Tag: exercise

A New Beginning Dream

Winds hissed and howled, moaned and whistled last night. Rain splattered against the night world. Our young cat, Papi, wanted out, back in quickly, back out – hey, let’s try the front – and back in, etc. The cat’s demand fractured my sleep. Some time was then spent on writing the end of the novel but sleep finally hit. With it came dreams.

My wife and I were younger looking but in our current life situation, otherwise known as retired people. We were at a new place. Many of the buildings were white and brand new. She and I walked about it like astonished tourists taking in world wonders. News came by spoons, this was a new city. Not huge but neither was it small, its focus was about solving world issues. The mix of ethnicities and sexes impressed me, convincing me that this was a united effort across many races and nations. Engineers, architects, artists, and military members were among the people we met and saw, along with farmers and ranchers, all identified to us by what we saw them doing or what was overheard mentioned. Then came congratulations to me because I was part of this, brought on to help organize it. Well, super, I was flattered as hell but doubtful that I belonged. Insistence that I did was pushed on me by multiple folks. Well, okay, I guess I belong.

Next, we were elsewhere, traveling before going to the new place. Part of that meant I was meeting with others. We met on a stage. They were going to exercise before the formal handoff meeting. Did we want to join?

I did, but my wife didn’t. She wandered off as our impromptu class stretched and warmed up, awaiting our instructor. My stretching astonished me. Balanced on one leg, I raised the other above my head with ease. Wow, was I impressed. I jumped up and down and found I needed to be careful or I would crack my skull on the ceiling. Somewhere within those actions, I decided to change and poof, was changed into form fitting light gray workout clothes with a white headband. The instructor arrived but too much time was passed. My wife arrived, informing me that we had to go on because we were meeting other people in another city.

Zip, we were in the new city at a semi-formal event. Senior military people were there in large numbers. The spouse and I experienced minor confusion about what was going on and why we were in attendance. Servers circulated with trays of drinks. We accepted wine and champagne. Sipping drinks, we milled, meeting others, getting introduced. One young colonel who was a bald black man mentioned the new city in conversation. I responded that we knew about it.

His eyes widened. “You know of it?” When I said yes, he questioned me in an easy manner, confirming that we spoke about the same place and that I really knew about it. I finished by telling him, “We’re going to live there. I’ve been asked to join the staff.”

A smile split his face. “Wow,” he said. “Congratulations.” He thrust his hand at me. I shook it, grinning. As I did, I looked left. A small white model of the new city was on display. My wife stood beside it. I thought, that’s pretty cool. That’s where we’re going, to a new city and a new beginning.

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Floofisthenics

Floofisthenics (floofinition) – Floofercises and stretching related to animal behavior or practices.

In use: “Many people don’t appreciate how much having pets such as cats or dogs improve their physical conditioning, but floofisthenics done while feeding the beasts and cleaning up after them, as well as actually walking or chasing them in play, can help keep people fitter and trimmer.”

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Monday’s Theme Music

Yes, it’s 3/14 of 2022, which means this Monday is National Pi Day in the U.S. Is it irrational to have such a holiday? Perhaps not, when we play with Pi and then say, well, let’s have some pie, like apple or blueberry, or pizza pie, yeah? Yes.

Sunrise was a hazy, lazy, diminished spray of more light on curdled gray clouds at 7:25 AM. That stratus could speak to water sprinkling out of the sky sometime today. Temperature is now 45, but they said that 20 more degrees will be added on before the world turns my valley from the sun’s face at 7:16 this evening.

My wife’s exercise class featured the Broadway hits tape today. One song was “Try to Remember”. I was passing through on a cat feeding expedition when she called out, “Who is singing this?” I recognized Jerry Orbach, the late, wonderfully talented actor. “What was the play?” she asked. I couldn’t remember that. As I walked out, she called out, “Oh, it was The Fantasticks.” Right.

