Age is just a number

October is my birthday month. When leaves traditionally turn scarlet, orange and gold, I turn the leaf on another year. My 65th...

Am I really that old?

The calendar says I am. So does Uncle Sam. Age 65 makes me an official Senior Citizen, old enough to receive Medicare. I can slip on a pair of ‘Silver Sneakers’ and go to the gym without paying a fee.

That is, if I liked going to a gym, which I don’t.

I like building muscle by doing the same things I’ve always done - going for long, meandering walks and quiet rows through still water. biking, stretching and working in the garden. 

I exercise by giving my husband frequent massages and practicing chin-ups just like I’ve been doing since fifth grade when my teacher, Mr. Robideaux, showed me how. 

Except in fifth grade I wore more clothes doing chin-ups

My aging bones are strengthened by working at a stand-up desk instead of a sit-down table. I bounce on a pair of inflatable balance balls as I surf the web and type my columns. When eating, I’m careful about the foods I put into my body and prioritize dining in a mindful, calm manner.

A typical lunch includes a plate full of real food, a good book, a cup of hibiscus tea and a few supplements just in case... 

Although five decades have passed since my childhood, In my mind I’m still a spunky kid exploring the world with wide-eyed wonder. The difference is that these day, my eyes are somewhat shielded by drooping eyelids and covered by a pair of perpetually smudged bifocals.

But smudgy lenses and sagging skin can’t stop me from exploring the world outside my window. Nor can they keep me from paying attention to the world within.

Over the last 65 years, I’ve seen and learned much.

During the last six-plus decades, tiny saplings no bigger than a finger have grown into trees too large to put my arms around. I’ve also grown. From towheaded child to pigtailed youth, I’ve turned into a brown-haired woman who became a parent and is now a grandparent of four with a headful of gray-streaked, shoulder-length locks. This personal manifestation of time’s passage is a concept as difficult to wrap my mind around as it is to physically embrace the trunk of a towering oak.

Ralph attempts to wrap his arms around a huge tree - not an oak but a cypress

Of course, over the years I’ve also seen forests cut down to meet the needs of expanding populations. Farmland has been bulldozed, fields paved over, water and air quality compromised and wildlife endangered all in the name of that all-powerful god, ‘Progress.’

During periods of drought, I’ve watched submerged shorelines emerge to support foliage and small trees. I’ve seen those same plants die during wet periods when water levels eventually returned to more normal levels.

This ebb and flow of land and water has occurred with enough frequency to strengthen my faith in nature as an equalizing force. Even so, it frightens me to think of mankind’s greedy shortsightedness and destructive tendencies. I believe in nature. I want it to win.

After 65 years of living on this earth, I still wake up each day excited about the future. I wonder what the day will bring. What surprises will unfold? There are sunrises and sunsets to look forward to, interesting cloud formations, raindrops and rainbows. There might be spiderwebs shimmering with dew and bumblebees gathering nectar from flowers.

 

It’s the small things that bring me pleasure. Hugs from my grandchildren. My husband’s kisses. A handwritten letter in the mail. Kind words in an online post.

I’m no longer a child. Heck, despite what my mind tells me, I’m not even a young twentysomething. What I am is a mature woman who has somehow managed to remain optimistic despite the mounting stream of social, environmental and political injustices that threaten to turn our world upside down.

I attempt to stay positive by balancing out every loud, upsetting and frightening news report I hear or disrespectful action I observe, with an equal measure of kindness and goodness.

When I was a youngster, turning 65 was beyond my comprehension. Despite what the calendar says, it still remains a foreign concept. I may be entering the age of Senior Citizen this month, but my mind remains steadfastly affixed to the doorway of youth. I like the view from that position gazing out on life’s everyday treasures.

It’s the little things that make me smile and keep discouragement at bay. 

 

Can exercise be fun?

The bounce in my step has everything to do with exercise — except I don't work out, at least not in the traditional sense.

I don't go to the gym, take fitness classes or participate in any routine that includes fancy equipment, special clothing or patterns of "reps." Yet, I do exercise.

