Sunday the 20th, July 2008

All is 'Well', 'Well' is all,
Welcome to the words of Fall.
Read what Silken has to tell
And the wellness wisdom of Don Ardell.
"Who's to Blame" why we're not slim?
Another way to "Learn to Swim"?
Pedometers, poetry, quotes and fun,
'Well' said, 'Well' read, 'Well' met, 'Well' done.

There's so much more that can't be squeezed into 8 rhyming lines. It's up to you to read and think and take the time to follow the links. The 'Grins' and graphics, as usual, are sublime.

Lastly, a tip of the hat to Christopher Reeve, who died on October 11th. When asked whether he was resentful about his massive disability, he said, "No, life has been good to me in so many ways." He said the only time resentment clouded his thinking was when he saw fully functioning, able bodied people neglect their gifts and waste their bodies and lives :: Martin Collis

 

Picking the Right Pedometer

The 2004 issue of a major consumer guide turned their attention to pedometers and we were happy to see that the Omron HJ 112 was the top rated pedometer.

The rating was based on multiple criteria, which included:

1. Accuracy
   1. At 3.5 mph
   2. At 2.5 mph
2. Ease of use

Features

1. Counts steps
2. Counts calories burned
3. Records distance
4. Clock

At Speakwell we've tested many pedometers, both on the treadmill and in informal 'real life' situations and have always been impressed with the Omron line of pedometers.

Most of the 12 pedometers tested were reasonably accurate in counting steps at 3.5 mph, but proved less reliable at recording slower paced steps.

It's not clear to me why this guide chose to test 3 Sportline pedometers among the 12, as they were all unreliable and showed similar deficiencies, and there are many other brands on the market in which people would have been interested. When the State Journal-Register newspaper in Springfield, Illinois conducted 1000 step tests on 5 selected pedometers they noted that the Sportline 345 was "the most erratic of the bunch, sometimes miscounting by more than 18%".

Incidentally, the State Journal-Register found similar results to Speakwell when they tested the McDonalds 'Go Active Stepometer'. (This was free with Go Active Happy Meals until they went the way of the Beanie Baby and other transient promotions). They noted, "This basic step counter tested out better than some of the $20 (US) to $30 (US) models. The accuracy was off about 4% in our 1000 step test, but was very sensitive to movement and over-counted when worn all day".

Omron is a global medical instruments company with headquarters in Kyoto, Japan. In Japan, industry standards require that pedometers be accurate to within 3% of 'standard number of steps'. The US and Canada have no such requirements, which has resulted in numerous, inexpensive and totally unreliable pedometers being given away in cereal boxes and used for company promotions.

Omron HJ-105
At Speakwell, after extensive testing, we chose to market the Omron HJ-105 and the HJ-002. We actually prefer the HJ-105 to the HJ-112.

Omron HJ-112

Both the 105 and 112 offer an array of useful features, which include:

1. Most important: accurate step counting at both quick and casual pace.
2. Distance covered.
3. Calories burned.
4. A clock.
5. 'Aerobic' steps counted separately when walking or jogging at more that 60 steps a minute or for more than 10 minutes continuously. This is a useful function as it enables one to separate purposeful walking steps, from the day to day shuffling, stair climbing and random steps at home and at work.
6. A seven-day memory.
   This is another important feature if you are recording your steps each day. When we enter our steps onto 'P•E•D', we often do 4 or 5 days at a time using the pedometer memory.

First time users have to get used to the fact that the 105 and 112 automatically reset themselves to 0 at midnight, ready to record the next days steps.

Three things tip the balance in favor of the 105 for us:

1. Price. The 105 is typically about 1/2 the price of the 112.
2. The 105 has a hinged cover, which protects the instrument and prevents accidental resetting any of the buttons.
3. The 105 has a sensitivity adjustment, which sets it apart from nearly all pedometers in the market. This means that if your pedometer is over-recording or under-recording your steps, you can adjust the sensitivity up or down. Also, the sensitivity can be reduced if too many day-to-day incidental movements are being recorded as 'steps'.

The 112 has the advantage of being able to be carried in a small pocket or bag that keeps it upright and also has a small 'holster' to keep it upright on one's belt.

Omron HJ-002
The Omron HJ-002 is a basic step counter. It has a large display and accurately assesses step count. Like the 105, it also comes with a sensitivity adjustment. It is great for people who like things simple and is also very useful for school groups, who can use them as motivational tools, for science projects or a group walk across Canada or the USA. (P•E•D now allows groups to get cumulative totals for their step counts). The lower price makes it an attractive bulk buy for groups.

P•E•D

In the Speakwell offices, my executive assistant, Bev, and myself have been logging our steps together on 'P•E•D'. Since July 12 (a little short of 3 months at the time of writing) we have recorded over 2,000,000 steps and burned 100,000 calories. This was achieved by us both being conscientious to try and keep our step count over 10,000/day each. If you assume that we would have covered about 5000 steps/day in our normal working lives, this means that we've added over one million 'extra' steps during the period. This equates to 50,000 extra calories burned, which is 25,000 each. And that means about 7 lbs lost or, equally important, 7 lbs not gained. Just extend this over a 1-year period and it's clear why pedometers can be a key to weight control and health.

If you are interested in purchasing a pedometer, click here to go to WellMart.

Caught walking without your pedometer?

One observation I have made while walking is that I, and many other people, when they're walking purposefully, walk very close to two steps per second or 120 steps per minute. This means, if you go for a walk and forget your pedometer just multiply the minutes walked by 120 for a reasonable estimate of steps walked. Another useful tip is that there are approximately 2000 steps per mile and about 1250 steps per kilometer.

The Pace is Picking Up

At Speakwell we used to sell pedometers in ones and twos and, of course, we still do. However, we're getting increasing numbers of orders for pedometers in multiples of 50 and 100. After Martin spoke to the Kootenay Lake School District including the towns of Creston and Nelson we received the following letter.

Well, it was a great day and Martin did a wonderful job, we have had nothing but great feedback. One of the senior administrators has bought an Omron HJ-105 Pedometer for every teacher in the district and is going to organize a school by school competition. Our donut demand dropped off to nothing after his talk and we ended up with nearly 20 dozen donuts left over. Normally these would have been gone at the end of coffee break.

Not only are 350 teachers getting their own pedometer, but they're eating fewer donuts. They're on their way to the magic weight-loss formula of ELMM (Eat Less: Move More).

We also received a request for 180 pedometers from a Saskatchewan group (name withheld as we don't want to ruin the surprise), who are presenting employees with a pedometer each for Christmas. The pedometer really is the exercise device for all seasons.

Circle Canada with 'P•E•D'

Our two Speakwell computer specialists, Ron Nye (who is responsible for the award winning presentation of 'Well') and Luke Niedjalski (who's brilliant programming and code writing skills are combined with a clarity of thinking) are hard at work developing "Circle Canada". You'll soon be able to circumnavigate the country by walking, but to speed you on your way you'll have access to train rides, float planes, snowmobiles, dog teams, ferry boats and other modes of transport. Future plans include long distance swims, a Tour de France bike trip and some of the world's famous walks.