My wife is responsible for today’s theme music. She likes taking a few short exercise breaks throughout the day. She had been using her little iPod Shuffle for this, but she forgot to charge it a few days ago. So she fell back to using Alexa during the weekend. The songs she usually play are “Head & Heart” and “Fireball”. She’s trained Alexa to play “Head & Heart” when she says, “Alexa, play my favorite song.” Then, when the Joel Corry/MNEK 2020 song finishes, Alexa aways follows up with “Fireball” by Pitball and John Ryan (2014). I’ve heard each of those songs about eight times over the last two days, and they’re now welded to my neurons. I must share them to free the neurons. Well, I just used “Firefall” last year and I’ve never used “Head & Heart”, so here we go with “Head & Heart”. It’s a good dance song to move your blood.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax and boosters. I’m going for some coffee to move my blood. Cheers

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Fitbit Mystery

My wife was preparing for bed and removing her Fitbit. It was a few minutes after midnight. She said, “There’s no way you’re going to have more steps than me today.”

A weird thing to say a few minutes after midnight. The Fitbit resets at midnight.

She showed me her steps: 69,697.

WTF?

The next morning (yesterday), she was at an even 70,000. “Fix it for me,” she said. “I tried syncing and I couldn’t.”

Well, I logged in and looked at her settings. Everything was good. She hadn’t synced, her account said, since last November. I synced it and searched for why she may have had a surge. Nothing came up on the net and the Fitbit working fine today.

Just one of those mysteries, I guess. I do have a theory and I’ll check that later.

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Post Vaccine

Just adding to the body of knowledge out there about what people experience with their COVID-19 vaccinations.

For background, I’m officially retired from active employment, white, male, and a few months short of sixty-five years old. I’m a little overweight at 185 pounds. I walk regularly and lightly exercise but lead a mostly sedentary life of writing, reading, and surfing the net. Yard work and house work gives me additional ‘exercise’. I drink beer, wine, and coffee, but haven’t had any alcohol since last Thanksgiving. Just worked out that way. I only drink one cup of coffee a day now, a nod to my prostate.

I don’t eat much meat but a lot of fruits and vegetables, in large part because my wife is a vegetarian. I’ve dealt with high blood pressure/hypertension throughout my life, but played softball, racquetball, and ran a few miles a day several times a week until I blew out a knee in my late thirties. With a daily dose of Amlodipine, my blood pressure hovers around 130/60, with a heart rate of 62. My usual resting rate is 55 to 58. I also suffer from an enlarged prostate gland. I’m on Flomax for that.

I received the J&J one-shot coronavirus vaccine on Saturday morning, just before eleven. I had no immediate reaction. Per guidance, I rubbed the injection area and moved my arm throughout the day. I ran in place in the house, accumulating my twelve miles, but generally took it easy, writing, reading, eating, and attending to my floof masters.

The next day, Sunday, I woke up feeling fantastic. It was like I’d been given a B-12 injection. Was it possible that they’d given me some kind of placebo? I wrote a chapter in the morning (about three thousand words), and did some editing. After lunch, I drove down to the library to pick up a book up for my wife. The sunshine invited me to take a walk, so I put on three miles. Returning home just before three, I prepared to do yard work. I thought I’d do a strenuous walk after that.

My wife reminded me that my thinking was wrong. “I hope you didn’t exert yourself too much when you were walking,” she said.

“I didn’t. It’s mostly flat down there. Just a couple mild hills.”

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

Oh, yeah.

“They say that even though you feel good, your body is working hard beneath the surface.”

True.

I resigned myself to reading and surfing the net (and taking an incidental nap along the way). Running in place, I did achieve my goal of twelve miles but mourned that I hadn’t been able to take advantage of that fresh air and sunshine to break a serious sweat going up the steep hills around us.

Today, I feel good. Not as good as yesterday, more like just above my average. I have some stiffness and soreness on my left arm above the injection site. There’s no redness or swelling. My wife, who has an autoimmune disease, has experience similar symptoms, and reports that she feels fine.

That’s one of the maddening traits of this virus, though. Some feel like they get hit by a truck. Others feel nothing. Some suffer mild symptoms. As they say, your experience may vary.

Take care.

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The Goal

I’m swearing about modern technology again. It’s all so easy, so taken for granted, they have groomed me to complain.

Today’s target is my Fitbit. It needs recharged, again. Every few days, this takes place. I wear the thing almost 24/7, removing it only to save it from the showers. The rest of time finds it hugging my right wrist, monitoring my activity. Sure, it sends me an email when it needs recharged. That email arrives at 1:30 to 2:00 AM. I supposed, if I’m more rigorously disciplined and attentive, I can train myself to check it each night when I’ve reached my goal and see how much remains on the charge. Yeah, I could, but I’m lazy.