I go for long meandering walks, pull weeds in the garden and take slow rows around the lake. Occasionally, I bicycle at the beach. None of those activities feels like exercise because instead of focusing on working out, I'm working at focusing in. I'm paying attention to the birds, looking at plants or taking quiet pleasure in a stunning skyscape. Instead of having a desire to burn calories, I'm having a burning desire to see what's around the next corner or to find out what kind of turtle just poked its head out of the water.

The kind of exercise I like best is the kind that doesn't feel like exercise at all. That's why I'm excited about stability disks, also known as wobble cushions or domed balance balls. My husband Ralph ordered a pair of the inflatable nubby-surfaced disks for his stand-up computer desk and used them during a period when he was busy with office work.

Eventually he began spending less time indoors, and the unused orbs sat idle until I got tired of seeing them on the floor and brought them into my office.

Like Ralph, I also have a stand-up desk, but my laptop is set up on a treadmill so I can walk while I work. For years, I racked up miles while writing, doing research or wiling away time on Facebook. Eventually, however, the treadmill stopped working correctly. Annoying squeaks made walking less enjoyable, so I stopped using it. I still did my typing standing up, but I did it standing still, which wasn't nearly as much fun.

The day I swooped Ralph's two wobble cushions off the living room floor and brought them into my office, was the day I set into motion an entirely new way of combining fun with fitness. I placed the flat-bottomed, rounded disks on the non-working treadmill and balanced myself on their textured skin, one foot on each ball's springy surface. As I started to type, my feet instinctively found purchase. They shifted back and forth and bounced up and down. My body swayed as my fingers tapped the keys.

Six months have gone by since I first put my feet on the round rubbery disks, and I've been "dancing" on the wobble cushions ever since. Without pattern or prescribed routine, the improvised movement has improved my balance and toned calf and leg muscles. This low-impact activity is said to build core strength while providing weight-bearing exercise, which are both important benefits. However, the main thing I like about using the wobble cushions is how much I enjoy standing on them when I'm on the computer. Just like rowing in the lake, meandering through hiking trails or tidying up flowerbeds, I'm doing things I enjoy.

Exercise is important, but it's not always fun. One way to change that is to choose activities that don't feel like exercise at all. For me, balancing on two wobble cushions fits the bill as another simple, safe way to incorporate healthy activities into my everyday life.

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Where to buy wobble cushions - We purchased ours (we have several pairs) online from amazon.  They come in a range of colors and cost less than $15 each.  Check out SUESPORT Air Inflated Stability Wobble Cushion, Banlance Disc, Twist Massage, Fitness and Exercise, Pump Included

A new way to enjoy lakeside living

Tim and Ralph swim through the still water

Simply Living
September 24, 2012

Throughout September, my husband, son and I have been taking long swims in the lake.  The water this time of year is warm and silky.  A 30- to 40-minute swim produces a feeling of exhilaration and accomplishment without any chill involved.  It’s very refreshing.

We’ve enjoyed freshwater ever since we moved to the property in 1992 but until now, our watery excursions had been more like short dips than mini-marathon endeavors.  Most of the time what I called a "swim" was really a brief immersion.  When hot, I’d jump in to cool off, getting out soon after.

Occasionally, Ralph and I would swim out to the middle of the lake and back.  Sometimes we’d even venture the entire way across.  But even those swims of approximately 200 to 400 feet were nothing compared to what we’ve been doing of late.  Stroking along half of the lake’s perimeter follows a course about 10 times longer than across the lake and back.

At first, I was reluctant and admittedly scared.  What if one of us got tired, I worried?  And what about alligators?  Although I keep a close watch on wildlife and haven’t seen a gator in months, I’d be a fool to believe they aren’t there.  Waterside living in Florida means accepting and respecting the presence of aquatic critters, alligators included.  It also means becoming educated about alligator behavior and I knew enough to realize my fears were irrational.  To minimize danger we never swim without a partner, make a concerted effort to stay close to the shore and choose a time to swim when gators are less active. 