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In 1992 the Commonwealth Games were held in Victoria, and in recognition of that, a number of great athletes had the title of Doctor of Laws bestowed upon them. I had the honor to write the oration for Sir Roger Bannister, John Landy and Silken Laumann.

The Oration No one ever doubted Silken Laumann's courage and determination. She chose to compete in the demanding sport of rowing and achieved early success in quadruple skulls and an Olympic bronze medal in the 1984 double skulls. In 1985 she developed a chronic back injury, which threatened to bring a premature end to her rowing career. Her response provided an early indication to the depth of her resolve, to her love of rowing and her refusal to succumb to physical pain. Douglas Malloch noted that, "Courage is to feel the daily daggers of relentless steel and keep on living". Silken sought treatment and worked on rehabilitation until the "daily daggers" receded and she was able to return to her sport, this time in the lonely discipline of single skulls. As a single skuller, her skill and dedication were rewarded with national and world championships and wide recognition, including the Lou Marsh Award as Canada's outstanding athlete. By 1992 she was poised to crown her career with an Olympic gold medal, when her leg was shattered in a freak rowing accident in Germany. It's been said that sport doesn't build character but reveals it. Silken's fortitude and focus were revealed as being quite extraordinary. Twenty seven days after the accident, having undergone five operations, she literally crawled across the boat dock and into her rowing shell to resume training. Against all expectations she rowed in the Olympic Games and placed third. W. E. Henley wrote: In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud; Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody but unbowed. The name of Silken Laumann has become synonymous with courage, and she has been an inspiration to countless Canadians. Many of her skills have been honed in Victoria and it is with pride that I submit the name of Silken Laumann to be granted the degree Honorary Doctorate of Laws, Honoris Causa.

For many athletes growth seems to fade when they finish their competitive careers. But Silken has just moved from one area of challenge to the next. The passion that she once used to propel her rowing skull faster than anyone in the world, is now being channeled into her work and joy as a speaker, writer, mother and as a powerful advocate for children. Silken started The Silken Laumann Active Kids' Movement (Sept.2004) as a not-for-profit organization designed to promote the health benefits of physical activity, and to inspire and support Canadians wishing to increase physical activity levels in our children.

Silken is a friend [click], whom we're delighted to feature in 'Well'.

Click on Silken's picture, above, to read the Canadian Health and Lifestyles interview. Canadian Health & Lifestyle magazine is the only national digest that focuses on health and wellness, fitness, self improvement, nutrition - including regular columns from a nutritionist, a pharmacist and a personal life coach. Delicious, healthy low-fat foods and recipes can also be found. Canadian Health & Lifestyle has it all. This issue features Silken Laumann creating a new passion with the power of play. Click here to go to their site. Click the logo for subscription information:

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North Americans are some of the wealthiest people in the world; they have the biggest vehicles, the biggest houses, the biggest swimming pools and now some of the biggest bodies. We're running in a race we don't want to win, two thirds of the continent is overweight and nearly half of those are obese (BMI over 30). Walter Willett notes that, "Weight sits like a spider at the center of an intricate tangled web of health and disease." Since 1980 the number of overweight Canadians and Americans has increased by a shocking almost 1% a year.

Given the availability of convenient calories in our lives perhaps the surprising thing is that we're not all overweight. We walk and work in a world where cheap food and calorie dense drinks are available in schools, hospitals, recreation centers, casinos, video stores, church halls, gas stations, sidewalks (if sidewalks exist), movie theatres, beaches and our own, overstocked freezers and fridges, which are often within easy reach of the TV. Millions of calories are consumed in cars, which all feature cup holders to facilitate latte and soda drinking while driving. (A recent New York Times article pointed out the Japanese cars made for use in Japan don't have cup holders because, "The Japanese don't eat and drink in their cars.")

On any given day 30% of American children eat fast food and 7% of the US population visits McDonalds each day. Gortmaker, Ludwig et al found that on 'fast food days' children averaged 126 calories more than when eating at home. (Remember that 100 extra calories a day translates to 10 lbs of extra fat per year.) Over the past 40 years many fast food portions have quadrupled. For example, we've gone from consuming 6.5 oz and 8 oz soft drinks in the 60's to 32 oz 'Big Gulps', 33.8 oz (one litre) 'single serving' bottles and the 64 oz 'Double Gulps'. It's become possible to consume literally 1000's of calories in minutes. Feeling stuffed has replaced feeling satisfied as the mark of a successful eating experience.

A Few Factoids

In 1978 8% of the homes had microwaves; today that figure is 83%. Between 1977 and 1997 potato consumption increased 30% and it was almost all in the form of French fries and chips. A typical child might see 10,000 ads for convenience food and drink each year.

Many children graduate having watched 15,000 hours of TV (a full time job), spent 11,000 hours in the classroom and had 750 hours of PE, if they were lucky.

The food industry in North America spends over 35 billion dollars on advertising, overwhelming the few million that health related organizations can generate to promote healthy eating. For every additional hour of TV watched on a daily basis, body fat increases 2%. 6.6 billion litres of soft drinks were sold in the USA in 2002. That's 1.6 cans/day/person. 20% of 1 and 2 year olds drink pop.

There's a strong correlation between children who have TV in their bedrooms and children who are overweight/obese. Daily Consumption Grade 3 Grade 8 Fruit 64.6% 37.1% Soft drinks 21.4% 57.1% Breakfast 98.6% 85.2% All the health related indicators are going in the wrong direction. Since 1977, 40% fewer children get to school under their own power eg walking, cycling, blading etc. When I first arrived in British Columbia in 1970 there were 29 supervisors of physical education serving various school districts. Today there are zero and our Provincial Government has just reneged on its promise to increase physical education in schools. It's clear that our lack of physical activity and our eating and drinking habits are doing far more damage than anything Osama could dream up. As Shakespeare observed "I am my own executioner."

The Perfect Caloric Storm

For reasons that go back beyond recorded history, human taste buds respond favorably to things which are sweet, fatty and salty. Fast food manufacturers had long been aware of this, but in the 50's and 60's there was still a price barrier, which kept the large majority of people eating at home. In 1971 food scientists in Japan found a way to economically produce a very cheap sweetener. They called it high-fructose corn syrup or HFCS. It was 6 times sweeter than cane sugar and, as its name implied, it could be made from corn.

HFCS had other attributes as well. Using it in frozen foods protected the product from freezer burn. Using it in long-shelf-life products like those in vending machines - kept the product fresh tasting. Bakery products which included HFCS looked more 'natural' as if they had just been browned in the oven. But there's no free lunch, especially if it included HFCS. Greg Critser, in his book 'Fat Land' writes,

"HFCS also had one attribute that posed a potentially troubling question to those in the food industry. Fructose, unlike sucrose or dextrose, took a decidedly different route into the human metabolism. Where the latter would go through a complex breakdown process before arriving in the human liver, the former, for some reason, bypassed that breakdown and arrived almost completely intact in the liver, whereupon the organ set upon it as it would anything else. This unique feature of fructose, which was intensified by the high concentrations of it in HFCS, would come to be called "metabolic shunting." In food science circles, it raised eyebrows but, as several scientists present at the time note, not warning flags."

