Envy

At least twice a year I come face to face with my nemesis—the scale.  Twice a year I attend health screenings sponsored by my employer.  There I am poked, prodded, measured, and weighed.  I’m not sure if this is a proactive act towards good health or a wicked reminder that none of us can escape entropy.  Entropy basically is a fact that all things break down over time.  At this point more time has passed than remains.  Trust me . . . entropy is present in my life and my nemesis is more than elated to point this out.

I’d wouldn’t say that I have a love/hate relationship with the scale, it is fairly one sided in our relationship—I hate the scale.  The scale is blunt in its assessment and revelation of the facts.  There is more of me than I care to acknowledge.  The scale points that out.  My entropy has headed south and over the belt.  Though I have never had six-pack abs, what I do have would better resemble the Pillsbury Dough-boy.  The scale never lies . . . JERK!

 

This bi-annual encounter with the scale has created a bit of envy in my psyche.  Though I try hard to not be superficial when it comes to appearances, I cannot help but notice that my physique is far from what our advertorial society deems as “ideal”.  Where the non-achievable Adonis is shoved down our throats, I’m stuck on the opposite end pointing towards . . . well, I said it earlier—the Pillsbury Dough-boy.  I envy those on the Adonis side.  I loathe them.

 

This wasn’t always the case.  Most of my life I really didn’t care what I looked like or how I stacked up to others.  I had come to accept myself for who I was . . . a balding, slightly overweight, growing old person.  Then one of the grandchildren asked if I was going to have a baby!  Bless her heart.  She was too young to understand the science of it all and that females were the only ones capable of birthing a child.  Yes, after a while, I put her back in the will.  Suddenly I became aware of my dough-boy physique and all those who were not . . . dough-boys that is.  True, most were 30 to 40 years younger than me, but I envied their appearance.  I longed to look like that.

 

Envy appeared thanks to a curious infant who wanted to know . . . are you having a baby?  That and the fact that our nation will soon be led by the poster child of envy—president-elect Donald Trump.  He is the epitome of envy.  Just listen to the man speak about how he envies so much of the world around him . . . constantly hailing himself as “better” than everyone and everything else.  Throughout his political career (in fact, his whole life) he has been envious of his opponents . . . especially their crowds.  He is quick to point out that his crowds have been bigger and better than anyone else’s in history.  His life is bigger and better than anyone else’s.  He is driven by envy.   His gold game.  His mansions.  His spouse.  His kids.  His wealth.  The bragging comes out whenever his envy appears.

 

My favor bout of Trump envy came about when he was campaigning in Pennsylvania prior to the election.  The location was Latrobe—birthplace of Arnold Palmer.  There he spoke about Palmer and referred to the physical features of the famous golfer.  See and hear it here.  Peg Palmer Wears, Palmer’s daughter, responded to the vulgar statement confirming the “orange one’s” envy, “I think Trump seems to be fairly obsessed with these things, just like crowd size.”  The president-elect—the most powerful person in the whole world—has made envy acceptable.  If it is good enough for the president-elect, then it is good enough for me.

 

As much as I want to embrace envy . . . I can’t.  Brad Pitt is hanging out somewhere in that Pillsbury Dough-boy physique . . . just waiting to be released . . . to be set free.  No one exiled me to the “land of popping fresh dough”.  As much as I wish I could, I have no one else to blame for my present demise and shape.  It is my fault.  My inactivity.  My gluttonous behavior.  Though it seems to have silently snuck up on me over the years . . . I have no one to blame except myself.  Envy seems the best way to deal with it . . . the easy way out.

 

Loathing is not the answer to the source of my envy.  No . . . we all know the answer to ridding myself of this envy.  Diet and exercise.  Neither are any sane person’s ideas of a solution.  But the reality is there.  Towards that goal I have started walking more.  The dog loves that.  But that is not enough.  I bought a stationary bike.  What a vile piece of torturous equipment!  I can see why for most people it becomes a clothes rack.  Yet it is necessary if Brad Pitt is ever going to return.  It is the only way . . .

 

. . . only way I can reclaim that slimmer and trimmer version of myself.  Yet there are moments.  Moments when the lungs are burning and pushing for any air, they can find . . . when the legs are aching . . . that my mind thinks, “Envy ain’t so bad.  Plus, it is easier on the body.”  Then I think of how ridiculous envy makes one look and sound . . . think of Latrobe, Pennsylvania and Arnold Palmer . . . the “orange one’s” remarks.  The stationary bike doesn’t seem so bad after all.  I don’t want to be like “the Donald”.   

 

Living Longer

Okay, M. Scott Peck stated in his book The Road Less Traveled that the root of all sin is laziness . . . that humans are always looking for the easy way out . . . looking for the ultimate loop hole.  He says that was the original sin of Adam and Eve, they took the easy way out to knowledge instead of waiting for God.  I am human.  Laziness is ingrained in to my genetic make-up.  And, I will admit that I have been searching for the easy way to live longer without dieting, exercising, and basically becoming a monk in some hermitage in the middle of nowhere.  If there is a way to add years to my life without doing the work . . . well, I am all for it.  So, you can imagine the expectations I had when I came across an article on the Internet proclaiming sixteen—not one or two, but sixteen ways to live longer.  I was ecstatic . . . there was hope without having to break a sweat or giving up steak!

