Health and Fitness Journal

Fitness is something that is completely undervalued in this country. I’m sorry, but as a mother of three children, I think I have the authority to say that it’s true. I’m now online, and I came across a healthy alternative at www.schoolsinstlouis.com to sending my kids to what I’ve come to think of as the “unhealthy norm” at schools here in Seattle.

Bernie, my youngest, can’t pull himself away from the Pepsis and Hostess chips available at the junk food vending machines placed on every floor of his junior high here. I placed several telephone calls to Mayor Nickels’ office regarding this issue, but so far I’ve received no response. I suppose he is more interested in filling potholes than tending to the health concerns of Seattle’s schoolchildren.

The Internet, thankfully, has once again come to my rescue. As a mom’s resource I don’t think one could have a better home helper. St. Louis looks like it offers a completely different attitude to health than what we have in Seattle. I’m planning on doing some thorough searches for quality schools, offering junk-free learning environments for my family.

My girlfriend Pamela and I had a serious heart-to-heart talk the other night. To my great relief she has decided to stay in Seattle with me instead of heading off to nursing school. Of course, while I was elated to hear she’d reached this decision, I also felt guilty because I didn’t want her to lose her dream. Then she told me she would be attending an online nursing school. Why hadn’t I thought of this solution?

The last year of our relationship was pretty rocky. I don’t think it was any one person’s fault. Maybe every couple goes through these stages. A big source of stress was both of us insiting on maintaining independence in our choice of career paths. The news that Pam is going to be to get her nursing degree and live with me is just too good to be true. I feel so much better about where things are heading with us.

In my case, I’m fairly centered in Seattle with my work. I’ve been working here locally in construction for a number of years and I’ve built up quite a large clientele base I’d be foolish to just up and abandon. When Pam and I used to discuss her nursing goals, I tried to cut the conversation short. I regret it, but it’s a fact. Now I’m hoping all that is behind us. I hope she heads to the top of her online class.

Have you heard about Bhutan? It is one of the most exotic, exciting tourist destinations on the world map right now. My wife Peg and I are in the process right this moment of planning our trip to Magic Mountain there. I can’t wait to reach the top of that majestic mountain, wearing my North Face jacket and aviator glasses. The pictures I’ve seen of the peak on the Internet are absolutely stunning.

If you are interested in planning a trip of your own to Bhutan, you’d better set aside some serious pre-planning time to ensure smooth sailing. Although recently Bhutan’s king decided to open up the secluded nation to visiting tourists, there’s still a substantial amount of red tape to cut through in getting your dream trip all ready and set. The Bhutanese are friendly, but still have yet to shed years of cautiousness in dealing with foreigners.

Package tours seem to still be the norm, and Bhutanese guides pretty much run the show regarding what you get to see and when. You can, of course, make special requests for particular sites to see, such as Magic Mountain, or the Presidential Palace, but you’d be wise to get these details squared away well in advance to avoid disappointment.

I was leafing through the stacks of complimentary magazines in Dr. Jameson’s waiting room filled with digital camera reviews, famous movie star gossip, and the obligatory medical advertising, when I came upon a fascinating article about kung fu. I surprised myself by reading the entire piece; usually I’m not much of a reader. The words make me sleepy.

The author was former punk rock singer Lou Reed. I had heard my son mention him once in conversation but I really had no idea who Mr. Reed was. As it turned out, after years of dabbling in aggressive music and self-destructive activity which included drug and alcohol abuse, Mr. Reed began studying the ancient Chinese art of kung fu. I read on.

Mr. Reed originally became attracted to kung fu (or gong fu, as the Chinese pronounce it), after seriously injuring himself by failing to properly execute a back flip during a guest performance with the Las Vegas production of the Beatles’ smash musical “Love.” The musical is performed by the highly-versatile Montreal circus troupe Cirque du Soliel.

“I’m not a circus performer; I should have known better,” Mr. Reed said of his experience. But after months of training in stretching with kung fu master Ju Gongin, twelve-time World Kung-fu Grand Champion, Reed was able not only to perform classic back flips, but had risen to the coveted level of “Burgeoning Lotus”. Such persons are said to possess mild mind-reading power.

Since I’ve had my own troubles bending and stretching, I decided to give kung fu a look. If I can fly through the air while aiming a kick at my opponent, I’ll be in Seventh Heaven. That’s the truth.

After a lovely late-night dinner at Carny’s, I had just ordered an after-dinner coffee and éclair when my date Cathy reached into her Louis Vuitton handbag and produced a mysterious-looking bottle of black goo. Before I could say anything to stop her, she had popped out the miniature ancient cork and had taken a quick swig of the vile concoction.

“Cathy! What on Earth…” I stammered. My heart was doing quadruple backflips in my chest. My tongue had dried up and was pasted to the inside of my cheek. I gripped the faux aluminum hand rests of my deck chair and ground my bare feet into the wooden slats of Carny’s soft wood patio.

Had she tried to kill herself? How much time did I have left before the poison ground her system to a crushing halt? My nervous system ran amok with questions.

