I just finished my first tango class is almost 10 months. Wow! Was that ever tedious for a bit? I started with an intermediate class. Even though I'd been doing tango weekly for two years before, it felt like the hard drive between my ears had been totally erased as I danced with the first couple partners.
Then, magically, when it was my turn to dance with the instructor, it all came back almost in an instant. Now anyone who has danced with a professional knows that he/she can make even a rank beginner feel competent. But this was more than that: I was getting my groove back. Once I felt how my body was supposed to feel, I couldn't imagine how I hadn't been able to remember even minutes before. I had dusted off my muscle memory, and suddenly everything felt right.
Earlier this week I went back to the gym for the first time in several months. Our work gym had been being remodeled, and although I did some easy weights and floor exercises at home, mostly I'd been depending in my normal life aerobic activity to keep in shape. Much like the tango class, getting into the routine was stilted at first, but soon it began to flow.
I've also recently gotten back to a more regular meditation routine. I'm not sure when that began to slide, but it was like coming home to spend a few minutes in stillness each day before work.
Those of you who are regular readers have noticed that after slipping during some very long work hours during the spring, I've been getting the writing habit back. Not unlike the tango class and the gym, the first post or two felt laborious and forced, but by yesterday it was flowing. For me, the biggest difference has been my attention to the little things in life that have suggested themselves to me as subjects for a post when my intention to get back to writing has been clear. For several months, I'd been so nose down that I'd just sleepwalked through those inspirations. Writing is both centering and energizing to me. I am glad it is back, or I am back, or both.
The tango, the gym, the meditation, and the writing are all important parts of keeping me in balance, and what each of these resets has taught me is that, when I find my groove, body, mind, and spirit collaborate to shout to me: "This us where you should be."
As I've gotten these aspects of my life in balance, I've also started sleeping better, remembering my dreams, and this morning awakening with a creative inspiration that is quite exciting. It is almost as if our personal spiritual programs knows when we are where we should be and cheers us on. How did I lose touch with that core of my being? I do not know, but I am glad I am back in the groove again.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Showing posts with label finding the healthy person in me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label finding the healthy person in me. Show all posts
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Sunday, March 30, 2014
My Amazing Machine
This weekend I've been reading a book about my body.* I read a book about how my body works and what it needs at least once a year. I watch TV programs and read articles about health, nutrition, and exercise. I am always struck by what an amazing machine my body is. Of course, it's not just my body: we all have one, and they are truly remarkable.
When I was 10, my father almost died. He was 39. He almost died because of body neglect and abuse. He rarely exercised, and he consumed all matter of unhealthy fats and sugar. He was significantly overweight at that point in his life. He had a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit. A team of surgeons, experimenting with what was a new technique back then, put him together. His task was to keep himself healthy.
My maternal grandmother, who had always been interested in how we create health, took his health on as a mission. She read everything she could get her hands on, and she did a lot of research. My grandfather had been an organic gardener long before it had a name, primarily because he had limited financial resources, and his compost pile was less expensive than buying fertilizers. As Grandma read about creating health, his gardening took on new purpose. For almost as long as I can remember, I have understood that what goes into our bodies determines how healthy we are.
After almost a lifetime reading about my body, I have learned almost nothing new from this book. It is comprehensive, but so is my knowledge bank. Why, then, did I buy the book and spend most of my weekend reading it? And, why do I do so at least once a year with one new body book or another? Reinforcement and discipline. Each author packages the information I know differently, so every time I read, there is a slightly different twist to what I know. But there is more.
A friend once said to someone joining us for a meal for the first time, "Eating with Kay is an exercise in consciousness." I don't think she meant it in a bad way. I don't have expectations that others will eat the way I choose, and I rarely talk about it unless I know someone shares an interest. Most, who have eaten at my home, find what I serve delicious and satisfying, and many, if not most, would have no clue that I am serving "healthy" fare. I think what she meant is that I really give thought to what I prepare, what I eat, and how I treat my amazing machine. (She did ask if I'd leave her my recipes when I die.)
I read because, as conscious as I am, I slip into unconscious patterns. I find something new I like, which is healthy, and I begin preparing that dish a lot. I forget certain nutrients that were in dishes that dropped off my radar when I replaced them with the new recipe. Reading helps me remember.
For example, for much of the last dozen years, dinner has been some kind of spinach salad several times each week. I know that the dark green vegetables have remarkable healing powers, but about 18 months ago, I discovered a different, healthy salad with which I've been obsessed. I didn't even realize it until I read this book, spinach has taken a back burner in my eating. That will change this afternoon.
This time I am also reminded of water. I used to take a gallon jug to my desk with me each morning when I had a home office. I would drink the whole jug every day. My office away from home provides me access to filtered water, but I have to walk for it. I am sure I don't drink as much now as I should. Besides having to walk to my water, I discovered a great new decaf coffee roasted locally, and I've been making and drinking more coffee instead of water. If nothing more, this reading will bring me back to water.