“It wouldn’t need to be recharged so much if you didn’t keep using it,” my wife observes.

A growl is given back. This is not time for humor. Charging the fitbit means removing it from my wrist and waiting while it charges. While it charges, I’m not collecting steps. My goal each day is twelve miles. It’s a new goal every morning, achieved every night. No, I haven’t walked it, didn’t run it, swim it, bike it; it’s an accumulation of twelve miles of activities, twelve miles achieved each day, something tangible.

Writing is different. I use word counts as mileposts but they don’t matter. I may have added words but the novel isn’t finished. I’m not certain how close to being done it is. I have guesses which makes sense, but I know, even when it’s ‘done’, it isn’t done. It needs revised and edited. Even then, it’s not done. It’s not published, not finalized in some concrete form. Until it reaches that final moment, it remains a work in progress. It’s like going from Earth to Mars; it’s gonna take a while.

So, I pursue my twelve miles every day, a goal established each morning, something achieved each night, something to make me feel good, damn it.

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Thursday’s Trinkets

  1. Feels like a Saturday. Odd, for me. I haven’t worked for a company where I kept a schedule for several years. You’d think the days of the week would’ve lost their feel by now.
  2. How does Saturday feel? Less structured. Freer. More relaxed and less stressed. Comfortable as a pair of your favorite shoes. Full of expectation that something good is just about to happen.
  3. Mood was dark earlier in the week. Ah, the standard black cycle. Went into a snarling depression. Thinking about what/how to write a scene, I sulked. ‘Thoughts went, I’ll be sixty-five years old next year, struggling to finish a novel. Written fifteen. Published four on Amazon to no great success. Agents are barely interested in what I submit to them, and I don’t pursue getting published with any great energy. Why am I wasting my time with this shit?’ Then I went mumbling away, did some other things, and thought, oh, this is what happens, and went back and resumed writing. Mine is a fickle mind, probably like most people. The fact is, I enjoy writing, and employing my imagination to create puzzles for my mind to solve, then scrambling to find he words. That’s writing, innit?
  4. Some of the week’s hours were spent helping my wife. She belongs to an exercise class. They meet every MoWedFri at nine AM via Zoom. Pre-COVID, it was an hour earlier at a gym. The instructor has been teaching this class for forty years, and my wife has been going for fifteen. We’ve made many friends through the class, including the instructor and her hubby. The class also launched my wife’s book club. Each year for Christmas, the class members take up a collection and sign a card for the instruction. Well, hard to do that this year. So I set up a private Gofundme for them. We worked with the Y on a letter that was sent to the members. Then I created an eighteen inch by thirty inch prop check for my wife to use to present the collection to the instructor. The prop came out okay, although elements reminded me of a fifth-grade project. But we had to use what we had on hand. It’s the thought that counts, right? The class took up over eleven hundred dollars. Knowing the instructor and her hubby, who aren’t in need, they’ll share it with others who are in need. They’re quite generous people.
  5. Setting up the Gofundme was extremely easy. It impressed me with how simple it was. Which had been my impression, leading to why I helped my wife. She and her friends were thinking it was technical and required computer savvy. It doesn’t.
  6. Reading Bill Bryson’s book, The Body: A Guide for Occupants. It’s rich with history and details. Great expanding knowledge. I’m not as intimate with my body’s functioning as I’d like to be. That’s one reason why I selected this book as a read. As I’ve aged and endured some minor health issued (enlarged prostate gland, broken arm, high blood pressure), I wanted to know more details about myself. I’ve been reading on the net, pursuing symptom after symptom, organ after organ, getting more granular with processes and functions. I suspect many people take up the same pastime of learning more about their body as they age. I keep thinking that I should’ve paid more attention when I was younger. You know, before things began giving me problems, right?
  7. Ran into a friend at the grocery store. I was checking out, he was coming in. About eight AM on Wed. We were both masked and had hats on. I said, “Pat.” He stopped in front of me, six feet away, and stared. “Who is that?” “Seidel.” “Michael!” A smile lit his eyes. “Didn’t know you. Hat. Mask.” We chatted for about ten seconds, and then pressed on. Not great socializers, either one of us, but it was pleasant encountering him.
  8. Watched Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom last night. Fraught with dialogue, tension, and foreshadowing, the film kept me focused. Strong characters…well, strong in every area and value. Viola Davis is on the shortlist of actors that always shade my opinion of a movie. If she’s in it, I’m more likely to be drawn to watching it. All that I’ve seen her in, she impresses me. Chadwick Boseman had also joined the list so it was crushing to hear of his death. Gotta say again, though, white people are often cruel, greedy assholes. Which, as a white person, pisses me off.
  9. It’s been a windy week. My cats DO NOT LIKE WIND. Tucker refuses to leave the house. His position is fine with me; he’s safer in the house. Boo the house panther likes to go out in the morning for a few hours in the back yard (if there’s sunshine) and an hour in the evening on the front porch. Papi, though, (aka the ginger boy, Youngblood, and Meep) despises the wind. He goes out the back and returns to the front, banging on to get back in. Does this six to eight times a day. Bored in the house but too bothered by the wind (and the cold) to stay out. Poor boy. I wrote about his feelings about the wind last month in The Despised Wind.
  10. My Fitbit report said that I did eighty-seven miles last week, three less than the week before. I thought, bullshit. I don’t know how that thing counts. Yes, I know the principles they employ; I’m just dubious of the results. Still, I keep trying to maintain a twelve-miles-a-day average. Need some sort of goal to focus.
  11. Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Happy holidays, whatever one it is which you recognize or celebrate. Remember, stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, social distance, and get the vaccine. Cheers
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May I Continue?

