Lucky Number Seven

Several years ago, I decided to redefine my definition of healthy. With the help of Google and Borders Bookstore, I went from a self-described normal eater to an impossible-to-take-anywhere diner. I had somehow convinced myself that almost all of the food I had ever consumed prior to my new discovery of health was poison. This included all dairy products, all white-based products, meat, wheat, baked or fried goods, and anything non-organic. The published community informed me that my body was a toxic mess, and I had to repair the damage of irresponsible consumption over the last twenty-two years.

I learned all about soy and its scarily remarkable ability to disguise itself as milk, yogurt, cheese of all kinds, cool whip, ice cream, coffee creamer, meat, candles, bathroom cleaner, and undoubtedly the Statue of Liberty. I learned why raw foods are better than cooked foods, and I experimented with juicing. I even switched all of my personal hygiene products to organic, all natural, death-free options. Needless to say, the natural-health food stores happily welcomed this newly acquired definition of health I had so hastily convinced myself was the only way to live.

In addition to learning about food and personal product choices, I learned about cleansing exercises and rituals, the impact of stress on the body, and other “healthy” tips of the trade. One item of emphasis was hydration. Apparently, a person should consume half of his or her body weight of water, in ounces, each day. This is supposedly the amount of water required to keep the body appropriately hydrated, as well as aid with the removal of toxins from the body. From that day forward, my Nalgene bottle has been within reach.

While I no longer define healthy in this way, I have held on to some of the knowledge I gained during my Wikipedia-equivalent doctoral research on health. I still buy organic processed food and shampoo and prefer whole grains to half, but I also actively purchase Ben & Jerry’s ice cream for regular consumption and Sara Lee’s pound cake for an exquisite strawberry shortcake creation. I also still drink from my Number-Seven-Plastic Nalgene bottle every day. I am not at all concerned about the recent warnings surrounding Plastic Number 7, and I have yet to understand why. After all of the alterations I have made to take better care of my body, you would think this highly advertised danger would cause more of a reaction. Is it accurate to state that I am in disbelief of this research? Do I not mind if I am infertile as a result of my daily use of Plastic Number 7? Do I no longer care for my body as much as I once did? Is the Nalgene bottle such a great product that I believe the rewards outweigh the costs? Am I willing to die for my Nalgene bottle?! I guess I’m hoping the message in the bottle was misread.

The Breaking Point

I’m a pretty big fan of sunglasses. I attribute it to the light color of my eyes. Some time back I read somewhere that lighter color eyes are more sensitive to sunlight, and I’ve adopted that excuse ever since. Every morning, I grab a pair of sunglasses as I head out the door and the added protection carries me from one building to the next. Once I enter a building, however, I shift the sunglasses to the top of my head. Yesterday, I added a snap to the equation.

Did I hear something? What was that?! Did the noise originate from my head? While I often hear some rattling and reeling in that general direction, this sound wasn’t familiar. Suspecting the contraption now serving as a headband, I grabbed for the eye-protectors to investigate. Sure enough, the top rim of plastic over the left lens snapped in half leaving me with a slightly more flexible pair of shades. After the initial shock and “Awwww,” I popped the lens out and slid the glasses back onto my face to amuse my fellow co-workers; hoping to distract them from the usual morning blues. Once the laughs subsided, I had to actually consider the fate of my sunny-day accessory. Fix or not to fix...that was the question.

Just as my mind decided that duct tape, although humorous, did not seem appropriate for the cause, my friend told me to surrender the shades to the garbage gods. That got me thinking. It seems that everything, and everyone, has a breaking point. But how does one determine the true point of no return, and differentiate it from the decided point? Or is the decided point the only point that matters?

Wave Runner

I never run with music. Not because I don’t enjoy music (quite the opposite), but because it allows me to be more aware of my surroundings as I’m pounding pavement. Without the added distraction of musical entertainment, I find that my mind seeks entertainment elsewhere. Sometimes that amusement comes from my own thoughts and reflections, and other times it surfaces from other people, objects and happenings in my environment. Often welcoming an escape from myself, I usually pay close attention to those who cross my path directly. Depending on the location, I will often pass walkers, cyclists and other runners. It was only when I started running regularly that I noticed the wave.

It doesn’t necessarily happen with walkers or cyclists. Of course there are sometimes verbal greetings or nods of acknowledgement from these outdoor enthusiasts, but nothing quite as dependable as the runners’ wave. Every time my path would cross with another runner, the wave was executed and returned by both parties; a subtle gesture that, somehow, spoke volumes. After a wave episode, I couldn’t help but continue smiling once the person passed out of view. It was if this simple acknowledgement sent a wave (if you will) of positive energy into my body. I somehow felt an immediate connection with this stranger who, I felt, understood me in that moment without any additional information.