Praise the Lard

Salt was already abundant and was very cheap, so two of three fast food factors were available. All that was needed now was a new source of fat at the right price and that tumbler was about to fall into place. As part of a political deal with Malaysia, Secretary of Agriculture, Earl Butz agreed to import vast quantities of palm oil from the somewhat reluctant South East Asian ally. Experts knew that palm oil was very high in saturated fat and were already aware of the connection between saturated fat consumption and heart disease. Palm oil had long been disparaged with names such as 'tree lard', 'rat oil' and 'axle grease'. It was higher in saturated fat (45%) than hog lard (38%) but to Mr Butz the very things that made palm oil a problem could be seen as benefits. Palm oil did for fat what HFCS did for sweeteners. Because palm oil was stable, products made with it had an almost limitless life on supermarket shelves. Liberal use of palm oil gave products what manufacturers call great 'mouth feel'. Best of all palm oil was abundant year round and the cost was unbelievably good.

The scene was set. Coke and Pepsi switched to HFCS at significant savings, which allowed them to boost portion sizes while making bigger profits. Thousands of energy dense foods using palm oil, HFCS and salt crowded the convenience store shelves. With costs going down it was time for 'supersizing'. It was the signal for North Americans to eat like they had never eaten before.

Who Or What Do We Blame?

There are lots of targets, all obvious, all guilty and nearly all unrepentant. A case can be made against governments and politicians, agribusiness giants, multinational fast food companies, medical and health (sick) care organizations, advertisers, educational institutions, city planners, mass media and against every church group, school or volunteer society who raised funds by selling low nutrient, high calorie food and drink products (e.g. hot dogs, cookies, candy etc.). The common denominator of all groups, whether local or global, is money. As Voltaire observed, "When it is a question of money everybody is of the same religion".

In a nation where obesity in young children has doubled and tripled, it would seem obvious to ban fast food and soft drink advertising that preys on children; particularly advertising that associates itself with programs or objects suitable for 3, 4 and 5 year-olds. But the lobbyists for fast food and the media moguls pour money into the political coffers and the children suffer. Physicians receive meager, if any, rewards for counseling their patients on exercise and good nutrition, but are well paid for a 5-minute diagnosis and a prescription. Every educator knows that children need to be active and the 2002 study by the California Department of Education showed an extraordinarily powerful correlation between physical fitness and academic performance in almost a million school children. But gymnasia are expensive, vigorous activity can be associated with injuries and lawsuits and there are logistical problems with daily Physical Education. Expediency dictates that the children stay desk bound.

Money drives decisions, more than health, joy, education and common sense. There's a bigger profit selling big portions of fatty, sweet food than in selling healthy food, so bring on the hot dogs, the burgers and the cookies. The price of a new basketball scoreboard or drums for the band is merely a few pop machines in the school and some signage. A bargain. Multi-national companies have the income of a moderate sized nation and have been able to create an environment favorable to massive sales of their products and often unfavorable to the people who buy them. "We now live by the Golden Rule. Those with the gold make the rules." Buzzie Bavasi

There's plenty of blame to throw around but as Don Ardell (see Speaker Profile in this issue) never tires of telling us, the responsibility is still ours. We have the power to turn off the TV and disconnect the cable. We can vote for politicians who support physical activity. We can walk, run, swim, ski and play. We can choose to be strong, we can choose to be slim, we can choose to be fit. We can choose to use our brains or we can allow ourselves to be dumbed down. We have the enormous power not to buy products that are unhealthy.

In the closing paragraph of 'Fast Food Nation', Eric Schlosser writes, "Sometimes the most irresistible force is the most mundane. Pull open the glass door of your local fast food outlet, walk inside, get in line, and look around you, look at the kids in the kitchen, at the customers in their seats, at the ads for the latest toys, study the backlit color photographs above the counter, think about where the food came from, about how it was made, about what is set in motion by every single food purchase, the ripple effect near and far, think about it. Then turn and walk out the door, it's not too late. Even in this fast food nation, you can still have it your way."

If you still need someone to blame
you can always fall back on,
"The Devil Made Me Do It".

God created man and woman in his own image and they were lean and fit. Satan said, "I know how I can get back in this game." God brought forth fruit and vegetables of many colours packed with nutrients so man/woman could live long, healthy lives. Satan created fast food and brought forth the Big Mac and the 99¢ cheeseburger and Satan said to man, "You want fries with that?" And man said, "Yea! Supersize them." And gained 5 lbs. And God created low-fat yogurt that woman might keep the figure which man found so fair. Satan brought forth Ben & Gerry's and woman gained weight. God said, "Try my salad." And Satan created creamy salad dressing and chocolate for dessert. And God created olive oil for cooking. Satan countered with beef fat for deep-frying. Man gained many pounds and his cholesterol went through the roof. God produced running shoes so that people might move and be slim. Satan brought forth cable TV and remote controls. People gained 20 more pounds. God said, "You're running up the score, Satan" and created the humble, healthy potato. Satan removed the skin; deep fried the potato and made chips. And people clutched their remote controls, ate their chips and Satan saw and said, "This is good."

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Dr. Don Ardell has an enormous amount to offer any audience or organization on the subject of Wellness. He has written 16 books, numerous editions of his provocative quarterly newspaper titled "The Ardell Wellness Report", weekly electronic self-management newsletters and daily essays, which provoke comment and discussion world wide.

As a speaker Don demonstrates his doctrine that "Wellness is much too important a subject to be presented grimly". I've seen him appear dressed as a skeleton and as Captain America and he is not averse to using other costumes or disguises to make his point. But the humor and surprises are never allowed to get in the way of the life changing, life-sustaining message that Don always delivers.

Don Ardell is quite prepared to step on a few toes (albeit gently), to challenge some traditional or New Age beliefs and will not let you get away with unsubstantiated health theories or claims. Don can be controversial and can make you think, and isn't that just what you want in a keynote speaker?

The companies and organizations that Don has worked with are numerous. He has addressed most of the major Wellness conferences in North America and beyond and if there were a Wellness Laureate in the US, it would be Don Ardell.

He practises what he preaches to an extreme level and is the top triathlete and dualathlete in the World for his distinguished age group and few people can run faster than Don.

Don Ardell has been refining his wellness model since his five domain approach in 1977. The 2004 graphic features 3 major dimensions within which are 15 skill areas.

A Little Perspective from Don's latest Wellness Report Are you 27 or older? If so, be grateful you were NOT born much sooner ­ you would be dead now, as 27 was human life expectancy during most of the time we've been around. The total population was also miniscule by today's numbers ­ thanks primarily to four forces ­ disease, infections, hunger and predators. Are you normal? You don't want to be, for many reasons. To be normal is to be overweight, overfed, overstressed, underfit, dependent on the medical system and too intimidated to speak or otherwise act freely regarding politics, sex and religion. People are about ten pounds heavier in the US today than ten years ago. In terms of stature alone, normal for guys is 5'9" and 180 lbs; for women ­ 5'4", 154. The health (medical) care system consumes 14 percent of US GDP or $1.2 trillion. Financial incentives encourage unnecessary procedures with few incentives to reward medical managers for taking initiatives that improve quality of life. Over the past three years, medical errors in US hospitals contributed to about 600,000 deaths. Americans spent over $200 billion on prescription drugs last year (a 12% increase from 1999). Lots of Americans have already lost the drug war, or would have if prescription drugs were considered enemy combatants.