Well, writers, musicians, artists, poets, essayists, and novelists, we made it to May. Sometimes, in Feb. and March, May seemed like an impossible goal. But we kept going, didn’t we? Sure, there were a few stumbles. New bruises and injuries were acquired, but here we are again.

March and April were good, and not good for me. That’s how life often seems, though, doesn’t it? One area is going great and another area collapses like a calving glacier. My setbacks were in health. First, there was a long time where I had a severe cold. It seemed to be touring my body. Just when I thought it’d done it’s farewell show, the tour would begin again.

Next, whatever steers these things enlarged my prostate and shut down my bladder. It wasn’t a joyous experience but I survived. I’m fortunate to be financially comfortable and have health insurance. Besides being painful, uncomfortable, and inconvenient for a while, the issues meant that coffee, caffeine, chocolates and alcohol needed to be sliced back. I allow myself one cup of coffee a day. Drinking it centers around my writing. I used to drink a glass of red wine each night; no more. I haven’t had chocolate in weeks. I still have a beer once or twice a week. I last had one a week ago. I going back to the doctor in a month to see if surgery is required, or what.

Many writing days were lost in March and April. I’m surprised to discover that the novel I began writing in January is eighty-eight thousand words, three hundred forty-five Word pages, and almost finished. I thought, how did that happen? I guess it demonstrates the power of just sitting down and pushing. I didn’t write for five straight days in March, although I tried. I stopped posting my goofy little things for a few days, too.

When I read the work-in-progress that I’ve written, I enjoy it. Then I read someone else’s novel and fall into dejection because my novel is a piece of crap in comparison. Then I read my work-in-progress again, and think, no, this works.  It reminds me of George Jetson. Know him? He’s a fictional character in the animated cartoon series, The Jetsons. When the show ends and the credits run, George is walking the dog on a conveyor belt. The cat jumps on, and the dog begins chasing the cat. As the belt goes faster and faster, George falls down, and the cat and dog jump off to watch as George haplessly goes round and round, shouting, “Help. Jane, get me off this crazy thing.”

That’s how I sometimes feel with my writing efforts.

My exercise practices took a hit with my illnesses. Some days, my walking dropped to two and a half weary miles a day. Weekly totals plummeted to thirty-two miles. I gained eight pounds.

I’ve lost five of those pounds. The weekly totals of miles per week are back up into the mid-fifties. I recorded ten miles yesterday for the first time since the end of February. So, I’m making progress, and will cling to that.

That’s my recap. I hope you guys are all doing well, making progress, and not going insane or becoming depressed. Thanks for reading.

Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Cheers

 

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