Exercising Restraint
Last Thursday I had the great pleasure of being engaged as a “spotter” for four women friends of mine who had the ambition to swim across Spoonwood Pond (and back). My job was to paddle a kayak, counting heads occasionally and potentially, to be of some assistance in the event of an emergency (which did not transpire). The pace was casual – enough to allow for conversation, which resonated with amazing volume across the pond and echoed off the surrounding hills. While speed was not the goal, the feat of swimming a couple of miles is commendable. Youthful spirit might still prevail, but all of the women have lived long enough to not be driven by either the prime or foolishness of youth, and I admire their determination and perseverance.
Dawn at Spoonwood (click here for more pictures) is an extraordinary experience. We gathered at 5 a.m., and while daylight was adequate to see by, the sun did not emerge over the horizon until we had begun the journey. Spoonwood is not easily accessible (in fact there is not public access other than over the dam which links it to Lake Nubanusit). This meant there was little evidence of civilization: there is one house which overlooks the pond from a high hillside, but the land is otherwise unoccupied by humans. Plenty of wildlife though, and at one point three loons landed remarkably close to the swimmers. They became part of our entourage for a short time, and then suddenly they were gone, having dived in unison to collect some breakfast.
My friends appeared to be quite exhilarated (though admittedly also exhausted) by their endeavor. Myself, I was quite pleased to have remained on top of the water, and to have witnessed the start of a beautiful day.
This morning I engaged in another enjoyable outing – this time on wheels. My home in Nelson is at about 1,800 feet; nearly as high as City Hill which rises a quarter mile or so to the south of me, and which is the fourth highest elevation in the Monadnock Region, exceeded only by Monadnock and the two Packs. It is less conspicuous than its lower cousins such as Crotched Mountain and Pitcher Mountain, as it is nestled in among other foothills which conceal its prominence. What this means is that everything is pretty much downhill from my house, which in turn means that when I got on my bicycle to head for my office in Peterborough, I was mostly looking at an hour + of coasting, with just a few modest hills that required shifting and peddling. It was another beautiful morning – the mist rising out of Rye Pond at the intersection of Nelson, Stoddard and Antrim, and the final part of the journey off the main road and onto the bike path in Peterborough where not that long ago trains traveled every day. I arrived at my office feeling good, and without having expended considerable energy.
Many years ago, in the spirit of trying anything, I would occasionally go out for a run. Many folks I knew had embraced jogging, but I never achieved that endorphinous rush that so many people talked about. In fact, I usually felt worse. In my teenage and early adult years I was often doing sufficient manual labor that I was in decent shape. As middle age and less rigorous occupations take their toll, I am losing any resemblance I might have once had to Arnold Schwarzenegger, but I’ve learned not to worry about it, and I think that’s the ticket. Exercise for me is something that should be a by-product of some other endeavor. Cutting firewood, mowing the lawn in summer, shoveling snow in winter – that’s my workout. There’s a modest delta between the pounds I bear and what the charts say should be my ideal body weight, but my theory is that by carrying a little extra around, I actually get more exercise than my slimmer contemporaries. Same for biking. No spandex fancy pants grace my butt (and indeed grace might not be the word if I wore them), and I ride a 10 year old $150 trail bike, which other more fittingly clad bikers often pass in a blur when I’m out on the open road. But – I need to work harder to go the same distance, so I am getting my exercise, while actually going slow enough to imbibe my surroundings.
My son makes a living selling high end athletic gear. Presumably his customers are interested in fitness (though style is certainly a factor as well). My daughter is a nurse, helping folks for whom fate has at least temporarily tempered the quest for well being. As Americans are in many ways more obsessed with fitness than any other country, yet we are also among the least fit. So, something is out of alignment. My personal resistance to organized exercise does not come from any animosity towards those who find it meaningful. It’s just what works for me, and I have a feeling I’m not alone. It is possible to enjoy good health with exercise moderation. Still, I hope that my friends continue their aquatic challenge on Spoonwood Pond – I’d love to spot them again next year.