With great expectation I read the article . . . now, I am not so sure . . .

The first suggestion right out of the gate was to enjoy more sex.  Sex boosts the immune system, reduces stress levels, and can even curb one’s appetite.  Now I am not going to argue with the experts, but . . . why is sex the answer to everything?  Should I run out and have sex every time I feel a cold coming on?  Should I have sex whenever I am feeling a little stressed?  A little hungry?  I guess there is a reason that Viagra is such a hot-selling drug . . . people would always being doing “it” because people are always getting sick . . . always feeling stress . . . and, hungry.

Adopt a dog.  Having a dog will make one more active and reduce the risk of heart disease . . . reduce stress and lower the risk of cardiovascular disease.  Well, I have two dogs . . . Dachshunds.  Dachshunds are not what I call the quietest dogs in the world as they bark constantly . . . make a lot of noise.  Someone told me it is because they have “little dog syndrome” . . . I think it is because they have big yappers.  I feel my blood pressure rise whenever they start to bark, which seems to be all of the time.  That can’t be good for the ol’ ticker.  Not sure this one is true.

Drink coffee.  Coffee can reduce the risk of diabetes, cardiovascular disease and Alzheimers.  I can’t stand coffee . . . never have been able to stand coffee, much less drink coffee.  I am a tea drinker.  I guess this one is not going to add years to my life either. 

Be positive . . . this was discovered to be one of the most common traits among centenarians.  Being easy going and having a positive attitude added years to one’s life.  Yeah, right!  And, I’m going to start drinking coffee tomorrow morning.  I don’t think my attitude is going to help me out too much here.

Run for five minutes each day . . . by doing this for five to ten minutes each day will reduce the risk of heart disease by 58 percent.  About the only running I do now-a-days is from the bedroom to the bathroom in the morning . . . comes with age.  I guess I could increase that if I ran downstairs to the other bathroom . . . that would include a staircase . . . or maybe running down the block to the gas station and using their bathroom.  It is a thought, but it tires me out just thinking about it.  Another article I read said that laughing a hundred times was like running for fifteen minutes . . . I’d rather laugh than run. 

Eating nuts.  Eating nuts several times per week reduces one’s mortality rate and lowers the risk of diabetes.  I love legumes . . . nuts of all types; but, as I have gotten older, my digestive system has begun to dislike nuts more and more often.  I pay for eating too many nuts . . . even if laughter helps the digestive system improve its ability to poop, nuts work faster in my body.  I guess I could laugh and eat nuts before the next colonoscopy . . . at least my system would be cleaned out.  I am not sure this will add years to my life . . . and, besides, what quality of life would it be if it was all spent in the bathroom!

The next suggestion . . . have a purpose . . . I might be able to do.  I have a purpose: I want to live longer.  I do not want to die.  It is as simple as that.  Towards that goal I will continue to search the world over for the easiest ways to live longer that do not involve diet or exercise.  Not bad, after eight suggestions I finally found one that will probably add about a week to my life.  I think I am on a roll.

Eat more fish . . . particularly salmon, tuna and mackerel . . . live more than two years longer on an average than those who didn’t.  As long as I can deep fat fry those boogers in oil I think I can choke them down with a side order of French fries and a couple of beers.  I guess I should kiss those extra two years good bye.

Floss every day . . . flossing removes oral bacteria which reduces inflammation which dentists believe to be linked to higher risk of heart attack and stroke.  I think this is some sort of conspiracy by the string industry to sell more string . . . I hear the string market has been down for a couple of decades.  Flossing is some sort of punishment that dentist came up with to torture people in-between visits to the dentist’s office.  I guess this will get easier with age . . . when the false teeth, the chompers come into play.  When I get my first set of dentures I promise that I will floss them every night before I go to bed . . . should be easier when I can hold them in my hands.

Smile more . . . duh!  Smiling hurts my face.  Enough said.

Drink more wine.  About a glass of wine a day lowers the risk of cardiovascular death more than avoiding alcohol altogether.  I can handle that . . . besides, if one glass is good, two have to be better.  I just wish the beer industry would get up with the times.  I like beer better.  Beer is cheaper.  Plus I can drink it straight out of the bottle, whereas when I swig out of the wine bottle the wife gets a little annoyed . . . and that takes years off of my life!

Stand more during the day.  Ha!  The mind says stand, but the body says lay.  Gravity usually wins this one.  This goes against nature.  Ain’t going to add any years standing, when you don’t ever stand.

Avoid fizzy drinks.  Apparently fizzy drinks have a negative effect on the body’s cells and actually are linked to aging.  No more pop . . . no more soda . . . but I draw the line on beer.  This doesn’t sound easy.  I want easy.  I want my beer and age together.  Oh well.

