go-round...

I started crying.  I cried from the pain, from the embarrassment, from reconciling the popular 14-year-old life question, "Why me?"  I cried because I just wanted to go home.  Why did this have to be so hard?  Why were they putting me through this?  But to my teacher and to my class, I cried because of an injury.  That was why I couldn't complete the mile.  I got an A.

In 2009, I ran my first mile.

In 2010, after what had likely calculated to days, weeks, of elliptical use (elliptical use because though I was getting in shape, my emotional fear of running still resonated), I ran my first 5K.  Almost on accident.  My first 10K happened in the same fashion.  I thought, "This feels pretty okay!  I can keep going!"  So I did.

In 2010, I fell in love with running.  It felt good.  I could escape into the mild California summer I was jogging through.  Running became a form of meditation for me, it was a practice that made me feel special, at peace, energized, normal...  but I think, like drinking coffee, like finishing a long book, like eating vegetables, I liked it mostly for the maturity it boasted.  I liked what it did for my self-image.  I liked the way it made me feel, not in my body, but in my mind.  Running made me heart-healthy.

Ready to run 6 miles on my 20th birthday, August 2010

But in 2010, particularly during its close, exercise reclaimed its dreadful reputation and movement very rarely felt good, pleasurable, pain-free.  It was something I was making myself do and on days my body just wasn't having it, my mind would scream, "Suck it up!  You used to run six miles!  What happened?"

What happened was exercising had become a chore.  At goal, I was no longer motivated to exercise (and when I say "exercise," I mean Richard Simmons-type gym workouts, not the fun movement I forgot I loved, like dancing), I was no longer chipping away inches of myself.  I was no longer seeing progress.  In fact, what I was beginning to see was digression.

So, registering for this quarter, I placed myself in a dance class.  I am a dance minor but not a fervent one... I'm a dance minor because dance has almost always been in my life, and a part of my identity.  I also thought it would be a tricky way to make myself stay active.  You can't become immobilly fat if you want to graduate college, Kelsi.  You're a dance minor.

This quarter, I'm taking a modern class with one of the most right-for-me instructors I've ever had and a live musician who takes choreography and turns it into percussion that moves your body with or without your consent.  It's twice a week and it sounds silly, but I'm feeling as if this class could quite possibly save me.

I'm still running.

Dancing with "Mr. Tahiti" in Papara, Tahiti September, 2010

Because here's the thing: being in shape allows pleasurable forms of movement, like dance, to be all the more gratifying.  I'm not talking, "Oh that was fun but I'd rather be watching The Biggest Loser with my dinner on a TV tray."  I'm talking real, sensual, lip-biting, feel-good movement.  That's what dance is for me.  And running's making it ten times more so, and because it has a real purpose again, that foot-falling, mile-traveling transportation mode is once again also turning into the best thing ever.

If you eat ice cream every evening after dinner, I'd like to encourage you to miss it for a while.  A week.  A month.  Replace it with yogurt.  Strawberries.  An apple?  When the time is up, have your ice cream.  See what I'm talking about.  (I have actually become too intimate with ice cream myself and am taking a hiatus from it until Spring, because I know it'll make me melt once we reconvene.)

Here's what I've learned: health allows for happier living, greater sensory experiences.  Withdrawal from delicious moments, both in mind and in body, just makes those [albeit rare] encounters all the more delicious.  Gritting through the run, the salad, the desert-less week (gasp!) makes those moments that used to be special but are now regular, special again.

Remember when your normal was once extraordinary?

This said, I must admit that even at three a day, apples (26) still feel incredible going down, and my miles traveled (21.8) are getting more and more what they used to be to me.  But for the most part, enjoying living is all about missing it just enough.

In 2011, I rediscovered feeling alive. 

Work Made Easier?

I rang in the New Year, kissed it in, counted it down, to the ticking of some drunk stranger's atomic clock on his cell.  There we were, a cluster of college coeds, 4-3-2-1ing to...a smart phone.  The party could have watched the ball drop, but the TV was hooked up to an iPod and the music had been playing for hours.  I had been checking my own smart phone for the past hour, approaching random party-goers, "You have 22 minutes left in 2010...what are you going to do?"  My good friend Katie told me that in her last few minutes, she was going to take a shot with me.  Needless to say, I also brought in the New Year with plenty of calories in the deceiving clear packaging of gin and Sprite (we had exhausted the supply of Sprite Zero.  Sad).  However.  I had a good time, even if I did feel as if I was going to loose it over my egg white omelet the next morning.

Yet the way in which it happened, this first hour of January 1, 2011, seemed poetic, if not perfectly progressive.  Over the years, generations have watched the second hand complete a significant last circle and, later, have watched the ball drop, televised from Times Square in New York City.  By yet another force of progression, we were linked by a hand-held, multi-use device to the Atomic Clock, the "official US time."  Celebrating the New Year is nothing near "new," but the way people over time have used their resources to detect those first moments is a perfect example of why staying, becoming, and existing "healthy" in this technological age seems so utterly difficult.

The routines remain consistent - we still celebrate 12:00 AM and must "eat right and get regular exercise" in order to be healthy - yet the evolving and, I'm going to use editorial quotation marks here, "progressive" culture surrounding such routines seem to strip them of their most important, primitive elements.  We have all this fancy gym equipment: ellipticals, stairmasters, stationary bikes, treadmills... all designed to integrate a characteristically American hate, exercise, with an equally fervent American love, technology.  The promise here is. then, on some level what it is with that deck of cards-sized jukebox/telephone/personal computer/gaming device: it is technology and it is therefore making life easier... and more work-free.

Well, guess what, WiiFit: the sweating still happens.  And once it starts, most of us stop.  I did for years.

I love it when cultural staples such as technology, fast food, or capitalism join in with other sought-after American values, yet things we're not willing to work for.  Health.  The perfect body.  (What's that?)  My brand new smart phone connects to the Droid market, which allows me to calculate Weight Watchers PointsPlus values on a touch-screen.  Subway is my go-to healthy quick-fix and though I have committed to never eating McDonald's again, I could find low-calorie options there fairly easy.  MTV Cribs and other shows like it boast home gyms, expressing falsely how acquiring money keys one into The Secret Society of Good Health.

This guy... God.

But as easy as cultural evolution claims to make it for us commoners to lose and maintain weight, it's still one of the hardest things in the world to do: make the right choices.  Because where there is one ray of sunshine, it's raining everywhere else.  I'm a perfect person to say: it really doesn't get easier, either.  The temptations of sloth and gluttony seem to have been magnified by the ever-building "easy access" America, even if this new America claims to just as readily provide resources for healthy living.

I'd really rather sit on my ass eating dinner watching The Biggest Loser than get up and be one myself.  I think that's pretty standard.

This morning on January 5th, I am thirteen apples and 10.2 miles in and I'm sorry, Millennium, but until you plant apple trees on every corner and multiple parks in every city, I will consider myself partially devoid of the promised "Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness."  I appreciate technology and cultural growth, for it's what I use, study, and love, but it's chalk-full of myths.

No matter how many robots we have, 2011, hard work is still required.  And, frankly, though it's sometimes painful to admit it, effort is typically what gives life its value (not iPads or Treadclimbers).  After all, isn't the American Dream originally based on the Bootstrap Theory, anyway?  Sweat your way there!

This posted from my MacBook on wireless.