A Love Affair with George Sheehan

My cyclist bro Davie Gie and I share a fondness for George Sheehan's book Running and Being. In fact I stole your copy, Dave, and that is why you cannot find yours. An intriguing fellow he exercised first and then lived the rest of his life which included a busy medical practice and a large family. The interesting thing about the man is that he was a dyed-in-the-wool introvert despite having the prestigious career thing going for him. And I quote, "I am a nervous, shy noncombatant who has no feeling for people. I find no happiness in carnival, no joy in community. I am one with the writers on The New Yorker whom Brendan Gill described. They touched each other only by accident, were secretive about everything, and never introduced anyone properly."

I walk into the house dripping from my hour at the pool and the rain begins to pour from the leaden skies. I have been lucky with weather and schedules this summer and have been able to maintain a daily swim. I was loathe to leave today and continued to stay in those cool waters and watch the sky turn colors. Due to the great amount of time I spend outdoors I am fairly talented at reading the sky just like any mailman (mailperson) would be. I knew the creases of light behind the darknesses was not a rain sky.

It is difficult for me to be indoors and I wonder if my current job choice was influenced by the fact that I work on the third floor and there are large windows looking down on trees and gardens. After years of working in cubicles and dealing with the craziness of social work I now plan piano recitals and crafts sessions with my Alzheimer's patients. They are like old children and live long lives because - well, they don't realize they are old. They will pass a mirror and wonder who is that old person looking out. Show them a picture of themselves and their spouses and they will possibly know the "old man," but who is that old lady he is with? They do not know my name and they probably can't acknowledge my existence if I am not in their line of vision, but they smile when they see me and look relieved because I represent sameness and security in their abbreviated lives. They know I belong with them.

Oh, I look out those windows a lot and wait for the bell to ring and I am free again.

I will miss my summer swimming and I will check with the YM/YWCA but their fees are probably astronomical and I heard the "Y" stands for "yuppie" - a horrid group of wannabe LA- ers of whom I could never associate. My mountain-climbing, vegan, world-traveling son abhors tourists from LA in the mountains. "They wear loud, inappropriate colors, they are afraid of big dogs (all dogs are big in Colorado) and they talk and laugh too loudly. They have no mountain etiquette." A term I had never heard until I accidentally walked off a mountain trail and was given a heated lecture on protecting the ecosystems and this means stay on the path.

Sheehan's book is a journal of conflicts as he is a man of talent and knowledge and should be the proverbial pillar of the community - member of clubs and organizations, a man mindful of community progress, encouraging the growth of the intellectual world around him by being a part of that world. But he is none of that. He does his job quietly waiting for the open road ahead for him, choosing not to spend time with his family. He is aware this is not how things are done, but it causes him no pain or conflict. Davie and I kinda like that. ( Well, he should spend time with the family . . .)

But mainly I read the book because it describes exercise as the highest form of meditation a human can do. Fitness leaves the physical world and joins with the mystic spirituality of a higher consciousness.

And I have this copied and laminated and sticking on my refrigerator. George says, "First I ran from instinct. Later I was forced to exercise in phys ed. Even later I came to run and exercise because it was prescribed by authorities. But finally I have come to run because it is the right and true and just thing for me to do. In the process I may be helping my arteries and heart and circulation as well, but that is not my concern.

"My true aim now is a state of fitness prior to and unrelated to sickness or disease. My true task, to live at my authentic level. My true goal to reach my original splendor."

Exercise, my Religion

Rain, rain go away, I want to go swimming today. With the skies pouring an ocean of water on my thirsty gardens I had to look to indoor exercise to satisfy the Exercise Monster inside my physique. Decided to do The Exercise CD today. Now I have two exercise CDs. One is 45 minutes long and involves lifting weights and the other is 55 minutes and uses a tone band. They are from the Leslie Sansone CD collection and like most, if not all, exercise DJs, Leslie is as annoying as biting flies before the rain storm. She has an obnoxious, squeaky laugh and she laughs at the slightest thing. You know those people. They are usually sitting behind me at the movies and I want to remind them: everything is not funny. Humor is relative. There needs to be a ratings scale here and if you laugh at everything then nothing is funny.

She also says things like, "Ooooh, sweating feels good!" No, it doesn't. Sweat is greasy and itchy and makes my eyes sting. It's like saying, Ooooh, a runny nose feels good! Just like those endless women's magazines that feature articles on exercise between Can this Marriage Be Saved? and several chicken apricot recipes. They always say the same thing. Exercise is the one thing that we women do for ourselves. If I wanted to to something for myself it would be a scary movie CD, diet Coke and Kessler and a bag of chocolate stars.

In all fairness Leslie needs to be energetic and a non-stop talker. It keeps us huffing and puffing along with her. She is perky and she is peppy. Two of the worse characteristics I can define another human being by. Look at that picture. Her mouth is open like that throughout the entire workout.