Catch more sleep.  Ha!  Remember those two Dachshunds?  They think breakfast is served at 4:30AM every morning.  They also think—now that it is getting colder—that my bed is their bed . . . and, they don’t share very well.  There is also nocturnal sounds that emanate throughout the bedroom every night that make sleeping difficult . . . both sides point their finger at each other.  Who knew Dachshunds snored!  I’d catch up on my sleep during the day, but my employer frowns on naps.  Sleep is not going to be the key to longer life for me.

I laughed at the next one . . . being social.  Darn it!  I am an introvert.  Introverts age twice as fast as extroverts when they have to be more social.  Shoot!  Just thinking about being more social made me lose a couple of years.  I guess if having more friends and being social will allow me to live longer . . . I ain’t going to make it!

Volunteer.  People who volunteer are believed to live longer.  If you ever saw what I make at my jobs you would probably already think that I volunteer enough.  I guess that is what happens when you work for the state . . . you volunteer a lot.  And, by living longer you can do it for even longer.  Seems like a Catch-22 plot to me.

Sixteen suggestions towards a longer life.  Only one suggestion even came close to adding time to my life . . . one thing . . . having a purpose!   That purpose is to live longer . . . to live longer without having to work at it through diet and exercise.  That is the American Dream . . . longevity without effort.  Yet, M. Scott Peck said that would also be the downfall.  There is no joy in Keenerville, the mighty John has struck out again.  I will probably never know what it feels like to be a 100 . . . or 90 . . . or even 70 . . . because I have not found that magical method of adding years to my life without putting forth any effort.  It is a pipe dream . . . a fart in the wind . . . that is never to be caught.  Yeah, I am lazy . . . but I am human . . . and, I am American.  An American with a purpose . . . to live longer with no effort.  I will continue to contemplate how I will accomplish this as I eat my Big Mac, double fries, fizzy drink, while frowning, and knocking back a couple of beers because the wine is too sweet.  At this rate I might die at a younger age than I actually am . . . what would M. Scott Peck say about that?  One can only dream.    

For a Moment . . . Hope

For a moment there was hope.  The title of the MSN.com article proclaimed: “Why Do Fat Guys Live Longer?”  According to the research of the National Cancer Institute and the Centers for Disease Control overweight men—and their mildly obese buddies—are likely to outlive skinnier guys.  That is what their research showed after examining 97 studies that tracked body mass and morbidity states on nearly three million people of all ages.  Through their research it was discovered that there is a “window” in the body mass index (BMI) that actually had the overweight people outliving the normal-weight people . . . that BMI was ranging from 25 to 29.5.  Also, though not to the same degree, those with BMIs in the 30 to 34.5 range were slightly more likely to dodge the grim reaper’s scythe.

To a guy who caught his Alfred Hitchcock profile in the mirror the other day that sounded like good news.  It gave me hope.  Lately, as the weather ever so slowly changes to warmer (and more body exposure) temperatures, I have been contemplating the need to shed a few of those winter pounds that I have been expertly hiding under sweaters and sweat shirts.  That contemplation included the ideas of dieting and exercise . . . sounds vaguely like something my doctor suggested.  But that sounds like work . . . hard work . . . real, hard work.  The article gave me hope.  Fat guys outlive skinny guys, and I am leaning more towards the fat guy side than the skinning guy side!

Researchers are not really sure why this happens . . . not sure why fat guys outlive skinny guys.  It just happens.  One reason, but not certain, is that overweight people have a tendency to visit their doctors more often with health concerns.  That is where all my concern started—with the doctor telling me that it would be good for me to lose a little weight and to exercise more.  Ouch!

So, when I saw this article I was nearly brought to tears . . . God does answer prayers!  Hope abounded and I saw myself jiggling with the good news!  Hey, I only have to pack on a couple of more pounds . . . okay, about thirty more . . . and, I will have hit the magic window.  Then I read the rest of the article.  Talk about a downer!

It was strongly discouraged of taking the route of fatness to happiness and longer life.  Fat is not good for anyone . . . especially those of us entering into the so-called golden years.  The worse fat, according to the article, is abdominal fat . . . you know, the Alfred Hitchcock profile sort of fat.  They list off quite an array of health problems associated with this sort of fat, among them not being able to see one’s toes.  I assure you, I can still see my toes.  And, no, the dogs do not hang out in the shade cast by my southern hemisphere!

I don’t know who it was who instilled in my mind that I have to read articles from start to finish . . . curse that individual!  If I had stopped at the beginning, there would still be hope.  But, now, it is gone . . . so, I am back to where I was before.  I am needing to lose some weight, watch my diet, and exercise.  My body cringes whenever I think about it . . . it moans in anticipation of what is to come.  Darn those researchers . . . darn those cheese burgers . . . darn those moments when one helping is not enough! 

For a moment, carrying the Alfred Hitchcock profile gave me hope.  For a moment I rejoiced in the Dunlop around my mid-section.  For a moment I welcomed the Buddha look.  But hope is sometimes a fleeting thing . . . here not, gone tomorrow.  Oh well, I guess I should put the bag of chips away . . . darn skinny people.  They ruin it for the rest of us!