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Kim
Have
you ever tried to drive your car when it’s about to run out
of gas? It sputters. It hesitates. It sounds like an old man
with gastro-intestinal ailments. If you’re fortunate enough
to be on an incline and within sight of a gas station you shift
into neutral and roll the car down the hill to fill your tank.
As parents we sometimes are guilty of allowing ourselves to
become that sputtering automobile. We preach good nutrition
to our families. Most days we even manage to fix meals that
fall within those guidelines. We encourage our children and
spouses to exercise and play outside in the sunshine and fresh
air. But what about our own health habits?
Writing isn’t a profession that requires physical strength or
endurance. Unfortunately we sometimes slack off in the health
category. Maybe we do this because we aren’t on our feet eight
hours a day. Or perhaps we feel that not lifting or operating
equipment is justification for not properly refueling our bodies.
Stresses deplete our emotional energy.
What would happen if we failed to feed our minds? Would images
be crisp and clear? Would emotions jump from the pages into
reader’s hearts and souls? No. Senses would dull. Colors would
fade. Characters would take on the personas of slugs.
Nearly every writer I’ve met has a child. Some of them are grown
and have long since left the roost. Others are cradling swaddled
infants with one hand and keying words with the other. Not once
would we consider denying our children a balanced meal. And
from whom will these children learn their most valuable lessons?
My six-year old and his buddy were carrying on an animated conversation
this past week. I was busy writing and listening with one ear.
“My mom doesn’t work,” his friend said. “She jogs. After we
go to school she spends the rest of the day running on sidewalks.”
I chuckled. Children’s perceptions are so literal.
“My mom works,” Jonathan said. “She types on the computer all
day and eats all the cookies while she’s working.”
“Does she save any for you?”
“Sometimes. But when she doesn’t I take a pen and dig the big
crumbs out of the keyboard.”
I stopped. Did I relly eat like that? Was this the same woman
who would draw blood if she saw another family member eating
at the computer? Could he be describing the woman who faithfully
packs vegetables in lunch boxes and sneaks fruit into baked
goods to ensure proper nutrition?
I was busted.
It became obvious that I was due for a nutritional makeover.
I would start by adhering to the rule set before the rest of
the family. There would be absolutely no eating in front of
the computer. I could sip my decaffeinated coffee or diet soda
(when no one else was observing me) but food would be completely
off limits.
Cookies would have to become a dessert option. They could no
longer be consumed via inhalation throughout the entire day.
This applied to cupcakes, candy bars, and jelly beans as well.
Exercise needed implementing. Tapping my feet under the computer
desk didn’t exactly qualify. I vowed to get up from the desk
three times a day and take a ten- minute walk. In addition I
would plan on trips to the gym for a 45-minute workout at least
twice a week.
Now a mere two and a half weeks into my new routine I think
I’ve started noticing subtle results. I’m beginning to shed
that five pounds of winter insulation, a.k.a. fat, and I’ve
sensed a return of moderate muscle tone. The change in eating
habits paid off with a substantial increase in energy. And I
don’t need to exhaust that energy removing cookie crumbs from
the keyboard!
Will these efforts at health maintenance become another rapidly
passing trend? It’s much too early in the game to predict victory
or defeat. As long as the inspiration is prevalent, I’ll continue
wearing that path around our neighborhood.
I’ve met more neighbors in the past two and a half weeks than
I’ve met since we bought our home ten years ago. I’ve become
privy to the routine of a gentleman who stands in his yard and
shoots an air gun at a stuffed deer. I now know how many kidney
stones the man in the blue house with white shutters has passed.
And I’ve learned in a most descriptive manner from the lady
six doors down what occurs when one suffers from irritable bowel
syndrome. They’ve all learned that I’m a writer and would love
to see their story in print.
And isn’t that what writing is all about? So my benefit will
be twofold. I’ll emerge in summer fashions looking slim and
svelte, and maybe if I’m lucky I’ll happen upon some
intriguing neighborhood personality looking to generously contribute
to promoting an up and coming byline. Mine!