To get a feel for the man, read this insightful interview he gave to the Wellness Councils of America. Click the following graphic for a .pdf file* containing the interview with Don Ardell.

* a .pdf file is an Adobe Acrobat document.
You can open it with their Reader which is available for free at Adobe's web site

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The 'Band of Gold' title is a bit of hyperbole, because what we're really talking about here is a yellow elastic bracelet with the words 'LIVESTRONG' etched into the rubber.

On September 25th, Nancy and I were guests at a Calgary banquet featuring Lance Armstrong, his mother and a number of key components of the US Postal Team. Our napkin rings were the 'LIVESTRONG' bracelets, which have become the fundraising phenomenon and all-purpose fashion accessory of 2004.

Steve King, Chris Carmichael, Martin, George Hincapie, Johan Bruyneel

Lori-Ann Muenzer & Martin Lori-Ann Muenzer :: winner of the gold medal in the women's sprint cycling in Athens El Guerrouj I first became aware of the ubiquitous bracelets watching the 2004 Olympics on TV. I watched an unheralded Russian leap through the tape to win the 800 meters and had two thoughts, "How come I've never heard of Yuri Borzakovskiy?" and "What's that yellow band on his wrist?" I let the thought go and settled back to see if the great El Guerrouj of Morocco would get a gold in the 5000 meters to add to the one he had already from the 1500 meters. It was an epic race, El Guerrouj would not be denied and as he raised his arms in victory I saw the same yellow band on his left wrist. I was puzzled. "Was this some sort of faceless wrist watch? Was is a heart rate monitor?" The commentators didn't reference the yellow bracelet that seemed to attach itself to winners. The mystery was solved for me when I saw a picture of 100 meter runner, Justin Gatlin, wearing the yellow bracelet. The caption noted that, like many athletes, he was sporting the Lance Armstrong 'LiveStrong' bracelet. Talking with rowing Olympian, Iain Brambell, he said that when he first arrived in Athens and saw a lot of athletes with a yellow band on their wrist he thought it maybe some sort of priority pass in the Olympic Village.

Yuri Borzakovskiy

What I was seeing was the extraordinary power of Nike, but more particularly of Lance Armstrong to market an image and raise money for the Lance Armstrong Foundation (LAF). All proceeds from the LAF go to cancer education, research and advocacy programs. Nike set the ball rolling by donating one million dollars and five million bracelets to be sold for one dollar each. Speaking at the banquet in Calgary, Lance envisaged box upon box of unsold bracelets after the initial interest faded.

But recently sales are approaching 20 million with no end in sight. Jay Leno flashed a little yellow recently on TV and the LiveStrong bracelet is a vital part of John Kerry's wardrobe as he too hopes to finish where Lance has in the past 6 Tour de France races.

The bracelet is the really cool accessory of 2004 and is seen on the wrists of athletes and couch potatoes, celebrities and nobodies, children and seniors, trend-conscious youth and cause driven adults, and perhaps, most importantly, on people with cancer, their families and their friends. An index of their popularity is that there are 35 pages of LiveStrong bracelets on eBay.

The yellow theme has now extended beyond bracelets and this past summer Style.com, the Council of Fashion Designers of America and the LAF teamed up for a one-of-a-kind fashion auction. Here you could purchase an Oscar de la Renta yellow dress and clutch, a yellow Louis Vuitton hat box (how did I miss that?) and a real 18 karat band of gold bracelet from Robert Lee Morris. Unfortunately, I was just too late to bid on the thigh high yellow suede banana boots donated by Manolo Blahnik.

This year I've 'Run for the Cure', spoken at cancer related conferences and wear my LiveStrong bracelet, but still have a nagging awareness that in spite of the billions of dollars that have been raised and in spite of the fact that treatment enabled Lance to almost rise from the dead to become the greatest rider in the history of the Tour de France, we are not really winning the 'war' on cancer. In the 1960's a woman's chance of getting breast cancer was about 1 in 20, it's now about 1 in 10. The origins of cancer may lie in the air we breathe, the chemicals we consume, the stress we endure, the food we eat and the way we exercise. If LiveStrong means getting regular exercise, eating plenty of fruits and vegetables, laughing a lot, living with purpose and allowing yourself to see the wonders in this world, those 20 million plus bracelets will save a lot of lives.

For an article on the role of physical activity in cancer prevention go to 'Well' Summer 2002, "The Topic of Cancer".

Also see 'Cancer Case Study' by Nancy Wardle in the same issue.

The Louvre is currently having a prosthesis created for the Venus de Milo
so she can wear her bracelet in the conventional fashion.
Curators felt that the headband idea featured by Wonder Woman
was not appropriate for Venus.
They are, however, considering a Nike swoosh for Winged Victory.

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There can be few more examples of sustained stress than running for President of the United States. There has been a growing awareness among candidates and incumbent presidents that regular physical activity can help them survive travel, decision making and stress that comes with the job.

In the current race, George W. at 6 ft. 0 in. and 190 lbs has a personal best marathon time of 3 hrs 44.52 mins in Houston 1993. He tries to live a physical life in Crawford, where he cycles and indulges in epic sessions of brush clearing.

John Kerry, at 6 ft 4 in and a trim 180 lbs (BMI 21.9) ran an unrecorded Boston Marathon in the 70's and did a brisk 7 mile run in Falmouth 1994 in 1 hr 50 seconds. He has been much photographed in outdoor activities such as cycling, snowboarding, windsurfing, golf and ice hockey. He would probably enjoy an epic session of Bush clearing.

John Edwards is a self-confessed 'addicted' runner with a personal best marathon of 3 hrs 30.18 mins (Marine Corps Marathon 1983). He's slowed down in recent years but completed another marathon in 1999 and still has the ability to outrun his secret service bodyguards.

Little information could be found on Dick Cheney, who seems to content himself by running for office.

Only a tiny percentage of the population of the USA has ever run a marathon. It's interesting that 3 of the 4 candidates for President and Vice President are marathon men.

If you haven't seen the legendary jibjab.com parody of Kerry and Bush singing "This Land is Your Land" click here for a bipartisan laugh.

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The cover picture and primary graphic of "Learning to Swim" features Neil's 70-year-old yoga teacher as a girl, complete with swim cap and woolen suit, jumping into the embrace of the water when she too was learning to swim.

What do you get when you cross a Buddhist with a swim coach? You get Neil McKinlay. Neil McKinlay is a personal friend who has written a timeless book titled 'Learning to Swim'. As Neil says, "In some way or another, every one of us is learning to swim. We're all finding out what it is to be human, and our everyday activities are central to this journey. Thus, though 'Learning to Swim' might seem to be about aquatics, it more accurately offers reflections on living." As I read Neil's reflections, felt his vulnerability and admired his wisdom, one thought that kept coming to my mind was, "I wish Neil McKinlay had coached my children so that while learning to swim they would also have been learning to be fully functioning human beings."

