In front of my daily place of haunting, see the slick road bikes parked in a row! Inside me a tirade launches: why the fleck am I not in a great communal cycling group, witnessing dawns all across my town, living the dream of the bike?
Icy rationality kicks in. Andres, this year isn’t about silly cycling romance. Your Freshness Big Year is no big deal, bro, just very regular exercise, seeking steady incandescent energy for what is most important: your life and your damned book.
2017 saw next to no hiking, just cycling, jogging, and gym, but my presumption was that those three activities keep me well enough prepared for bushwalking. After all, walking is a doddle compared to running or cycling, right?
That assumption was put to the test last weekend when we practised hiking from one place to another, along the picturesque Surf Coast Track, carrying a 10-kilogram full-up day pack. We were rehearsing for our May odyssey, the Way of St Francis of Assisi, and we did 45 kilometers over the two days. Just as well we checked, for the result was most unexpected. My legs were sore after Day 1 and even sorer after Day 2, and my heels and toes burned hot, perhaps prelude to blisters.
So . . . more practice is essential or May will be torture!
My day crackles with energy
This Big Year shows restraint with physical exercise, the focus being on steadiness, week by week, and a desire for “better” energy. In practice, my jogging could get boring, so the other day, needing to only run 5 kms instead of 10, I laced up my Brooks Beasts, walked down to the flat river path, and attempted some speed.
I flew! Well, I didn’t, but compared to my normal slow speed, I was moving. Over my 5 kms, I managed a pace of 5:53 per kilometer. It’s been many years since I got so far under 6:00. Such fun!
More energy than mine! (David Whittaker’s photo on Pexels, cropped)
See how I balance on one leg. Not such a big deal for you, eh? Me, I include in my daily stretches the torture of teetering on my right leg, then my left leg, each for 30 seconds. Considering that I rarely miss a day of stretching, considering that a physio prescribed one-leg balancing a decade ago, I estimate I’ve tried 3,000 times. I’m extremely flat footed, which makes it tough, but surely it’s not that tough? Well, until today I’ve sometimes managed 50 seconds out of the 60 but never conquered both legs. Until today: I did it!
The secret was something my wife told me a few months back. You’re meant to use your core, advice from an osteo. I’ve always focused on my feet or my knees or my legs, and I wobble and collapse. Until today: I imagined having a core that could keep my legs steady, and lo and behold, my core snapped into action.
You can teach an old dog new tricks. I’m living proof.
Something I’ve puzzled over, so here’s a book to tackle: Marta Zaraska’s “Meathooked: .” I was drawn in by this long paragraph in her introduction:
As we approach the modern era, this book turns to biochemistry. Is there something in meat’s chemical composition that keeps us hooked? Is it the 2-methyl-3-furanthiol or one of the other one thousand volatile compounds that together make up the specific, mouthwatering scent of cooked meat? Is it the umami taste (Japanese for “delicious”) that is found mostly in meat, mushrooms, and milk? Or is meat actually necessary for staying healthy? Despite the risks of cancer and heart disease, what if the human race would be even worse off without meat, a planet full of small, immune-deficient weaklings? Are some people, those with a gene mutation that makes them dislike the scent of androstenone (a mammalian pheromone), destined to be vegetarians, while others, those who are particularly sensitive to bitter compounds in fruits and vegetables, more likely to love meat? Is it the skillful marketing and lobbying of the powerful meat industry, with its $186 billion worth of annual sales in the US alone, that keep us hooked on animal protein against our best interests? Or maybe, just maybe, do we eat meat simply out of habit, because it got so engrained in our culture and history that we just cannot let go of it? After all, what would Thanksgiving look like without a turkey or a summer grill without a burger? Do we eat meat because over the centuries it has come to symbolize masculinity, power over the poor, power over nature, and power over other nations? Is our love of meat a kind of addiction—psychological, chemical, or maybe a little of both? And if it is, will we ever be able to break it? Is telling people to “cut down on meat” no different from telling a chain-smoker to go cold turkey?
In 2016 I jogged very regularly (Jogging Big Year). This year I labelled as my Fitness Big Year. I introduced cycling and, after experimentation, settled on an authoritarian regimen of compulsory daily exercise, in fact nine times a week (3 rides, 3 jogs, 3 gyms).
One option for 2018 is to build on a slightly stronger body (for a 62-year-old) and expand my riding, perhaps even engage in competitive activities. But writing must take priority, so I’ve decided to do much the same as in 2017, with a twist. The “fitness” concept worked well but I’m not at peace with my diet or my sleeping, so I’m aiming for a year of jogging/cycling/gym steadiness with improvements.
The idea is to translate my healthy exercise levels into quality energy. I call it Freshness, standing for vigor, vitality, energy, zap, etc., etc. Here’s the rather odd combination I’ll strive for:
- 90/30/3 – each week, and only in the afternoons, exercise 9 times, cycling 90 kms, jogging 30 kms, and gym’ing 3 times. Note that the jogging and gym’ing weekly targets are unchanged from 2017, whereas in 2018 I’m actually reducing cycling from 110 kms/week to 90. Why the reduction? Time imposts, that’s all.
- I’m looking at annual targets of cycling 3,000 kms (quite a bit less than 2017’s 4,000), jogging 1,200 kms (up from 2017’s 1,000 kms but of course way less than 2016’s 1,700 kms), and 100 gyms (unchanged from 2017). Even though I’ve set these as annual targets, in 2018 I’ll focus much more on making each week pristine, rather than focusing on the an annual goal that can let me have a slack week followed by a catch-up week. The aim is regularity, so that I grumble less and simply get used to habitual exercise.
- M-W AFDs + 14 – absolutely no alcohol for the first three days of each and every week, and no more than 14 standard drinks per week. Why this weird impost? Well, I’m the addictive type and like my wine, and have, over the last few years, experienced a seemingly never-ending cycle of imbibing just a bit too much, trying to curb consumption with resolutions and systems, and periods of irrational guilt. All my research says 14 standard drinks is an absolute maximum for me at my age. Why Monday to Wednesday? Because my personality prefers to get the bad times out of the way at the beginning of a week, with the prospect of release at the end.
- 2 alarms – each and every day, set an alarm to go to sleep and one to rise. Insomnia is a phenomenon that puzzles me. I’ve always managed on little sleep, sometimes sleeping soundly, at other times being fitful. Right now sleep quality and quantity are not great, so in 2018 I’d like to get to a better place. 10:15 PM to sleep . . . 5 AM to rise . . . will steady application of these alarms instil deep, refreshing sleep? Let’s see.
- No snacking cheese – each and every day, stay away from cheese platters (cheese in recipes is fine). Why such a strange rule? Whereas in 2016, I kept my weight largely down to optimum leanness, this year I’ve ended up consistently over. I’m not overweight by much – one kilogram or maybe one and a half – but again, this is an issue that’s troubled me. I love calories and my exercise level means I can indulge, but I need to cut something out, and fine cheese (which I can’t resist but isn’t nirvana to my taste buds) seems the ideal target. (An ancillary reason is the ethical call from some friends to go vegan, which I can’t make myself do, so assuaging my conscience with a cut in dairy feels great.)
- No afternoon snacking at home – each and every day. After exercising, I can scoff any amount of crap, leaving me feeling guilty afterwards. So why not just cut out the dangerous pre-dinner period? Let’s see if it works.