BH 5: The point of it all
Aside from not stroking out, there's a long-term goal to this exercise business
As last week we furtively skulked off into a, um, non-traditional corner of the fitness realm, let’s begin this fifth installment of Body High by resetting the narrative, establishing the story’s immediate stakes one more time.
On July 30 I turn 58. My goal is to weigh below 190 pounds by my birthday. I am at 192, and have been focused on eating better.
A decade ago I weighed just under 242 pounds and my 5-11 self had no idea how I’d gotten to that number. I appreciate the difference every damn day. Yet, as I’m running around Echo Park and Hollywood, passably fit, something is missing.
About 14 months ago in Portland, in a sneaking spiral of alcohol and stress eating, I had stopped exercising regularly and gotten up to around 220 pounds. In Vancouver, Washington and then again in Portland, I had hypertension episodes that might have torn me out of the frame, but for fate or The Sun Goddess or whomever.
My real effort to get serious about my fitness started on December 26, in Tacoma, Washington. I weighed probably 215 on opening day and after hitting a long constellation of West Coast gyms, I’m down to about 192. Not yet in the ballpark of where I need to be to succeed at my long-term goal—to be revealed later in today’s Body High— but I’m no longer visibly obese and suffering unnecessary back pain because of my hips’ heft.
A decade ago I weighed just under 242 pounds and my 5-11 self had no idea how I’d gotten to that number. I appreciate the difference every damn day. Yet, as I’m running around Echo Park and Hollywood, passably fit, something is missing.
I get a glimpse of what that is every time I have to chase the fucking bus.
My true goal, the point of this whole thing, is to compete in the Senior Games in my 60s.
I finished seventh in my age division at the 2019 Griffith Park Run 5K. Back in high school, my physical discipline was spotty, and what I put into my body back then was not helpful, except probably weed, but I just missed running a 2-minute half mile, in practice. By characteristic quirk, I’m a member of my high school’s sports Hall of Fame. My credentials don’t make the Senior Games aspiration unreasonable.
Most importantly… I am so fucking fast now.
This is a hilarious development, because in youth I never had real speed. The half mile—or 800 meters—is a race that relies more on strategy than straight-up leg quickness, and I’ve run dozens and dozens of 800 meter races in my mind.
For some reason I have access to and control of my fast-twitch muscles in a way that I didn’t in youth. Friends have heard me recount the recent story of chasing a train in Highland Park earlier this year, because I had to be on time for a Pasadena canvassing gig. Upon hearing the whistle in the distance behind me, I jetted for the platform, which was roughly 150 yards away. The train bypassed me, of course, but I was right up on its tail when I sped over the tracks, then up the stairs, and through the closing doors of my car.
The young adult Latina who had also been racing to make the train stared at me, gob smacked, like What-In-the-Actual-Fuck? Same slack-jawed expression was on the Metro driver’s face when I chased his bus down on Fourth Street in DTLA in the pre-dawn hour.
I feel like I can do this.
One day last month, A DASH bus that I needed to catch landed at its stop while I was exiting a regular Metro bus. It was late in the day and I blew off any chance of catching the bus and decided to make the next one. Just didn’t feel like it.
But then I thought, well, maybe I should try. Then, I thought, Nah. Don’t do it, you don’t need the aggravation.
Finally, I thought, No, go!
And I was there like a bullet. It’s fuckin’ crazy yo.
Here’s the National Seniors Games men’s 50-54 800-meter race from last year.
The winner comes in at 2 minutes and 20 seconds. Not too intimidating.
When I was pushing two-and-a-half bills, I called the early workouts getting in shape to get in shape. Where I am now is just another phase of that, a higher level. Either my legs retained whatever speed I had in youth or my heart is just really strong. I don’t have to choose, so I guess I won’t, as Lou Reed once said.
So, yeah, this is where my long physical focus is, until I learn the goal is dumb, or I win.
My ideal running weight, it seems, would be 175 pounds.
Weed & Wellness
If you’re unfamiliar with using cannabis as part of your fitness routine, click on the headline and have a listen to the person who’s leading this class. Better yet, follow weedandwellness on Instagram. I’ve learned quite a bit since I tapped in to the knowledge.
Singing for my supper
It’s truly great to have you make it to the end of this post. The fact of your eyeballs is in itself rewarding, but only in a way. Do you have a single clue to how hard it is to consistently delight you, in a world so full of flashy content?
Look, I don’t mean to hector or badger you… whatever you think this experience is worth beyond five dollars or whatever it is you’re paying, feel free to represent that.