There are lessons in 'Learning to Swim' for all of us, particularly parents, teachers, coaches and athletes. The reviews of a friend might be colored by that friendship, but you don't have to rely on my words, read the following copyrighted section from 'Learning to Swim' and judge for yourself.

That Ninety-Nine Percent

Most readers will not know who Sean is. His name does not appear in any record books. He is not on any list of National Team members, National Championship participants or All-Province athletes. He has never waved for TV cameras. He's never discussed his triumphs on radio or basked in the glow of an adoring public. He has never graced a magazine cover, never been the subject of articles or interviews, never earned mention on-screen, on-line or on any other kind of media that I am aware of. Even within the relatively narrow confines of the grassroots swimming organization to which he once belonged, his presence through the best part of a decade has passed largely unnoticed.

There is no note of Sean in any of this association's old newsletters or announcements. As far as I know, if you were determined to find his name in this small corner of the world, you would have to excavate meet results from the mid-1980's. You'd have to dig out heat sheets and final tallies from some of the competitions that were held on this island during those long-ago years. Scanning through stacks of what would now certainly be yellowing pieces of mimeograph, you would need to find the older boys' results for each event. Then you would have to take your eye all the way to the very bottom of each page before his name finally showed itself.

Sean was not a very successful swimmer - not in any conventional sense. He was sixteen when I coached him, and while a typical peer might compete a 100 meter Freestyle in one minute and five seconds, Sean needed more than a minute twenty to complete his four lengths of the pool. Long after his nearest competitor had touched the wall, ripped off his goggles and looked up at the timeboard, Sean would still be churning his way down the lane. He would be tossing his arms and dragging his legs and twisting his body. Inevitably, he'd be slowing a little with every stroke.

He used to make fun of this. He would joke about how his breathing labored, about the way his head scraped bottom on nearly every dive, about how all the other guys got to rest for a bit after swimming. There was a monologue he performed after many races. He would describe how he'd finally come in to the end of his swim and the Referee - feeling a little impatient, no doubt - would immediately blow his whistle, signaling for everyone to leave the pool. "So I'm, like, totally exhausted and can barely drag myself onto the deck," he'd say, making penguin-like gestures with his arms and legs. "I'm exhausted and can barely even drag myself to safety while everyone else is feeling like they can just go bouncing onto the blocks again."

Here he would gather all his stuff with a huff. He would pull in his several towels and t-shirts, his cap and goggles, his oversized swim bag, his liquidation sale flip-flops. He would put on his science guy sunglasses and his ever-present sunhat, and begin tottering away with a Chaplinesque swagger. That something would drop from his arms while making his departure seemed a carefully scheduled part of these dramatics. "You see that?" he would ask after letting everything loose in order to pick up the errant sock or sweat shirt. "See what I mean!?!" he would exclaim with all his possessions now scattered in a chaotic circle. "This never happens to anyone else! Never!"

I used to laugh myself silly whenever he started one of these routines. His delivery was so well timed and his inflections so perfect, his gestures so communicative, that I used to laugh until tears came into my eyes. We all did, actually: Sean's teammates used to appreciate his brand of comedy every bit as much as I.

All conversation would stop when he came up after a race. A group of us would be taking apart a completed event or getting ready for the one to come. We'd be gathered around the drawings and graphs I was sketching. I'd be miming actions with my hands and feet, and when Sean approached all this would halt. Everyone would step back and give him room. Our chests would fill with expectation. And we would just stand there, waiting for the pin-sharp point of his performance to puncture the moment and offer all of us some amusement.

"Did you see what that guy did?" I recall him beginning once. He was pointing toward a white-clad gentleman who seemed a little uncertain of the attention now coming his way. "Did you see what he did, that starter guy? 'Take your...' he said 'Take your....' and that was it! No '...mark,' no nothing. And them I'm left standing there like an idiot waiting for the next word. And everyone else is, like, halfway down the pool before I figure this out."

When Sean then threw his stuff down on the sun-warmed pool deck, a sudden gust picked up around us. It grabbed one of his discount-issue sandals, pulled it over the water and dropped it into the lane nearest us. We all stood silent for a few seconds as the neon green shoe started its descent toward the bottom. We watched it flutter down through clear blue water. "You see that?" Sean asked with what I took to be mock exasperation. "See what I mean?"

Everyone exploded at this. We all laughed and gasped and coughed until Sean gathered all his stuff and turned and limped away. Then, after we'd collected ourselves, after we'd cleared the moisture from our eyes and recovered from the pleasure of his distraction, we resumed our work with all those drawings and charts. We returned to the more serious business of racing.

	A Life magazine picture of the peerless Mark Spitz in a dual meet between Stanford University and Santa Clara Swim Club. Note the remarkable hyper-extension of Mark's knees, which gave him a dolphin kick more like a fish than a human. A young Martin Collis, who attended Stanford and coached at Santa Clara, is seated on the timers' ladder in his cap and shades.

I liked Sean a lot. Beyond his sense of humor, I appreciated his ability to draw our team together. I liked that he showed up at practice with some regularity and attended a fair number of meets. I was thankful that he was always on time for meetings and enthusiastic during cheers. It didn't matter that when results were posted, I had to run my fingers all the way to the very last lines in order to find him. It didn't matter that when I finally got there, there would be a 1:21 marked in the column across from his name ‚ and a relatively swift 1:13 penned beside the second to last finisher.

Or, at least, I didn't think this mattered.

Not until another coach observed that, after putting on his usual post-race show for us, Sean would often recede to some quiet place and sit all alone for a while. She had noticed, too, that he took his pre-race preparations as seriously as anyone, and that at the end of every swim ‚ as the Referee's impatient whistle cut the air ‚ he would swing expectant eyes towards the scoreboard and show obvious disappointment upon reading the time. "I'm not sure it's all that fun for him, " she said to me during an evening practice.

"What do you mean?" I asked, surprised.

The sun was beginning to set behind the trees surrounding the swimming pool. The day was cooling, providing welcome relief from an oppressive summer heat. I was standing where I usually did, over in the corner by the fastest two or three lanes, with one foot resting on the dull silver railing that helped people in and out of the water. From there, I was looking out over the water, the deck, the stands. From there, I thought I was looking out over everything ‚ including the whole of our training group.

"Why don't you just do a little coaching over on that side for a while," she suggested, gesturing toward some of the slower lanes, toward the lanes where people of Sean's speed swam. "Just spend some time over near those swimmers," she said, "and see for yourself."

Listening to the radio the other day, I heard someone suggest that the problem (with hockey in Canada) is one of focus. "All our attention," the commentator argued, "is at the top ‚ on the pros, on the elite. Not enough is given to the rest of the hockey players. To most of those players out there. To that ninety-nine percent who will never play a second of professional hockey in their lives."