I hope this reading will also get me back to regular exercise. Since I don't have a car, I walk a lot, so I am not without exercise. However, I exercised an hour a day, seven days a week, for much of my adult life. As regular readers of this blog have heard before, the demands of my current and recent jobs have that number down to two or three times a week, and sometimes less, in addition to my necessity walking. I make excuses, but the truth is that they are just excuses. In my heart, I know they are just excuses. I will make time for exercise.
My intention is to live a healthy life, and I know that is fully within my control. My father, who almost died at 39, lived to be 65. I got an extra 26 years with him because of what went into his body--and more importantly, what didn't go in his body. I am sure if he had been able to break the cigarette habit, we would have had him much longer. I have a deeply personal lesson in front of me.
Whether it is creating physical health or maintaining my spiritual practice, living with intention is a matter of constantly assessing how I am doing and what adjustments I need to make to bring me back to my target. (The example of this being at least the third time since I began writing this blog that I have refocused on regular exercise.) So, at least once a year, I read a book about my amazing body, figure out what adjustments I need to make and make them. I am living with intention. The annual (or more frequent) aiming over process is one way that I respect the amazing machine that enables me to do all the things I love doing.
*The Body Book by Cameron Diaz (Harper Wave 2014.)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
When I was 10, my father almost died. He was 39. He almost died because of body neglect and abuse. He rarely exercised, and he consumed all matter of unhealthy fats and sugar. He was significantly overweight at that point in his life. He had a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit. A team of surgeons, experimenting with what was a new technique back then, put him together. His task was to keep himself healthy.
My maternal grandmother, who had always been interested in how we create health, took his health on as a mission. She read everything she could get her hands on, and she did a lot of research. My grandfather had been an organic gardener long before it had a name, primarily because he had limited financial resources, and his compost pile was less expensive than buying fertilizers. As Grandma read about creating health, his gardening took on new purpose. For almost as long as I can remember, I have understood that what goes into our bodies determines how healthy we are.
After almost a lifetime reading about my body, I have learned almost nothing new from this book. It is comprehensive, but so is my knowledge bank. Why, then, did I buy the book and spend most of my weekend reading it? And, why do I do so at least once a year with one new body book or another? Reinforcement and discipline. Each author packages the information I know differently, so every time I read, there is a slightly different twist to what I know. But there is more.
A friend once said to someone joining us for a meal for the first time, "Eating with Kay is an exercise in consciousness." I don't think she meant it in a bad way. I don't have expectations that others will eat the way I choose, and I rarely talk about it unless I know someone shares an interest. Most, who have eaten at my home, find what I serve delicious and satisfying, and many, if not most, would have no clue that I am serving "healthy" fare. I think what she meant is that I really give thought to what I prepare, what I eat, and how I treat my amazing machine. (She did ask if I'd leave her my recipes when I die.)
I read because, as conscious as I am, I slip into unconscious patterns. I find something new I like, which is healthy, and I begin preparing that dish a lot. I forget certain nutrients that were in dishes that dropped off my radar when I replaced them with the new recipe. Reading helps me remember.
For example, for much of the last dozen years, dinner has been some kind of spinach salad several times each week. I know that the dark green vegetables have remarkable healing powers, but about 18 months ago, I discovered a different, healthy salad with which I've been obsessed. I didn't even realize it until I read this book, spinach has taken a back burner in my eating. That will change this afternoon.
This time I am also reminded of water. I used to take a gallon jug to my desk with me each morning when I had a home office. I would drink the whole jug every day. My office away from home provides me access to filtered water, but I have to walk for it. I am sure I don't drink as much now as I should. Besides having to walk to my water, I discovered a great new decaf coffee roasted locally, and I've been making and drinking more coffee instead of water. If nothing more, this reading will bring me back to water.
I hope this reading will also get me back to regular exercise. Since I don't have a car, I walk a lot, so I am not without exercise. However, I exercised an hour a day, seven days a week, for much of my adult life. As regular readers of this blog have heard before, the demands of my current and recent jobs have that number down to two or three times a week, and sometimes less, in addition to my necessity walking. I make excuses, but the truth is that they are just excuses. In my heart, I know they are just excuses. I will make time for exercise.
My intention is to live a healthy life, and I know that is fully within my control. My father, who almost died at 39, lived to be 65. I got an extra 26 years with him because of what went into his body--and more importantly, what didn't go in his body. I am sure if he had been able to break the cigarette habit, we would have had him much longer. I have a deeply personal lesson in front of me.
Whether it is creating physical health or maintaining my spiritual practice, living with intention is a matter of constantly assessing how I am doing and what adjustments I need to make to bring me back to my target. (The example of this being at least the third time since I began writing this blog that I have refocused on regular exercise.) So, at least once a year, I read a book about my amazing body, figure out what adjustments I need to make and make them. I am living with intention. The annual (or more frequent) aiming over process is one way that I respect the amazing machine that enables me to do all the things I love doing.
*The Body Book by Cameron Diaz (Harper Wave 2014.)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, February 13, 2014
The new "normal"
Last week I posed the quandary, if everything is a gift, then what is the value of a cold? (2/5) After struggling with this "gift" for over two weeks, today finally, I have the answer. When it is all over, it feels so good to just feel "normal." Most of the time, I don't even think about how I feel when I am "normal." Today I did, and I really liked it.