Once I overcame my concerns, I enjoyed the experience.  Long distance swimming in open water is different from anything I’d done before.  The buoyancy of the water takes much of the effort out of an exercise that strengthens every muscle group, improves cardio-vascular health and increases endurance. 

When swimming, even though I’m working hard, I’m also relaxing.  The silky smoothness of the water is soothing.  My mind drifts along with the clouds as I float on my back.  Ralph suggested I wear earplugs so I wouldn’t worry about getting water in my ears and I’m glad he did.  Swimming with earplugs is great.  Not only do they prevent me from getting water in my ears, they enable me to submerge my head, which amplifies the sound of my breathing.  As I do various modifications of the backstroke, I listen to my breath while looking skyward.  It feels very much like meditation.

When I’m not looking up at clouds, I’m watching the shore while doing the sidestroke or breaststroke.  Things look different when in the water instead of on it.  As I gently propel myself forward with steady strokes, I compare the view to what I would see if I were paddling along in my rowboat.  I notice things when I’m swimming that I might miss if I were rowing.  A dragonfly lands on a reed.  A school of minnows leaps out of water in front of me.  Up ahead two turtles appear then disappear just as quickly when they become aware of my presence.  In the water, I’ve become that alligator, the large predator moving swiftly through a liquid medium.

One day when we were on the return leg of our lengthy swim, it began to rain - no lightning and thunder, just a steady warm downpour.  How amazing it was to be in the water with giant bubbles erupting all around us!  When we arrived at the shore, it was too special to get out so we stayed in a little longer simply savoring the moment.

I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to continue our new exercise routine.  Right now, it’s easy because the air and water are warm but as the weather changes, getting wet will become more difficult.  I’ve never been a big fan of cold-water swimming.  Then again, until recently, I’d never been one to swim in the lake for more than a few minutes either. 

I’ve lived next to lakes for most of my life but it took me 60 years to realize the pleasure and freedom that comes from taking long swims in open water.  Rather than dwell on what I missed, I’d rather focus on what I’ve gained – new perspectives, improved health and a relaxing way to augment the joy of lakeside living.

Celebrating a year of walking while working

A 1x10 board laid across the arms of the treadmill provides support for a laptop.

Simply Living
January 9, 2012

A year ago this week, I replaced the desk and chair in my office with a treadmill. For the past 365 days, whenever I've wanted to check email, write a column, do online research or see what's new on Facebook, I've done so in an upright position. My fingers tap the keyboard while my feet pad along on a band of movable floor.

My husband, a disciplined exerciser whose daily three-mile loop around the lake has been an integral part of his routine for years, has watched my indoor rambles with mystified indulgence.

"I don't know how you do it," he says, referring to my ability to punch computer keys while maintaining a steady pace. But what he's really wondering is: Why? Why would I opt to walk inside when I could be outside enjoying the fresh air and scenery?

I do it because I like it. I do it because I can. I do it to burn calories. I do it for my health.

Computers have the uncanny ability to alter time. A few minutes checking email can easily turn into two hours of browsing the web.

If I hadn't replaced my desk and chair with a treadmill, my derriere and the cushioned seat would be wedged together for a good part of the day. Sure, I'd get up for breaks, and I might even go outside to join my husband for a walk around the lake, but I'd spend the majority of my daytime hours sitting down fixated on a LCD screen.

With such a proliferation of technological gadgets vying for our attention these days, it has become common to spend more time exercising our fingers than our feet. That doesn't make it right. Or healthy.

A number of studies support the position that sitting down is causing rising health problems.

"Prolonged time spent sitting, independent of physical activity, has been shown to have important metabolic consequences," said Dr. Alpa V. Patel, senior epidemiologist at the American Cancer Society and lead researcher of a 2010 study on how sitting affects mortality.

Patel's research, which spanned 14 years and included 123,000 subjects, showed that women who sit for more than six hours a day were about 40 percent more likely to die during the course of the study than those who sat fewer than three hours a day. Men were about 20 percent more likely to die.