Over the years my exercise needs have changed as my body ages and I needed to start thinking of high impact on fragile knees and ankles. And that is what happened with the last CD I had been using. Some guy in Hawaii with black greasy curls and whose mother was one of the exercisers behind him and several blonde nubiles that had trouble counting the reps and moving at the same time. But they would look at Greasy guy with boundless adoration. When you view these CDs hundreds of time you start making up stories about the exercisers to while away the time. Greasy enjoyed his status as Exercise God in the eyes of these too-young-for him girls and he would still have dinner on Sunday with mother. There was a lot of jumping around on that CD and I noticed sharp pains in the joints so moved onto Leslie following a friend's advice.

I like the upper body strength workout. Hauling a jumbo toddler around all week my back muscles had cause to complain. So, I started doing the weights after Adam's birth and I was in prime shape by the time Cameron made her appearance. I started with 3#, and then to 5#, and even 8# for half of the session. Now I hold steady at 5#. Who I am trying to impress anyway? I just want to keep the numbers down (weight, cholesterol, BP.)

Every couple of years Leslie churns out another CD. She's got one that uses spiritual music with the exercise. And the music gets faster as the pace picks up. You have never heard Amazing Grace played at bullet speed? Here's your chance. I see her latest CD has more toys: some sort of wrist weight that attaches with rubber cords to a belt around your waist. I guess the house in the Hamptons must need new carpeting.

Hauled Sonny out to the Mud Lake Bluegrass Festival in the afternoon. The Ditch Lilies were the main band with their big hit, Dead Skunk in the Street. What is it about bluegrass music? Always has to have a little crude in it. And it's a lot like salsa music. After about 45 minutes you're thinking, you got anything else, guys?

Did get a swim in. Silver Surfer shared the lane. She kicked me so I kicked her back. It's a start.

Yeah, I Did Richard Simmons

As my mother's body weakened and atrophied I felt a need to up my present exercise routine. I have always been an exerciser. When I was 16 years old I fell in love with gym class. I had no interest in competitive sports. But I loved the organized exercises: the jumping jacks, the sit-ups, the arm twirls so much that I would duplicate them on the cold black marble floor of our family bathroom. Of course, I locked the door. As a college student I cherished my small pamphlet from the U.S. Air Force Academy showing the necessary repetitions to keep all muscle groups strong and limber. I checked myself out of all my gym classes before I flunked unbeknownst to my parents. On the first day of tennis class I remarked to another student as I entered the court and saw the back of our tennis teacher, "Oh, I thought this class was being taught by a woman." The teacher turned and looked me straight in the eye and yes, she was a woman. I swear I didn't have a chance after that. As a young mother and married to a stereo salesman we were the first on our block to own the latest state-of-the-art equipment and this included a huge bulky box that could record television shows. Ah yes, exercise had found itself to the little screen. Aerobic shows in the early 70's were quite different than the present ones. The girls wore no shoes and a great deal of the exercise routine was performed on the floor to music that was similar to a ballet sequence. Their leotards were cut low in front and high at the thighs and their faces held expressions found in soft porno films. I always thought they were just entertainment for old men who were sitting around the house and had nothing to do at 2:00 in the afternoon. I dutifully recorded the hour-long shows and faithfully followed the girls. And then suddenly, exercise was everywhere. Everybody who was anybody had a VHS tape with their special formula for movement and weight loss. Say what you will about Richard Simmons he did get the obese and near-obese off the couch and into the exercise class. Up until then exercise shows featured only super models and guys with scary looking abs doing the reps. Now overweight people could wear leotards and sweat to the oldies. And Richard was encouraging. So, yes, I recorded Richard. The music was better than the schmaltzy ballet stuff. And since that time I always have CDs close at hand that include weight lifting and using a toning band. Upper body strength for women has been undervalued for a long time. If you're a woman: GET SOME. I recommend it.
Sigh. So yes, I get carried away on the exercise topic. Poor little Mom was curling into herself as she sat in her chair and watched the birds on the deck. There were days when her muscles would spasm and she could barely walk. A year ago she was still walking the river walk with her little bottle of water. There were several benches along the way so she could rest. She and Dad were great walkers. They scaled mountains in Colorado and the hills and valleys of Mines of Spain and Swiss Valley here in town.
I'm not sure why I am making my body work so hard these days. The exercise clears my mind somewhat and keeps the bad thoughts at bay. As the eldest daughter I identify closely with my mother. I would help her dress and realize how parts of her body resembled my own. And that is a fearful thing seeing your body in your mother and seeing what disease and inactivity was doing to it. After she died it was good to touch her body, hold her in my arms and not have her flinch or cry out in pain.