Thursday, October 18, 2018

Slowing The Descent

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When we were kids, we abused our bodies in every way possible, crashing bicycles into unyielding objects, sliding headlong into second base, falling out of defective trees, ignoring the scary potential of misaimed fishhooks.  Whatever happened to them, our bodies would heal.  We took it for granted.  A kid’s body is constructed of some combination of rubber, plastic and jousting armor and is impervious to lasting damage.  Split your head open?  It will heal up in days and be harder than ever.  Fall off a roof and sprain your ankle?  You’ll be back playing second base in a week.  Cut off a finger?  It will grow back in no time.  Space aliens had nothing on us, we were impervious to all harm.  Well, as long as we stayed away from those werewolves (and our mothers told us they seldom showed up in Massachusetts).

As we grew older, we saw our cloaks of invulnerability gradually disappear.  People got horrible diseases and had to move to Arizona.  People had automobile accidents and lost their spleens.  People misplaced their minds and were entombed in “crazyhouses.”  Scary business.  My sister, Alice, contracted asthma, which left her short of breath, cranky, and led to her becoming a Republican.  What happened to the Good Old Days when life was slow and oh, so mellow.…when grass was green and grain so yellow?  Is there a bus which goes in the opposite direction?

Robin Martinez, a gym pal of mine who is ten years older than me (and yes, there are such people) told me one day, “Bill, when you get to be eighty, every morning you wake up there will be something different wrong with you.”  Well, I have news for you, Robin.  It didn’t take that long.  The seventies bring along with them a clanging brass band of physical irregularities and compromises, from gout to gastroenteritis to gallstones to gangrene.  It makes a fellow feel like one of those few humans left in a zombie movie trying to fend off the undead at the gates.  Just when you disembowel the last three or four of them, another one pokes his head through the door.  Is there no end to this madness?  Well yeah, but we don’t want to talk about that.


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Exercising Your Perogative 

After 23 years of attendance at the same gym, it occurred to me one day that nobody at Lifetime Fitness in those two decades-plus had succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease.  Is that a record?  Oh, we’ve had a few folks buy the farm and a couple others carried out on a stretcher but nobody has contracted the Big A.  We’re talking about hundreds of people here.  Does that mean you should rush over and join up to be similarly protected?  Maybe.  But if you’re already beginning to show signs of fuzziness, try somewhere else, we’d rather you didn’t ruin our nice streak.  By the time the flag is up, you’re on your way.  The idea is to cut the varlet off at the pass and one of the best ways of doing that is to hit the gym three times a week.  If you can’t find a pal to go with you, don’t worry, soon enough you’ll be yakking it up with the other lifers.  Even if you insist on gorging yourself with doritos, live with a husband-beating wife and work in the pest-control business, exercise will mitigate the negatives.  It is the single most important thing you can do for your wellness.  Stop screwing around.


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Not Necessarily Namaste

Women like yoga.  Chic women, Trailer Trash For Trump, svelte sylphs, circus fat ladies, all of them buy mats, take classes, learn the secret handshake.  If a man goes to a yoga class, he may be the only male there.  Go anyway.  As beneficial as the fitness center is for cardio health and strength training, most gymgoers are short on flexibility and balance.  Remember the old duffer at the football games who couldn’t make it to his seat without leaning on half the people in his row?  That could be you any day now.  Bill has waited far too long to begin this journey to enlightenment and is high in the standings of the Rigidity League.  This stiffness has everyday ramifications in simple matters like unparking a car.  Rigidity League leaders have a disinclination (or inability) to turn around and properly examine the parking lot before backing up, among other nagging problems.  You know what happens then.

One needn’t be a subscriber to the spiritual aspect of yoga, although there’s nothing wrong with that.  If you are a mere pragmatist who appreciates the need for stretching, your instructor will not turn you in to the Yoga Police for insufficient knowledge of the Sutras of Patanjali.  You will be tolerated even if you don’t know a chakra from a chalupa, a Child’s Pose from a Downward Facing Dingo.  Yoga people are patient and forgiving.  If they accost you with strange-sounding greetings like “Namaste,” just smile, reach out your hand and say “Indubitably” or “My sister used to work there.”


Stretching Your Limits

You’ll remember Siobhan, who works here from time to time.  She has a problem called Frozen Shoulder, also known as Adhesive Capsulitis, a condition characterized by stiffness and pain in the shoulder joints.  With most people, signs and symptoms typically show up gradually, worsen over time and then resolve within three years.  Siobhan’s version began abruptly, worsened over time, then decided to hang around, Siobhan being such an interesting person.  She tried everything to get rid of the problem.  She went to a phony Rolfer.  She hung on a dungeon wall for months.  She even had experts on medieval torture build her a rack, a rectangular wooden frame with a roller at both ends.  The ankles are fastened to one roller and the wrists chained to the other, then a hooded operator turns a ratchet mechanism attached to the top roller, very gradually increasing the tension on the chains until the shoulders are either freed or dislocated.  Siobhan, usually not one to give up easily, finally quit because she just hates the sound of snapping cartilage.