“Charles, calm down,” Cathy waved me off. “You really don’t know what this is, do you?” She flashed the tiny bottle beneath my nose. Her eyes were wide and inflated with a mixture of cat-like mischief and flirtatious desire. She ran a long-nailed hand through her shoulder-length blond hair and shook it.

To say I was boggled would be a gross understatement.

“Cathy, what is that liquid? Please tell me it’s not poison – or heroin,” I blurted.

“Charles, you really are a museum piece, aren’t you?” she laughed gaily. “You’re always so concerned with your health, I’m surprised you don’t know – it’s balsamic vinegar. Part of the new vinegar craze. All the girls at uni drink it. It’s slimming and packs a kick.”

Vinegar! I knew from my research that pirates had used it for much the same purpose during the early 1800’s. But in 2007? It knocked me for a loop.

When I asked Cathy to try some of it myself she passed the bottle across the table and I took my first sip. It hit me like a cat bite on the thigh. My head snapped back and my feet shot out straight in front of me. My left hand pounded the table. My tongue lapped at my nose. I said: “Arrrrrrr!”

It turns out that, unfortunately for me, I’m one of only about 0.05% of the world’s population who suffer from an extreme form of allergic reaction to balsamic vinegar. After Cathy and Rizot, the main waiter at Carny’s had pumped my stomach, apparently with the help of some locals, I was carried back to my boat. What a night indeed!

I feel so bloated I can’t even get up. My doctor told me I should cut down on fatty foods and get myself a StairMaster. But I feel so bloated that I don’t have the energy to get up, get out of the house and go looking for a StairMaster. And anyway, my New Year’s resolution was to cut down on buying useless junk, like Stairmasters.

“It’s a good thing you still make housecalls, Dr. Beckles,” I told my G.P. “I’m so bloated these days I can…”

“I know, I know,” Dr. Beckles cut me off, “you’re so bloated you can hardly find the energy to get up off the couch.” He coughed without covering his mouth. “Well, it’s a good thing you could a least find the energy to dial my phone number and call my office,” he said, wrinkling his busy black eyebrows up in a classic “Don’t give me any of your guff” physician’s scowl.

“Oh, Dr. Beckles!” I poked him in the collarbone. “But what can I do to…stop this bloating thing I got? I ain’t getting any younger, you know.”

It was at that point he loosened his collar and leaned over after wiping the back of his sweating neck with a hanky. “You need a strict non-fatty foods regimen, complete with treadmill exercise and a lightweight aerobic component.” His breath was heavy with barbeque sauce, most likely from Aruba Joe’s, the nearby gourmet sausage café. Suddenly I was hungry.

“Couldn’t you just…go in there with one of them little probes and suck it out?” I wanted to know. “Couldn’t you just cut it off a bit here,” I gripped a bit of the bloated area in question so he could get an eyeful, “and kind of nip it in the bud, so to speak?” But Dr. Beckles wasn’t having it; he was a professional – he’d seen my likes before:

“If I was say, Dr. Lapus, down at the clinic, I might well advise you to take such a foolish path. But it would be unconscionable for me to do so. It would also probably be illegal. The thing for you to do is to practice aerobic twisting exercising movements. These will get your heart rate and blood pressure up. If you visualize yourself sort of picking apples and reeeaching over to pick them off the coffee table here, you’ll be taking the first step at least towards reducing your bloating.”

After he had gone I still felt bloated. And I was hungry. For a barbequed sausage. At least I would have to get up and go out of the house to get it. Maybe I was only taking baby steps, but wasn’t it a sign of some small progress?

The best way to relax is to go on vacation. This year Tanya and I are gonna go down to Mexico. I really wanna learn Spanish before we go as I don’t speak a word of it. I picked up a map a Tiajuana and some cowboy boots after I knocked off work yesterday. My plan is to bone up on my overall knowledge of Mexico and all things Spanish so that when we drive down next month I’ll knock Tanya’s socks off.

Tanya is a hard nut to crack. She’s a serious-minded anthropology student, with a tattoo of a boa constrictor on her left forearm. We’ve been dating for almost a year but she has yet to really lean on me for anything. It may sound stupid, but although I sure love Tanya’s strong independent streak, I think it’s the guy’s responsibility to lead in a relationship.

With that in mind, I’m taking charge of the whole Mexico operation. Tanya hasn’t offered much in the way of comment on my efforts so far, but I’m willing to wait. Because I’m a Capricorn I’m capable of perhaps extra-ordinary patience. Patience definitely comes in handy when you’re traveling. And it goes without saying that it is really the rock of a good relationship.

What I really want to come away from the Mexico trip with is a concrete appreciation of the quality differences between the various brands of tequila. I was raised in a family that was so fanatical about wine that as kids we helped the old folks stomp grapes in the backyard. But in regards to tequila I’m Joe Stupid. With any luck, by the time I get down to T.J. with Tanya in tow, I’ll be able to toast her with the best tequila shots, in Spanish.