I didn't bound out of bed feeling great, but "gained speed" as the day moved on. My snow day allowed me a full night's sleep, and being home alone rested my voice that was mostly absent by the end of a day of facilitating yesterday. I struggled with computer problems all morning, but like a cold, a computer that works make "normal" remarkable.
I started hitting my stride by early afternoon and took a long lunch break for hall-walking again (2/6,) putting in a full hour. I got my heart rate up enough to cough out the last of the remaining congestion. That's not all it did, though. For 30 years, I've been an athlete. My body responds well to movement. Yet, I haven't moved regularly for a long time. Between injuries and long hours, exercise has taken the back seat in my life. Like the end of colds and working computers, the feeling of movement was a great "normal."
All afternoon, I felt supercharged as I plowed through the rest of the afternoon of teleworking like a breeze. When I finally stopped at 6:30, I could hardly believe how quickly the time had flown. This isn't new for me. Whenever I pull myself away from my desk to exercise at noon at the office, the afternoon always goes faster, I am more productive, and to me even more important, I am more creative. I am "in the zone," and exercise is the trigger. So, why have I let everything else come first? That shall remain among life's great questions, but I suspect it has something to do with thinking the work is more important than I am.
As soon as I got moving today, my body ached to move more. When I contemplated a cookie for dessert, it said to me, "If you eat it, you want to work it off!" Not "have" to work it off, but "want" to, and I did. I got out my stop watch and walked five floors before eating my cookie. And, I ate the cookie, I really enjoyed it. But unlike other times when one cookie makes me want another and another, this time I was satisfied. Instead of wanting another cookie, what I really wanted was more movement. I flipped on the Olympics and lifted some light weights and did 115 crunches while watching some free-style skiers give "movement" all new meaning.
Today was rich with Aha! moments. None of these were really new Aha! moments, but perhaps the biggest Aha! was recognizing how quickly I forget what I know in my heart to be true. You see, I believe that our intentions don't come from our brains, but they are born in our hearts. We don't make them up, but we hear them pleading for us to re-member who we are through our intentions. We choose to listen moment-by-moment, all day, every day.
Although no one who knew me as a child, or a teenager would believe it, when I started listening to my heart three decades ago, one of the first things I learned about me was that I am a healthy person. I just needed to find the healthy person, and I did, soon running 50 miles a week and bringing consciousness to my eating for the first time. For much of those 30 years, I have eaten very healthfully and exercised regularly. Today I listened to my heart again, and what it was saying was "Please remember to move! I want to me 'normal' again." Yes, there is something most remarkable about "normal."
I didn't bound out of bed feeling great, but "gained speed" as the day moved on. My snow day allowed me a full night's sleep, and being home alone rested my voice that was mostly absent by the end of a day of facilitating yesterday. I struggled with computer problems all morning, but like a cold, a computer that works make "normal" remarkable.
I started hitting my stride by early afternoon and took a long lunch break for hall-walking again (2/6,) putting in a full hour. I got my heart rate up enough to cough out the last of the remaining congestion. That's not all it did, though. For 30 years, I've been an athlete. My body responds well to movement. Yet, I haven't moved regularly for a long time. Between injuries and long hours, exercise has taken the back seat in my life. Like the end of colds and working computers, the feeling of movement was a great "normal."
All afternoon, I felt supercharged as I plowed through the rest of the afternoon of teleworking like a breeze. When I finally stopped at 6:30, I could hardly believe how quickly the time had flown. This isn't new for me. Whenever I pull myself away from my desk to exercise at noon at the office, the afternoon always goes faster, I am more productive, and to me even more important, I am more creative. I am "in the zone," and exercise is the trigger. So, why have I let everything else come first? That shall remain among life's great questions, but I suspect it has something to do with thinking the work is more important than I am.
As soon as I got moving today, my body ached to move more. When I contemplated a cookie for dessert, it said to me, "If you eat it, you want to work it off!" Not "have" to work it off, but "want" to, and I did. I got out my stop watch and walked five floors before eating my cookie. And, I ate the cookie, I really enjoyed it. But unlike other times when one cookie makes me want another and another, this time I was satisfied. Instead of wanting another cookie, what I really wanted was more movement. I flipped on the Olympics and lifted some light weights and did 115 crunches while watching some free-style skiers give "movement" all new meaning.
Today was rich with Aha! moments. None of these were really new Aha! moments, but perhaps the biggest Aha! was recognizing how quickly I forget what I know in my heart to be true. You see, I believe that our intentions don't come from our brains, but they are born in our hearts. We don't make them up, but we hear them pleading for us to re-member who we are through our intentions. We choose to listen moment-by-moment, all day, every day.
Although no one who knew me as a child, or a teenager would believe it, when I started listening to my heart three decades ago, one of the first things I learned about me was that I am a healthy person. I just needed to find the healthy person, and I did, soon running 50 miles a week and bringing consciousness to my eating for the first time. For much of those 30 years, I have eaten very healthfully and exercised regularly. Today I listened to my heart again, and what it was saying was "Please remember to move! I want to me 'normal' again." Yes, there is something most remarkable about "normal."
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