Health and Fitness Journal

I have been searching for a way to improve my reading skills and one thing that came to mind was getting rid of these glasses I wear. I have been wearing glasses for 13 years and they have always been a nuisance when I am reading articles on the computer screen or books in the living room. I would love to help my eyes see better by doing some corrective surgery. I have been uncomfortable with the process but I think I have to go for it and trust the doctors doing the operation. My niece suggested going to her city in Orange County because there are a lot of specialists in the area there. I asked her about laser vision correction orange county specialists that offer competitive pricing for their services and she said they are all skilled and offering about the same price. That is what I needed to hear, that they are skilled. I need to have a skilled surgeon that works on my eyes because I would hate to have something go wrong.

I have a few friends who have completed the surgery and they love it. They say it takes about 45 minutes and there is no pain. The healing time is about 2 days with low lighting and no medications. I need to stay with my niece for a few days if I go down to Orange County for the treatment. I hope see will not mind.

Ever notice how most health discussions are aimed at women? Men, it seems, are more interested in body building than eating to stay healthy.

Today I’d like to discuss a few common sense mens health topics. Top three myths, in my book, are:

1. Men are Muscular

Not necessarily. Most women would agree that masculinity is defined by body mass. Women prefer intelligence and inner strength to mere body mass.

2. Virility is the Domain of the Young

Sexuality is an important part of intimacy, and studies show that being sexual active prevents a lot of ailments. If you suffer from erectile dysfunction, why not grab yourself some cheap Viagra and get re-acquainted with your wife?

 3. Real Men Smoke and Drink

Remember the Marlboro man? Wow, he was masculine, eh? Yeah, and it was probably super sexy when he was coughing up a lung.

These stereotypes are outdated and unhealthy. Forget them. Real men live healthy lives.

If you still smoke, quit already. If you don’t smoke, don’t start.

Just recently one of my friends (who suffers from an eating disorder) decided to buy two Suzuki motorcycles. At first I was a little shocked by all of this, I couldn’t imagine my friend who weighs 135kgs riding around town on a motorcycle. Upon further investigation it came clear to me that this was in fact a substitute for eating. My friend loves eating and always has, but it has come to stage where that is all he does. Eat, eat, eat. By having the motorbike it takes his mind off of food and substitutes it with an adrenalin rush.

I don’t quite know why he bought two bikes, maybe in case he breaks one or wants his friends to go riding with him. He has asked me a few times, but as I don’t have a bike licence I had to decline. He says that in the short period that he has had the bike he has lost a few kilos and rarely thinks about food. He is more interested in getting that buzz the moment you turn the throttle on the bike. He says it’s exhilirating and freshing to be out on the open road with the wind blowing in your face and the power between your legs. Maybe something to think about for those looking to occupy themselves with something other than food.

I’ve always thought that having a dog would benefit me both fitness wise and health wise. On the fitness side of things, you can enjoy a brisk walk in the park, on the beach or even a little run around in the backyard playing fetch. On the health side, animals, be they dogs, cats or anything else provide a positive vibe when you’re feeling blue.

The pit fall however is the sheer cost of owning a pet. I’ve had my Golden Retriever for many years now and I tell you the vet bills are more expensive than a trip to the doctors. Luckily, I have pet insurance that covers about 50% of the costs. Without it I don’t think I would be able to afford a dog. Almost everyday I go for a power walk with Rocky and he absolutely loves to run around chasing the ball. This has seen me keep in shape and at the same time feel positive every morning after our run. I highly recommend a dog as a good fitness partner for those looking for one.

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?

I’ve been experiencing five flavors of hell since I switched from being a pro golfer and spending my days out of doors, to being wedged into a decades-old rump-crunching office chair. I’m overworked and grouchy, and it’s no mystery that the root cause is sitting at a desk all day long, gazing at screens that beg me to “submit,” and “click here.” What ever possessed Bill and Melinda Gates to invent the computer, I’ll never understand.

I’m gaining weight and feeling bloated and angry. I catch myself straying from my work and typing in searches for “Tiger Woods.” Does that make me a bad person? I don’t think so, but my boss has shown little or no sympathy to my health plight. He even confiscated my little short wave radio that I used to have near me on my desk. He said it was “too much of a distraction.” That little radio was my friend.

Office injuries are so much different than those experienced out on a golf course. I’m no newcomer to the house of pain – I’ve had flesh ripped off my kneecaps trying to make a difficult shot; I’ve had punch-ups with caddies over mark-ups on the clubhouse snackfoods; I almost died in a sandtrap. But nothing I’d experienced before prepared me for the slow war of attrition I’d face when I started work as an IT professional.

After two months in the office I was sure I had caught deep vein thrombosis from lack of movement caused by just sitting stationary at my desk. My wrists throbbed from carpal tunnel syndrome. My heart had swollen to twice its size. I felt parched. I told my boss I wanted to quit. He offered to return my little radio if I’d reconsider. So I stayed.

I’m still waiting for my radio. I hope it comes soon.

I was watching Kill Bill again and I just love Uma’s shoes! The problem is that I want to buy them but I already have them. My accountant, John Rostokovich, told me I should buy as many pairs as I could and then “write it all off”. But I was brought up in a strict house where lying and rough-housing were verboten. If I buy all them shoes I figure something bad may happen. I don’t really need karate shoes. But I do need wrestling shoes.

I’ve needed wrestling shoes since I was a kid. Donny Magee, my neighbor, would hide behind a mailbox and try to wrestle me to the pavement on my way home from pottery class. At that time I begged my parents to buy me wrestling shoes to give me that special power to fight back. But they insisted I go to pottery class in our traditional garb of clogs.

Now my parents live in another state and I’ve decided to become a professional wrestler. I made my own mask out of an old paper pie plate. The plate was free, but there was some icing stuck to the edge of it.

Wrestling shoes I want to buy. I want Adidas or Keds. Actually I don’t think Keds makes wrestling shoes. Oh well.

The term menopause literally means the end of the menstrual period for a woman. The time leading up to this last period is often referred to as the peri-menopause and the time following known as post-menopause.

Menopause is a normal event in life for women, characterized by hormonal changes and often occurs in ‘mid-life’, between the late 40s and early 50s although women who smoke generally experience menopause around two years earlier that non-smokers.

Whilst most women see menopause as the beginning of old age, it actually signals the start of a new life, one full of new and different expectations, opportunities and experiences. As a woman’s life expectancy is generally 85, it can signal the sign of another 30 years of new beginnings.

The experience of menopause varies from woman to woman and even from culture to culture. All women, however, undergo the same basic hormonal changes during menopause. A woman’s ovaries produce three types of hormones – testosterone, progesterone and oestrogen. These hormones play a vital role in pregnancy, ovulation and menstruation. During the peri-menopause phase the ovaries’ production of these hormones diminishes until finally dying out when menopause is reached.

While there are numerous side effects to menopause, such as hot flushes, night sweats, sleep disturbances, genital changes and joint or muscles pains, most woman go through the menopause period with little problems, except for of course personal issues in reaching menopause. My only advice is to look at this as a wonderful new beginning with great unknown chapters in your life waiting to be written.