As a coach, I know how easy it is to give all my energy to the top ten percent in a program. It matters little whether we are concerned with the line drawn between professional and amateur, all-star and journey-man, between 'A' level and 'B' level, first place or sixth ‚ there is something almost irresistible, something magnetic, that draws most coaches toward those who reside on the higher side of these marks. Not immune to this pull, I see the tendency manifest in my own work on occasion. It is just too easy for me to give the bulk of my time and attention to the fastest, the strongest, the most talented among us. It is way too easy and, fifteen years into the game, I am now painfully aware of this fact. Though this certainly was not always the case.

Before Sean, I had little sense of this inclination. In fact, I was somewhat offended by my co-worker's insinuation I did not spend much time "coaching over on that side." Certain she was mistaken and that I already knew all there was to know about those swimmers, I switched to that less routine half of the pool more to save face than anything else. Wanting to prove I was not a coach with such predictable behavior patterns, I made the move not expecting any discoveries to come my way ‚ yet this is exactly what happened.

From the very first workout, Sean impressed me with his effort. Virtually every set was completed to perfection. He paid close attention to turnover times, to pacing directions, to stroke instruction. If I made a demand such as, "Get faster with each one," Sean would usually accomplish this. When I requested the improbable by asking everyone to, "Do a best time on each of these," he would give his all in order to realize this. While his more accomplished peers stood around complaining there was just no way anyone could do a best time in workout, he would set out huffing and puffing, churning and bouncing. "Only missed that by one second," he told me once, readjusting his goggles. "Let's see what I can do here."

One evening perhaps a week after my reluctant relocation, I was so struck by this intensity that I pulled him out of the water toward the end of practice. There was something, I told him, I couldn't quite figure out; something I really wanted to know. "Why are you working so hard?" I asked.

He opened his hand and slammed a palm against his forehead.

"Is that what I'm doing?" he joked.

"Sean," I said, not letting this go. "You're killing yourself out there. You're killing yourself like you do pretty much every night and I want to know what's going on for you. I want to know why you do this."

He narrowed his gaze then. He lowered his hand to one side and held me in his sights for a long time. His eyes flickered down toward the water for an instant before snapping back up and connecting hard with my own. "I wanna get under one twenty in that 100 Free," he answered forcefully. "It's like a curse ‚ one twenty-one, one twenty, one twenty-one ‚ and I want to break it. I want, actually, to smash it to bits!"

I didn't say anything to this. I couldn't, really.

"Can I get back in now?" he asked.

I nodded my assent while a fiery mix of embarrassment and regret ignited in my belly. Before that moment, I had never really taken Sean and his efforts seriously. I had never truly understood that something like personal improvement ‚ not winning gold, not breaking a record or amazing the crowd, but the simple fact of doing a little bit better than last time ‚ might actually matter to "those swimmers" working away over on "that side" of the pool.

Things changed following that conversation. I worked to more evenly balance my attention between those two sides of the pool, for one thing. Sean and I began playing around with his breathing pattern, his body roll, the movement of his arms. We worked on starting faster, turning faster, finishing harder. We lowered his head and lifted his hips. We tried diving a little shallower. We even set up a formal goal setting process. He started thinking about how fast he wanted to swim and about how he might accomplish this, and began committing these ideas to paper. Instead of kidding around quite so much after racing, we sat together and gave serious thought to what might be improved next time. We made a couple of drawings, sketched a few graphs. And at one of the last meets of the season, something of these efforts finally showed itself.

It was a fine summer afternoon, as I recall. We were at an outdoor meet and a heat of Boys 100 Freestyle was in the water. Most of the competitors were resting their arms on the side of the pool. A couple were talking to friends who were standing behind the blocks, waiting. One had turned his head in order to see the lonely body still churning down the lane. Sean was last again. The time of the person before him had come on the scoreboard as a 1:11 and I remember feeling a tug in my heart at this ‚ feeling a little let down for both of us.

With about five meters to go, though, Sean did something I had never seen him do before. His arms quickened, his kick came to a boil, his body position lifted. From where I sat, it looked like he was actually speeding up toward the end of that race, gaining momentum where usually the exact opposite occurred. Moving to the edge of my seat, I straightened my back to watch the finish. The cluster of swimmers around me, the ones I was preparing for the next race or for finals that evening ‚ these swimmers sensed what was happening as well and raised their attentions from the pages we were scrawling on together. I remember a surge of excitement sounding from the bleachers. Yells rose from the side of the pool where many of our parents were now standing.

I remember the board clicking off a 1:18.

When Sean swung around to this, his face did not darken under the usual cloud cover of disappointment, but instead burst open with sunny delight. "Yeah!" he yelled into the sky. "Yeah!" as his teammates cheered and our parents waved their hats, their towels, their rolled-up heat sheets. The noise was loud enough to drown out the ring of the Referee's whistle. It was loud enough to win all of the competitors a few extra seconds in the water before they were told, lane by lane, to climb out on deck in order to let the next race begin.

"You see that?" he asked, coming up afterwards. "Did you see that?" he repeated, gesturing toward the water. All his possessions had been neatly stowed in his swim bag. Everything but those flip-flops and those neon sandals, those crazy sunglasses and that ridiculous sunhat had been carefully put away. His manner as he approached was also far more contained, far more dignified than I was used to. "Did you see that?" he asked again, and just then an old t-shirt broke free of everything else. It tumbled toward the deck as if drawn by force of habit.

The two of us looked at that shirt where it laid absorbing moisture. As another whistle cut the air, our gazes came up and we smiled.

"I did," I eventually answered, both happy this was true and a little saddened for all the times it had not been. Sean bent to grab his shirt and put it away. "I saw the whole thing," I said, gesturing toward my notebook with one hand, waving him forward with the other. "Now why don't you come over here and take a seat so we can talk about what you'll do the next time you race."

Copryright © 2004 by Neil W. McKinlay

"Learning to Swim" is available through Neil McKinlay's web site or through WellMart.

For a different story about a struggling swimmer who finally found success, listen to Martin's song "Claudia" on his CD, 'Beaten Tracks'.

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From the book 'Grooks'       by Piet Hein

Hint and Suggestion
(Admonitory grook addressed to youth)

The human spirit sublimates
and impulses it thwarts;
a healthy sex life mitigates
the lust for other sports.

Dream Interpretation
(Simplified)

Everything's either
concave or ­vex,
so whatever you dream
will be something with sex.

Lilac Time

The lilacs are flowering, sweet and sublime
with a perfume that goes to the head;
and loves meander, in prose and rhyme,
trying to say-
for the thousandth time-
what's easier done than said.

Experts

Experts have
their expert fun
ex cathedra
telling one
just how nothing
can be done.

Atomyriades

Nature, it seems, is the popular name
for milliards and milliards and milliards
of particles playing their infinite game
of billiards and billiards and billiards.

The Road to Wisdom

The road to wisdom? ­Well, it's plain
and simple to express:
err
and err
and err again
but less
and less
and less.

That is the Question
(Hamlet anno domini)

Coexistence
or no existence.

More Haste
(Inscription for a monument
at the crossroads)

Here lies, extinguished in his prime,
a victim of modernity,
but yesterday he hadn't time-
and now he has eternity.

