David Magallanes
By David Magallanes / Guest contributor
Every day we read or hear that we as Americans must be doing more exercise if we are to ward off some pretty serious issues, such as obesity, diabetes, high blood pressure, and an entire litany of other maladies.
On the one hand, over the past couple of decades, I’ve seen one of the former students on the college track team (when we had a track team … before the budget cuts) long-distance running along the strawberry fields of South Oxnard. He appears to run for miles on end — effortlessly. Needless to say, he’s lean (though I know he’s not “mean”).
On the other hand, we all know countless people (and we may be one of them) who do essentially nothing to keep their bodies fit, toned and resistant to the ravages of the modern American diet.
I fall somewhere in between, not quite running through the fields of dreams here in our area, but neither would I call myself anywhere near a “couch-potato.” In fact, I’ve been running, to one extent or another, since I was a teenager. I recall kicking up my workouts as I got ready to join the military (voluntarily) so that I would be in shape for the grueling basic training. That was one of my better decisions, as it turned out. I haven’t stopped. After nearly fifty years of running, my knees and joints seem to continue serving me as well as they always have, so full steam ahead, until they no longer allow me to run, should that ever occur. Of course, eventually something will stop me, but so far it’s green lights all the way down my route.
Over the years, I continued running at least three times a week, often in the middle of the day to enjoy the sun and the warmth, especially during the summer. Several years ago, both my dermatologist and esthetician — simultaneously — put the kibosh on that. They told me I’d had quite enough sun for a lifetime (in fact, they indicated I’d gone into overtime), and despite my darker skin tone, they practically ordered me to run only when the sun was just rising, or as it was setting. I said, “Yes sir/ma’am.”
And so for the intervening years I ran as the sun sank into the western horizon. I consider myself extremely fortunate that my evening runs afforded me views of the sun gently lowering itself into the Pacific, or, at certain times of the year, hiding behind the Channel Islands before finally giving its last breath for the day.
But recently, as my evening schedule became filled with work and activities, I noticed that I was running less and less, and feeling not quite “tuned-up.” When I don’t run for extended periods, I become quite restless, with a gnawing feeling that I’m not taking care of my physical — and hence spiritual and emotional — self.
I had been reluctant to run in the mornings because, well, I just didn’t feel like it. I’d rather stick to my well-established routine of rising from sleep to have breakfast, a cup of coffee and my indispensable newspaper. But now I faced the decision: do I just start running far less than had been customary for me, or do I change a very deep groove of a routine?
So I’ve started running in the early morning, just as the sun is rising to greet the California coast. I love it. I may do this forever, or until I can’t anymore, whichever comes first.
I now run during the quietest time of day, when most workers have not yet left their homes, and the children have not yet started going off to school. I can clearly hear the waves roaring or splashing, depending on the ocean’s mood, as I run by. The few people I encounter are generally friendly souls who greet me first, or readily respond with a smile to my wishes for a good morning. I can hear my lungs taking in the sea air like a pair of bellows, or as an intake manifold. When I stop, I can hear my heart, my faithful, dependable heart, as it labors to process the greatly increased flow of blood through my system. I could swear it thanks me, and promises to give me a long life free of the cursed cardiological epidemics of this era. All day long, I sense that I inhale and exhale deeply; I feel a serenity and relaxation that is hard to describe and not easily perturbed. I am free of the medications that are rampantly prescribed to give people a sense of peace in their otherwise chaotic lives. My running is my drug. It costs me nothing (besides the new shoes I buy every couple of years) and has only beneficial side effects.
Of course, running isn’t the only path toward a long, healthy life. Swimming, walking, playing tennis, bicycling are all excellent aerobic activities. But I believe that I have found for myself the elixir that gives me strength and tranquility as I approach those “golden years,” too often a time for physical complaints by people who have not discovered one of their own veritable fountains of youth, or who refuse to recognize the necessity of doing so, or who simply don’t care to participate.
We live in a free country. No one can make us exercise. We, and we alone, make the decision to take care of ourselves for the long term — or not. Barring the onset of any diseases over which we have no control (and there are plenty of them out there), we as individuals have an enormous amount of power over the quality of our lives. It’s a matter of realizing it, and then doing something about it, regardless of all the incentives in our culture not to do so.
And there are plenty of those, too.
— David Magallanes is a speaker, writer and an emeritus professor of mathematics at a California community college. He may be contacted at adelantos@msn.com