I have no desire to die early, but neither do I want to sweat my way to good health. That's why working at a treadmill desk is ideal. It is nothing like a ruthless gym workout. When walking-while-working on my treadmill, I do so at the leisurely pace of 1 mph.

At such a slow speed, integrating thoughts with actions is seamless. I'm able to do everything I ordinarily would do on the computer, but I do it while burning more than 100 calories an hour. Multiply that by the four to five hours I normally spend in my office and the numbers become significant.

One mph is the speed recommended by Dr. James Levine, an obesity expert at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., and the person responsible for popularizing the concept of a treadmill desk.

"It's amenable to regular people," said Levine in a 2010 interview with The Plain Dealer in Cleveland. "You don't need to have a gym membership. You don't need to be physically trim to use it. And you don't need to sacrifice productivity or access to the workplace in order to improve your health."

That certainly has been true for me. I love my treadmill workstation, a homemade desk made out of a length of wood laid across the treadmill arms upon which my laptop sits. I love knowing that every time I log on to the Internet I'm strengthening muscles, building bone and improving my overall health.

Sometimes getting on a road to self-improvement doesn't necessitate a road at all. An inexpensive, easy-to-construct treadmill workstation has the power to transform a sluggish, tired workaholic into an energetic, happy and much healthier walk-a-holic. That's one feat my two feet can really take a stand on.

Cross-country by tandem bike: Dreaming, then doing

Jenny and Brett pose in front of the Rans Screamer recumbent tandem bicycle they are riding across country

Simply Living

(First appeared in Orlando Sentinel June 7, 2010)

My daughter and son-in-law left today on a three-month cross-country trip. If you're wondering why it will take Jenny and Brett so long to cover the 3,000 miles from their central Massachusetts home to the California coast, it's because they're not traveling by car, train or plane. My daring daughter and her adventurous spouse are pedaling their way across the nation on a tandem recumbent bicycle.

If you've never seen or even heard of a tandem recumbent bike, you're not alone. Jenny and Brett's preferred mode of transportation is not your ordinary two-wheeler. Their 46-pound, 27-gear riding machine is a Rans Screamer, considered by bike enthusiasts to be one of the highest-performing, best-climbing and most stable recumbent tandems.

As a parent with a propensity to dwell on potential problems (my son Toby has nicknamed me Queen Hysteria), the Screamer's stability is a comforting feature. I also find it reassuring that Jenny and Brett have anticipated many of the questions and concerns that run — or should I say cycle — through my mind.

On their blog (www.playalways.blogspot.com), a post is devoted to answering questions such as: How will you carry all your stuff? Where will you spend the nights? Can you pedal at different speeds on your tandem? What about the Rocky Mountains? What will you eat? How will you get home?

Their answers are both amusing and informative. After reading another entry about their pedaling preparations, I found myself awed and inspired by Jenny and Brett's initiative, focus, determination and ability.

Although this trip will be their first long-distance excursion on the tandem, is not their first cycling adventure. On their honeymoon in May 2009, they explored Cape Cod on two wheels, and last summer they joined another couple for a five-day pedal up and down the Maine coastline.

Brett has more long-distance cycling experience. Several years ago he bicycled alone from Massachusetts to North Carolina to join our family at a juggling convention we all attended. Even Brett's work – at one of his three jobs – involves daily cycling excursions. He's a part-time employee of Pedal People, a worker-owned, human-powered delivery and hauling service for the Northampton, Mass., area.

It's an odd feeling to see your children grow up and undertake unexpected adventures. Our son Timmy was the first of our four children to surprise us. When he was 18, he spent four months hiking the entire 2,175-mile Appalachian Trail by himself. Now it's Jenny's turn to amaze and inspire.

As I sit here in my office just a few feet away from a well-stocked refrigerator, gas stove, electric teapot and fruit-filled pantry, it's hard to believe my daughter and her husband are carrying everything they need to complete such a long journey in four blue "panniers," each about the size of a large backpack.

I was happy to see that in addition to tools, spare parts, clothing, toiletries, food and utensils, the gear list included a cell phone, solar charger and netbook computer. Thanks to technology, friends and family will be able to track the cyclists' route and stay in touch while they're traversing the nation's scenic byways.