Grook on Long-Winded Authors

Long-winded writers I abhor,
and glib, prolific chatters:
give me the ones who tear and gnaw
their hair and pens to tatters;
who find their writing such a chore
they only write what matters.

 

By John Allemang

To watch the great Lance Armstrong ride,
Must we ask what he's trying to hide,
And tell ourselves the human race
Can't keep up with his wicked pace?
To hear the boos and read the taunts
Inscribed along the Tour de France,
You'd think the man who outduels time
Had just pulled off the perfect crime,
As if a climb beyond compare
Were conjured from the Alps' thin air.
Each time he wins, the whispers start,
That Lance's cold and sullen art
Is crafted in a doctor's lab,
Which makes each race a snatch and grab,
A hero's triumph of the will,
With needles to subdue each hill.
It may be true. It may not be.
But fixed on that, we will not see
The tortured beauty of the Tour,
The moment when men know for sure
That choosing this inhuman ride
Means swearing off their human side,
And what the lifeless world calls sane
Will never match the joy of pain.
Sure, TV shows us Sheryl Crow
Attending to her Texas beau,
And for a moment we'll pretend
That Lance is everybody's friend.
Make no mistake: We're not alike
Once Armstrong climbs aboard his bike --
As mountains bend to each gear's shift,
So standards change and values drift.

 

Three more poems from the great Mary Oliver, who would get my vote for America's Poet Laureate, if such a position existed.

A Bitterness

I believe you did not have a happy life.
I believe you were cheated.
I believe your best friends were loneliness and misery.
I believe your busiest enemies were anger and depression.
I believe joy was a game you could never play without stumbling.
I believe comfort, though you craved it, was forever a stranger.
I believe music had to be melancholy or not at all.
I believe no trinket, no precious metal, shone so bright as your bitterness.
I believe you lay down at last in your coffin none the wiser and unassuaged.
Oh, cold and dreamless under the wild, amoral, reckless, peaceful flowers of the hillsides.

 The Sun

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

 Sunrise

You can
die for it--
an idea,
or the world. People

have done so,
brilliantly,
letting
their small bodies be bound

to the stake,
creating
an unforgettable
fury of light. But

this morning,
climbing the familiar hills
in the familiar
fabric of dawn, I thought

of China,
and India
and Europe, and I thought
how the sun

blazes
for everyone just
so joyfully
as it rises

under the lashes
of my own eyes, and I thought
I am so many!
What is my name?

What is the name
of the deep breath I would take
over and over
for all of us? Call it

whatever you want, it is
happiness, it is another one
of the ways to enter
fire.

 

By Martin Collis

Should one fight it, stifle it,
or try to disregard it?
Should windows be open or closed?
What pills should be swallowed,
if any at all?
Will Aspirins help
or will they but serve to prolong
this state of semi-health?
What does one do in this no-man's land
between sickness and well-being?
The symptoms of sickness dance menacingly
in every part of the body,
and yet the thermometer, that infallible health barometer,
shows ninety-eight point six degrees.
One knows not whether to be angry or pleased.
Pleased at apparent normalcy,
angry that one isn't normal,
and that the column of mercury cannot record
the intangibles of illness.
Gargling might help; at least it can't do any harm.
The same applies to vitamins.
One only has to look around,
and vitamins can soon be found
in half filled bottles colored brown,
from which the labels have come adrift.
Leaving one to wonder if it's A, B, C
or permutations of any three
that one is to consume.
Vitamin C is supposed to be
the one to protect you from colds.
But does age destroy its potency?
For these vitamins are old.
Feed a cold and starve a fever,
so says the maxim,
and yet one has no hunger.
Should one go to work tomorrow
and cough and sneeze one's weary way
through a never ending day
and attempt to earn one's pay
by passing the cold on
to all who fall within one's orbit?
That would be the act of an irrational man,
yet to stay away would be to earn censure
from workmates and employers alike.
What should be the highest praise
in fact is a most damning phrase.
Mrs. So and So always stays at home
when she has a cold.
How a cold forces you into the present all the time.
There's little escape into reflection or distractions
or even in sleep.
Brief flights of fancy are always cut short
by a pain in the head or by coughing.
The cold becomes the centre of one's universe.
Are the symptoms multiplying or declining?
Can one, Canute-like, hold them back?
'To take arms against a sea of troubles
and by opposing, end them.'
Perhaps this time it isn't just a cold,
perhaps it's 'flu' or something worse.
Could that coughing be significant?
The answer, of course, is 'no'.
It's just a physical disequilibrium acting on the mind,
which seems to find it's only escape from present discomfort
in images of greater maladies.
How can one read a book when breathing is a conscious act?
And, when attempts to clear ones nose by vigorous blowing
only initiate earache and a sense of frustration.
If only a cold was more circumscribed,
instead of being so all embracing.
Throat, ears, head, lungs are all affected
and every limb seems twice its normal weight.
A billion dollars and a Nobel Prize awaits the person
who can create a foolproof cure for the common cold.
And yet the cure is not forthcoming.
Part of the problem lies
in the indecisive nature of the disease.
What is a 'cold' in the layman's eyes
covers many maladies.
The researchers in Salisbury speak
of a spectrum of colds
and use letters and numerals
to indicate its many splendored forms.
Colds are not caught by getting wet,
by sitting in drafts,
by creating a sweat,
though one rather wishes they were,
for it's easy to blame
being caught in the rain
and satisfying to a degree.
But to be struck down
by an unidentified streptococci
or virus is somehow humiliating.
And when one recovers
one is merely waiting
to be struck down again.
One must be positive
and try to find a redeeming feature
where none seems to be found.
God moves in a mysterious way,
so religious people say.
Did God create the cold?
Was the Almighty responsible
for the vapor rubs and patent potions
and cough syrups in turgid oceans,
for Kleenex tissues,
colored pills designed to cure a thousand ills,
for gargles, nose drops and inhalers
sold for profit by retailers.
Never has so much been sold to so many for so little result.
And yet all things are relative.
Without sickness how could we appreciate health?
Maybe it's a function of the cold
to occasionally invade our physical fortress
and declare a minor war
that peace might be enjoyed the more.
Now one can project and see
how wonderful that time will be,
when one can smell the fragrance of a flower,
breath without effort, swallow with no pain.
When sensations are defined and clear
to really see and taste and hear,
to climb out from the pit of pain,
to live and be alive again.

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There is a myth that Winston Churchill gave the world's shortest commencement speech when he returned to his alma mater, Harrow, in 1941. The story goes that he stood, and in Churchillian tones said those 7 words, "Never, ever, ever, ever, ever give up." Then took his seat.

It would have been magnificent, but it didn't happen. He gave a stirring speech and closed in this fashion. "Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in, except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy." Personally, I like the abbreviated version better. No one defined resilience like Churchill. "Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts."

