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Matters health and fitness

Tuesday 11/14/23

Some accounting for recent physical wellness pursuits. All of this is part of the larger whole of what I do. What I do requires strength. To endure requires strength. To face and fight requires strength. Taking care of my fitness is one of the many things that allows me to have the requisite strength to do what I just mentioned. And to hang in. To keep going. And to eventually prevail.

In the two weeks prior to this one, my stair-running was not very good. Last week, for instance, I only ran 8000 stairs, which is about an hour and a half of stairs in total. It happens--there are periods or weeks where I don't do a great job. But that changes pretty quickly. A couple weeks ago I did 1400 push-ups, which is a nice total for a week, and then last week I did another 1200.

Stairs are more important, of course, than push-ups, because they are related to the heart. My heart must withstand stresses that other hearts do not. Stairs are also more than stairs; they are an attitude, a mindset, indication of resolve, and, crucially, accountability. Both personal accountability, and that others will be held accountable when in violation of that which is right, deserved, earned, fair. Stairs will stop you from sliding. That is also the nature of stairs.

On Saturday to start the new week I ran 5000 stairs, did 300 push-ups, and walked three miles. On Sunday, I ran another 5000 stairs, did 500 push-ups, and walked six miles. Yesterday I ran 3000 stairs and did 300 push-ups. My adventure threw me off some at City Hall. I felt a bit like Walter Hartright only instead of the Woman in White there was the Woman in Blue.

Sunday marked 2681 days, or 383 weeks, without a drink. Do you want to know something about drinking that's also not about drinking? Sometimes, I'll wake up at one or two in the morning to start my day. It's not uncommon. If I have something to say in a letter to one of these bigots before they go up on these pages, exposed for everyone to see, laugh at, deride, I typically won't send it then. I don't want anyone to be able to think, "He must have been drunk to say such things!"

(Publishing people are wholly unaccustomed to truth, which is one of many reasons why someone who goes to Yale or whatever and then gets their MFA at Iowa will be worse than anyone else at writing in the world. Writing must have truth in it. The little fillip of truth to the breastplate becomes to them like dropping a nuclear bomb on their head.)

The prose could not be more lucid, fact-based, truth-based, and to the point, of course. But I want them to look at what they see, knowing what is about to happen to them unless is matter addressed and addressed promptly, in the cold, hard light of morning. That this guy knows all about you, he knows what you've done, what you're all about, what you do, why you do it, and he's looking right through you.

Obviously, my non-drinking and seemingly sleepless schedule are well documented. The man might go to bed at ten, he's up at two, and by seven in the morning he's written more than most of these people will write in ten years, and that's before we get into the quality. Still, there's a reason for everything here. And the reasons have reasons. There is no caprice, no acting out of emotion. It's all clear-headed, well-presented, inarguable truth.

Yesterday returning from the stairs I was doing push-ups as I normally do next to the disused tollbooth from the 1950s. The tree in the picture below was loosing its leaves each time the wind blew. They came down to right where I was standing. Every puff of wind, and off a leaf or two or a few more, would come. Straight to where I was.

I stood there and caught four of them. That seems like it should be good luck, doesn't it? Catching leaves as they fall from trees. It was like playing catch with a tree, actually. Most trees are much closer to bare by now, and I guess it was just the time for this tree, and there I happened to be. I call it the tollbooth tree. I'm fond of it. But do you see how it's like all of the leaves had to turn color before any of them could go? It's like they're unified in purpose.


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