Massage Envy to the fore.  The chain purveyors of Deep Tissue Massage, tickly Reflexology and the mysterious Cranial Sacral Therapy, now offer stretching sessions to people in need.  First, they warm up the back and shoulder area with an hour massage, then they pull on your appendages for half an hour.  Siobhan says it seems to be working and let’s hope so before she turns into Gumby and can no longer pass the butter.


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Would You Like CoQ-10 With That?

You’ll be needing supplements, of course.  The question is, which ones?  If a person was to believe the advertisements, somewhere in the neighborhood of 765 a day might be enough.  I mean, who doesn’t need a batch of Brain Energizer Formula before wading into the New York Times Saturday crossword puzzle?  You’ll sleep better at night with Uncle Henry’s Optiprostate Treatment, and if that doesn’t do the job try Superpollen (from only the finest, most cultured bees, all with degrees from Ivy League colleges).

Many doctors advocate statin drugs for everyone over 65, but that’s just silly.  If you have no cholesterol issues, skip the statins, which often cause muscle pain or soreness.  A friend of ours had this problem and had to smoke several joints daily to appease her peeved muscles, making her one of the earliest beneficiaries of medical marijuana, or so she said.  If you do have heightened cholesterol, substitute a safe red yeast rice product like Cholestene, available at all Vitamin Shops.  Since red yeast rice rudely saps the CoQ-10 right out of you, you’ll need to use that in conjunction with your Cholestene.

Your doctor may tell you vitamins are a waste of time, that you’re getting everything you need from your food, even though he has no idea what the hell you’re eating.  Take a multivitamin.  If it doesn’t have 1000 international units of vitamin D3, add the balance.  The whole world knows by now that curcumin is beneficial, so don’t forget that.  If the smell of fish oil drives you to distraction, try krill oil which is kinder on the nasal passages.  Anyone with stomach issues might consider ginger capsules, which are inexpensive, safe and effective.  That should be enough unless you have specific problems dictating other reinforcements, which just about everyone does.  But don’t overdo it.  Before adding any supplement to your list, check for side effects.  Glucosamine, for instance, might pacify aching joints but it also has a penchant for irritating stomachs.  You don’t want the supplement to be more trouble than whatever it is you’re taking it for.  Buy a small amount of anything new so you’re not stuck with an expensive product you can’t tolerate.  The Salvation Army does not take donations in pill form.

Okay then, which labels to buy?  Who do we trust?  The first thing to consider is the rampant fraud on the internet.  Many supplement companies set up straw men in the guise of independent reviewers, sources which boost their products and denigrate their rivals.  Probably the most reliable appraiser is Labdoor, an outfit which originally rated supplements in various categories and sold nothing.  Today, they sell most of the better-rated products on their lists, but they promise to behave.  We’ll give them the benefit of the doubt for the time being.  The Life Extension Institute in Fort Lauderdale has excellent quality products but they’re a smidge more expensive than their competition.  Don’t be shy about asking your dealer what he knows about a particular brand.  If he doesn’t know much, wish him good morrow and go somewhere else.


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The Heinie Monster

What about testosterone?  If you’re as old as the rest of us, you’re probably running low.  Get it measured and discuss the situation with a progressive doctor, not an old snerd who doesn’t trust any ideas proffered after 1950.  Testosterone is a marvel.  It’s good for your heart, your disposition, your sense of wellbeing and your ability to avoid looking like Wilbur, the guy with the skimpy ass and giant gut, who needs suspenders to keep his pants up.  Two cautions.  First, if you have prostate issues, skip the T until your prostate is sufficiently radiated or removed.  Second, keep your eye on your hematocrit number.  When it approaches 50, go donate blood somewhere.  Your hematocrit will slide back into the low forties and you’ll feel like an altruistic hero.  Besides, they’ll give you a t-shirt which allows you to show off your fake benevolence.  The neighbors will ooh and aah.

Your wife, Gert, may initially be troubled by this testosterone threat.  She’s afraid that after years of reasonable behavior, you’ll turn into the Heinie Monster.  You’ll remember him from reading Tales of The Subterranean Circus.  The Circus once had an employee named Sheila, who was retro before retro was cool.  She looked like a prettier Betty Boop and enjoyed haunting the Goodwill Stores and the antique clothing shops with my then-wife, Harolyn.  Sheila was a sly clothing salesman, alreays ready with a wink, a nod and a funny tale.  She had a husband named Kenny, a good-humored, frazzled sort of guy who came to pick her up when the store closed each night.  One evening, she regaled us with a story of a lustful Kenny chasing her through the house, grabbing at her rear end, calling himself the Heinie Monster while she screamed in mock terror.  Later that night, Kenny walked in the door as usual and seeing him, the place broke up.  Kenny, as might be expected, was stunned and confused as he held his arms wide and questioned “What?….What?….”  What is so rare as a day in June?  Probabably a bewildered Heinie Monster.

Relax, Gert.  One of the lesser likelihoods of testosterone therapy is a radical change in sexual energy.  If your man Charlie has been in the tank, you’ll probably notice signs of life.  If, on the other hand, your name is Sally Mae and you were hoping for big action, we can wistfully report than Sheila and Kenny are no longer an item and we have his card.  Kenny is pretty much filled up on weekends but Tuesday is always good.


That’s all, folks….

bill.killeen094@gmail.com