 

A man's health can be judged by which he takes two at a time - pills or stairs. :: Joan Welsh

Constant attention to health is a great hindrance to life, and taken to excess becomes a form of sickness. :: Plato

Luck is infatuated with the efficient.
:: Persian proverb

Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting "...holy shit...what a ride!" :: Forwarded by Trina, author unknown

No farmer ever plowed a field by turning it over in his mind. :: Unknown

 

If we learn from the experience, there is no failure, only delayed victory. :: Carrie Chapman Catt

When someone does something good, applaud! You will make two people happy. :: Samuel Goldwyn

Melancholy is incompatible with bicycling.
:: James E. Starrs

 

Don't be afraid to take big steps. You can't cross a chasm in two small jumps. :: David Lloyd George

There is nothing noble in being superior to someone else. The true nobility is in being superior to your previous self.
:: Hindu proverb.

The moment of victory is much too short to live for that and nothing else. :: Martina Navratilova

The highest reward for a person's toil is not what they get for it, but what they become by it. :: John Ruskin

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you. :: Carl Sandburg

An unhurried sense of time is in itself a form of wealth.
:: Bonnie Friedman

 

Example is not the main thing in influencing others. It's the only thing. :: Albert Schweitzer

From Moral Hazard by Kate Jennings
New York's Skyscrapers
I looked at them and didn't see architecture. I saw infestations of middle managers, tortuous chains of command, stupor inducing meetings, ever widening gyres of email. I saw people scratching up dust like chickens and calling it work.

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Click on each of the above movies to have it open and run in a new window. If you haven't discovered it yet, "The Office" is one of the funniest and most watched shows on British TV for the past couple of years. It's out on DVD and is a great rental and anyone who's ever worked in an office will recognize situations and personalities and perhaps what it's like to work for an insecure and duplicitous boss, who's convinced he's God's gift to administration. This can also make a great Christmas gift for friends working in dysfunctional job situations. Check out www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/theoffice/.

How did we survive without low-carb diets?

By Dave Barry

I probably shouldn't admit this to you younger readers, but when my generation was your age, we did some pretty stupid things. I'm talking about taking CRAZY risks.

We drank water right from the tap. We used aspirin bottles that you could actually open with your bare hands. We bought appliances that were not festooned with helpful safety warnings such as "DO NOT BATHE WITH THIS TOASTER." But for sheer insanity, the wildest thing we did was - prepare to be shocked - we deliberately ingested carbohydrates.

I know, I know. It was wrong. But we were young and foolish, and there was a lot of peer pressure. You'd be at a party, and there would be a lava lamp blooping away, and a Jimi Hendrix record playing (a "record" was a primitive compact disc that operated by static electricity). And then, when the mood was right, somebody would say: "You wanna do some 'drates'?" And the next thing you know, there'd be a bowl of pretzels going around, or crackers, or even potato chips, and we'd put these things into our mouths and just...EAT them.

I'm not proud of this. My only excuse was that we were ignorant.

It's not like now, when everybody knows how bad carbohydrates are, and virtually every product is advertised as being "low-carb," including beer, denture adhesives, floor wax, tires, life insurance and Viagra.

We had no idea. Nobody did! Our own MOTHERS gave us bread! Today, of course, nobody eats bread. People are terrified of all carbohydrates, as evidenced by the recent mass robbery at a midtown Manhattan restaurant, where 87 patrons turned their wallets over to a man armed only with a strand of No. 8 spaghetti. ("Do what he says! He has pasta!") The city of Beverly Hills has been evacuated twice this month because of reports - false, thank heavens - that terrorists had put a bagel in the water supply.

We didn't recognize the danger of carbohydrates. We believed that the reason you got fat was from eating "calories," which are tiny units of measurement that cause food to taste good. When we wanted to lose weight, we went on low-calorie diets in which we ate only inedible foods such as celery, which is actually a building material, and grapefruit, which is nutritious, but offers the same level of culinary satisfaction as chewing on an Odor Eater. The problem with the low-calorie diet was that a normal human could stick to it for, at most, four hours, at which point he or she would have no biological choice but to sneak out to the garage and snork down an entire bag of Snickers, sometimes without removing the wrappers. So nobody lost weight, and everybody felt guilty all the time.

But then along came the bold food pioneer who invented the Atkins Diet: Dr. Something Atkins. After decades of research on nutrition and weight gain Dr. Atkins discovered an amazing thing: Calories don't matter! What matters are carbohydrates, which result when a carbo molecule and a hydrate molecule collide at high speeds and form tiny invisible doughnuts.

Dr. Atkins' discovery meant that if you avoided carbohydrates, you could, without guilt, eat high-fat, high-calorie foods such as cheese, bacon, lard, pork rinds and whale. You could eat an entire pig, as long as the pig had not been exposed to bread.

Dr. Atkins persisted, because he had a dream - a dream that, some day, he would help the human race by selling it 427 million diet books. And he did, achieving vindication for his diet before his tragic demise in an incident that the autopsy report listed as "totally unrelated to the undigested 28-pound bacon cheeseburger found in his stomach."

But the Atkins Diet lives on, helping millions of Americans to lose weight. The irony is, you can't tell this by looking at actual Americans, who have, as a group, become so heavy that North America will soon be underwater as far inland as Denver. Which can only mean one thing: You people are still sneaking Snickers. You should be ashamed!

Uh, got any more?

Quotes

Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends.
:: Anon

Having a family is like having a bowling alley installed in your brain.
:: Martin Mull

My doctor gave me 2 weeks to live. I hope they're in August.
:: Ronnie Shakes

I don't like school. They keep trying to teach us stuff we don't know.
:: Unknown child

Exercise is the yuppie version of bulimia.
:: Barbara Ehrenreich

The trouble with jogging is that the ice falls out of your glass.
:: Martin Mull

I have to exercise in the morning before my brain figures out what I'm doing.
:: Marsha Doble

If God invented marathons to keep people from doing anything more stupid, Ironman triathlons must have taken him completely by surprise.
:: P.Z. Pearce

Messengers and mountain bikers share a common chromosome.
:: James Bethea

Thanks to Bill Dickerson for the following:

The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy.
:: Helen Hayes (at 73)

I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows.
:: Janette Barber

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.
:: Erma Bombeck

If you can't be a good example -- then you'll just have to be a horrible warning.
:: Catherine

I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb -- and I'm also not blonde.
:: Dolly Parton

If high heels were so wonderful, men would be wearing them.
:: Sue Grafton

When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another country.
:: Elayne Boosler

I have yet to hear a man ask for advice on how to combine marriage and a career.
:: Gloria Steinem

I am a marvelous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man, I keep his house.
:: Zsa Zsa Gabor

Pun of the Month

The famous Olympic skier Picabo Street (pronounced Peek-A-Boo) is not just an athlete, she is a nurse currently working at the Intensive Care Unit of a large metropolitan hospital. She is not permitted to answer the telephone however, as it caused simply too much confusion when she would answer the phone and say, Picabo, ICU.

Forwarded from ron nye, who heard it, like, somewhere, eh...

Two engineers take a test in applying for a position... they both get one question wrong, but one is hired and the other not. It was the same question, so the one not hired asks why the choice of candidates wasn't him. Answer: the other guy wrote 'I don't know this one'; you wrote, 'Neither do I'.

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