I'm excited for Jenny and Brett as they head out on what will undoubtedly be an amazing adventure. I'm proud of them for many things, but I am especially pleased with their ability to make play a priority and turn dreams into reality.

We all have the opportunity to follow dreams, but so few of us actually do. For several years, one of Jenny and Brett's goals has been to pedal across the country. As of today — Day 1 of their 80-plus-day journey — they are on their way to making that dream come true.

Taking baby on walk down memory lane

Simply Living

(First appeared in Orlando Sentinel August 24, 2009)

Thirty years ago, when I was a young mother living on Cape Cod, I used to slip my infant daughter into a blue corduroy Snugli and take her for long walks. Inevitably, Amber would fall asleep, I'd get some overdue exercise, and we'd both be outside feeling the breeze against our skin. Sometimes I walked along a nearby bike trail. Other times I'd head toward the beach or town, strolling alongside roads and stretches of woods until I arrived at my destination. Whichever route I took, I always returned home with two things — a sleeping child and a wildflower bouquet.

I was thinking about those pleasant hikes the other day when I took my grandson for a stroll through my daughter's neighborhood.

In preparation for our new role as grandparents, Ralph sorted through boxes in the attic looking for our old baby paraphernalia. One of his finds was our reliable Snugli. Even after supporting the rumps of four children and spending a good 16 years tucked away in an overheated attic, the Snugli remained in tiptop condition. After a fresh laundering, it was ready for a new generation of use.

Although Amber and Scott have a spiffy new stroller complete with several cup holders and storage bins, I brought the Snugli with me when I headed over to baby-sit. I'm glad I did because it came in handy. About an hour after Amber left, the baby began to fuss. When even a bottle of warmed milk didn't do the trick, I decided to try the Snugli. After tucking my grandson's 8 pound, 4 ounce body into the soft fabric enclosure, we headed outside for a stroll. Almost immediately, he calmed down.

My daughter and son-in-law live in a lovely subdivision in Winter Garden. It's an older neighborhood with well-maintained yards and wide sidewalks. As I went out the front door, I turned left and started walking in what I expected to be a quick loop around the block. It turns out that subdivisions — or at least that particular subdivision — are not designed for quick loops around the block. A left at the nearest cross street followed by another left at the next two intersections did not bring me back to Amber's house as expected. Instead, it took me in a circuitous route around the neighborhood until I finally — about an hour later — navigated my way back to Amber and Scott's address.

I'm not complaining. It was a good walk, a long walk and a soothing walk for baby Atom, who managed to pass most of the time in peaceful slumber. What it didn't do was yield a bouquet of wildflowers the way my walks on Cape Cod did.

As it turns out, subdivisions, even older ones in more well-established neighborhoods, do not lend themselves to wildflower foraging. In fact, foraging for any sort of plants would be unacceptable behavior in places where the only flowering plants visible are those planted by homeowners to accentuate their landscapes.

In the years when I lived on Cape Cod, subdivisions were a rarity. Most of the homes I passed on my outdoor forays were well over a hundred years old with landscapes that reflected decades of plantings. In the spring, blooms from ancient hedges of lilacs and forsythia overflowed onto roadways. Wild roses and beach plums flourished near the bay. Clusters of delicate violets and the edible red tops of clovers escaped domesticity and wandered out of yards and onto the wayside. Tall stalks of Queen Anne's lace, black-eyed Susan and fluffy milkweed flowers grew with abandon along stretches of woods. I'd walk along my chosen route picking a flower here and another there until, before I knew what was happening, I had gathered a beautiful bouquet.

I haven't been back to Cape Cod for years, but I imagine that most of the stretches of woods have given way to modern housing units where, as in Florida, homeowner-association rules restrict what can and cannot be planted. I understand the need for rules, and I'm glad my daughter and her family live in such a tidy neighborhood with individually designed yards, but I can't help missing the wildflowers. I miss knowing that no matter where I turn, I'll find flowers growing by the wayside waiting to be picked.