Survival of the Moderate

Whenever I observe our peak athletes, I think along the lines of the fit getting fitter and the flabby getting flabbier. But I don’t really think we’ve lost the middle ground on fitness. It’s more like fitness is an exotic state that each of us visits at various times in our lives. Yes, some folks live in that state, and others never get to see it, but many of us have tasted its fruits and like it in spite of ourselves.
A runner described how when she runs her legs never get tired, but her breathing gets increasingly difficult. I could relate, but boasted instead, “Actually, my legs never get tired, nor my breathing. But the minute I start to run, then I have trouble with both.” I have thought about doing marathons before. Star Trek has some back-to-back series marathons that especially appeal to me. All silliness aside, I’m not likely going to run for fitness. I might run to get an ice cream cone, especially if it involves haupia or chocolate. I will also walk, however, and for long periods of time on end. Same with swimming. For others, it’s biking, or hiking, or a sport, or even running.
What makes the difference is having a good reason to be active. I’m motivated by the idea of fun. Deliberate exercise falls outside of my field of fun. In high school cross-country, I never could reconcile that we would run out five miles solely so that we could run back. My idea was to stay put and just talk about running, since it would all end at the same place. Fitness for fitness’s sake is as bad a reason for me to do something as eating Lima beans and Brussels sprouts for vitamins. Fun includes enjoyment, discovery, moderation and purpose in the activity.
I walk in order to think. I swim for venting anger, viewing wildlife, and floating out at sea for a bit. I bike to be able to feel like I’m flying, with the air rushing past me faster than it normally does. All of these activities give me the bonus of fitness.
Dieting and our ideas of nutrition still smack of snake oil and elixirs to me. If I eat when I am hungry, and stop when I am full, I am able to maintain a reasonable weight. Also, I let myself be hungry for what I am hungry for, without insisting that I eat a “balanced meal” before I allow myself the desired ice cream cone. The meal is just extra calories that I don’t want: I’ll eat the balanced parts later, when I’m hungry for them. Believe it or not, eating this way does lead to an eventual hunger for salads (it took me a year, after a lifetime of dieting and mountains of salads, but I did in fact crave a salad after that year). Whereas hunger is usually interpreted as dangerous or something to be avoided, eating in this way makes hunger a welcome friend. This friend gives me a very clear message that it’s time to eat. I ignore the message of hunger less at the expense of my health than ignoring the signals for full. Overeating is what kills Americans more than hunger. And overeating on salads or the latest healthy thing is still overeating.
How about the next time we middle-grounders see the chiseled forms of athletes, we stop seeing ourselves as a potential flabolanch? Instead, we can focus on what we already do. What we focus on grows. Doing stairs at home counts, as do hoisting laundry, gardening, hauling groceries and trash, and dancing. Maybe the key is to find the fun and to let that grow. When at last our activities bear fruit, we won’t look like triathletes, but we will be reasonably fit.