HOME | POLITICS | SPORTS | LIFE | SCI/TECH | OPEDS | HELPFUL TIPS
|
Jan. 31, 2005 This is a story of steps and becoming fit as a fiddle in the modern high rise city that Elisha Otis made possible. No, Jim, this isn’t about beauty and thinness. Dad used to say, his ideal of beauty was a well-endowed woman—Mom. And she thought Dad, equally well-endowed, was the handsomest man she knew, and then some. Back to steps, Jim. We all know by now the ancient wisdom attributed to so many different cultures (which culture gets the credit for this piece of wisdom, I believe, depends on who is telling the story): “A thousand-mile journey starts with one small step.” “That should be one step, not one small step,” says Jim. “It doesn’t matter whether that first step is small in length or large, the foot movement will still be small when compared to the thousand-mile journey.” I am going to grant Jim his point for the purpose of moving on with my winding, stair-climbing journey and my decision to use something that we have come to bypass in our daily Otis-sized world. (After a research pause, Jim says: “Michael, did you know that the modern high rise city would not have been possible without the elevator company that Elisha Otis founded in the 1850s? Or that there are 1.4 million Otis elevators and escalators worldwide?”) (I do my due diligence and respond: “Jim, did you know that Elisha Otis died at the young age of 50? I don’t think that was Otis’ intention for himself or for others.”) After listening to another convincing good-for-your-heart-keep-the-weight-off authority, who recommended taking the stairs instead of the elevator, I decided in the latter half of 2004 to put my feet where my mouth was regarding heart-smart living. I was convinced I had a whole new exercise regimen ahead that I could repeat ad infinitum to beat the Creeping Pounds Malady that besets most of us who have chained-behind-a-desk-use-the-telephone-type jobs and not enough calorie-burning-strain-and-sweat activities. I renewed my acquaintance with all the stairs from the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) railway station in Oakland, CA, to the office building directly above it. (Joyce, who looks fit as a fiddle, will tell you that I made the same resolution in 1999, did not keep it for long, and added some fat in the middle. Jim crows, “I see beauty’s ideal at war with the fitness’ ideal in you.”) The building receptionist’s daily encouragement (“You’re in good shape, young man!”), on top of the rush of endorphins, was an elixir, that is, after the slight light-headedness that came from the objections raised by those recalcitrant pounds I had put on a few years ago, eating, what I believed was, good-for-me organic whole grain muffins, which were also loaded with oil and sugar. My new hardy climbing regimen gave me 50 steps in the morning. So far, so good. One evening, not satisfied with my morning dose of stepwork, I decided, after spending nine hours chained to my desk, to take the stairs from the BART Embarcadero subway station in San Francisco to the Cable Car stop on Market Street. This was really a hard slog at the end of a tension-filled day of believing that: “I caused the world’s problems, I can control the world’s problems, and I can cure the world’s problems.” My resistance to taking the additional steps was great. Bite the bullet, I told myself. The additional climb on the thousand-mile journey will be the best of all stress relievers, and add another60 steps to the morning’s 50. I could well imagine Jim’s words: “Wouldn’t you say 110 steps in a day is enough of a good thing? Or are you asking for a cardiovascular rebellion?” Nope. At the top of Nob Hill, I gave up my seat on the Cable Car to a photo-snapping tourist and walked determinedly to Grace Cathedral’s magnificent array of low-rise stairs. Up and down, up and down the stairs I went for another 200. I now had 310 steps under my belt. Next day, the doctors at the emergency room took a long time to discover the cause of my chest pains. One intern actually blanched when I said that the previous day I had climbed 310 steps. He shook his head and said, “Risky behavior.” I thought it best not to tell him that I had been contemplating a thousand, maybe two. After a battery of tests, the final consensus of the stethoscope-waving crowd who came to check me out over the next few days was: several factors could have contributed to the chest pains. “What about unremitting stress?” I inquired. Possible cause. Got to keep that blood pressure down. “What about exercise?” I asked. Probably saved my life, I thought. When can I get back to my step climbing? I want to be fit as a fiddle, no fat in the middle, regardless of Mom’s ideal. Their advice: Not a good idea at this time. And, until you get well, no more steps. After an adequate break, I am back at it. Jim says: “Risky behavior! Look, you have even added a new set of steps up the steep street which leads to Grace Cathedral! Why, can’t you just take it easy? Remember, Mom loved a well-endowed man.” “Well, Jim, I’m combining the hills of San Francisco to my step regimen. You’re right about Mom and Dad, but you know who Mom’s favorite actor was? “Richard Widmark! “What do you make of that, Jim? Attraction of opposites at a safe distance? “Jim, As I said at the start, this isn’t about beauty and thinness. It’s about becoming fit as a fiddle.” Jim’s last words: “Brother, your head’s in a muddle! Get over it, before it’s in a fine pickle!” ------------ About the author: Michael Chacko Daniels, a Californian, grew up in India. He is a writer, editor, community worker, and former clown. Visit him and his works at: http://IndiaWritingStation.squarespace.com Email: mchackod@pacbell.net Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
||||||
|
|
|||||||
|