When I was younger, I played a game that involved a group of people assembled into a circle instructed to toss a ball of yarn from one person to another. Every time the yarn ball was tossed to someone, the yarn had to be held onto before it was tossed again. This action eventually created a web of yarn between the people engaged in the activity. It would be safe to say that every time I experienced the runners’ wave exchange, I felt as if a web of connection was being established. Oddly, I felt like I was part of something bigger…something great.

This simple communication gesture is not exclusive to runners, and I’ve definitely been able to experience the same connection when riding my bike, riding in a Jeep Wrangler, or driving in a small community. And in all situations, my reaction has been the same…a sense of belonging. In short, there is something to say for the ways in which we acknowledge others without words.

Here's Your Sign

Walking onto campus (my place of employment) this morning was the same as usual: students running late to their eight o’clock class, employees running late to the invisible punch clock, and myself acknowledging my lateness but secretly enjoying the few moments of outdoor surroundings before plunging into the air conditioned land of demand. As I was walking, I couldn’t help but notice the sidewalk chalk-talk that had been written for students, by students, in the pedestrian paths of the campus announcing various upcoming meetings and activities. While some of the statements written are humorous and attention-grabbing, I have never seen something quite as entertaining as I did today.

The words, “Do not step here! Poison!” encircled a large skull and cross-bones drawn ever so skillfully in pink and green chalk along one of the campus sidewalks. As I started laughing out loud, I watched my right foot surprisingly dodge the artwork on the ground. Did I just MOVE my body around this chalking?! As if instinctual, and still laughing, I jerked my head around to see if I was being videotaped (something I would consider doing simply for the entertainment factor, not to mention a great psychology project). Slightly irritated that I unconsciously followed the “rules” of the chalk, I actually considered walking back to the scene of the crime just so I could step there. I didn’t…but mostly because I was so entertained by the entire ordeal, I just wanted to enjoy the method behind the madness. Have I been conditioned by society?

It seems there are so many signs telling us what to do, what not to do, where to go and how to do it, that it’s possible we have lost our ability to question as often as we should…with everything. Is that a sign?

Expect the Unexpected

A funny thing happened yesterday. Someone at work walked back to my office space and handed me a check. To some, this might be an oddity during the work day. In my position, however, this is a normal occurrence. So, naturally, I was slightly irritated at the interruption of what I assumed was additional work. After a moment, however, I noticed that the check was for an unusual amount. Closer inspection then revealed that the check was made out to me instead of my place of employment. Quickly I asked the identity of the deliverer. At the response, the pieces instantly came together and a smile immediately spanned the width of my face.

Approximately four months ago, I was given the opportunity to assist with some construction/design work with a friend of a friend of a friend for some extra spending money. The opportunity to do manual labor, learn something new, and work amongst “friends” was quite appealing. That day was a sun-up to sun-down experience, concluded with barbeque and beer (perfect). While it proved rewarding on many levels, it was more enjoyable because of the monetary rewards that had been promised. Rewards, at the time, that were desperately needed.

One week after the “rewarding” experience, I had yet to receive the green fruits of my labor. One week turned into one month and a string of unreturned, pleasant phone calls. One month turned into two months and a string of pleasant, funny even, unreturned texts. This brings us to the present. In my mind, I had turned this one over to karma. Although now a little bit more hesitant of friends of friends of friends, I had already buried this experience with laughter and a shrug. I can’t help but wonder, why now? Did karma knock on his door? Was he afraid I’d be waiting for him on the other side? Regardless, it reinforces one of the very things, in my opinion, that makes life worth living…the unexpected. Just when you think you know, you don’t. And THAT is exciting.

Going the Distance

What makes a person determined to do something? I asked this question of myself as I slipped on my PFD (personal flotation device) before jumping into the deep end of my apartment pool to "run" in the water for three hours. I did not ask myself this question a week prior when I overworked my knee while running twenty miles, nor did I ask myself this question when I signed up for a marathon over six months ago. Now that I am injured, however, I find this question to be ever so important. What has driven me to the point of "Googling" knee injuries acquired by running, asking co-workers advice on rehab, icing my knee at lunch in the vacant conference room, and strapping myself to the pool ladder to build resistance while running in the water using some rope and a carabiner? Why am I so determined to fix the problem that might prevent me from running this marathon in a few weeks?

I have never considered myself to be a runner, and I am not sure I will ever claim this title. For the first time, running is something I do more for my mind than my body. Since running is not something I am necessarily passionate about, I can only assume the roots run deeper (so to speak). Is it the reward of conquering a challenge...meeting a goal? Putting to test the anything-is-possible claim? I cannot assume either of these since marathons can be found most anywhere, several times a year. Am I attributing my success as a person to the completion of this task? Am I trying to prove something to someone? Am I trying to prove something to myself? While I would like to think that my self-worth is not determined by the completion of this marathon, I must seriously question my intentions of determination when my physical needs are being talked over with Nike slogans and psychological warfare.