It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude. - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

The world is powered by passionate people, powerful ideas, and fearless action. What’s one strong belief you possess that isn’t shared by your closest friends or family? What inspires this belief, and what have you done to actively live it?

(Author: Buster Benson)

…

<Funny thing is, my ex-wife has been trying to get me to write this down for years, since way before she was my ex-wife.  So this is for her as much as it is for me.>

I come from big people.  From Germans and Poles who love meat and potatoes and beer and cheese.  From Orange Irish and English who love the food of robber barons and the ruling class, and love this food served on fine china and the appropriate utensils (Although, even my mother confesses she isn’t exactly sure how to use a trifle fork.).

I also come from people who are carbohydrate intolerant.  Not only does the  Danish or potato roll land straight on our midline, we also seem to have an inability to digest it – which makes us insulin resistant and, ultimately, diabetic.

Or maybe not “ultimately.”  Because I have come to believe you can change your body’s destiny; that you don’t have to accept the notion that we get older, things slow down (and spread out) and there’s nothing you can do about it.  I believe disease does not have to be inevitable.

Pre-exercise Kate

For me, this belief did not begin when my father was diagnosed as diabetic nor when my mother was diagnosed; it did not start when my mother had her first heart “issue” (we are not allowed to say heart attack – “because it wasn’t!” – nor heart disease).  For me, I realized that I had to change my body’s destiny five weeks after my father had cardiac bypass surgery.  I saw the angry scar running down my dad’s sternum, saw his big shaking hands, and I took myself to Weight Watchers even though I am inherently suspicious of self-help groups.

Three months later, my mother had a heart attack and her own bypass surgery that didn’t go so well.  She spent 14 weeks in the hospital, during which time I oversaw her care and diligently consumed my Weight Watchers-proscribed 31 points a day.  By the time she was released, I had dropped 23 pounds.

During this time, my ex-wife and I started our “basement boot camp” workout routine – running on the treadmill, lifting weights, and performing all sorts of contortions on a 55cm physioball.  It helped to have a workout partner who spurred me to exercise when I felt unmotivated and who also celebrated each workout.  Then I upped the ante and hired a personal trainer.

I also got a full cardiac workup by one of the cardiologists who saved my mother’s life.  She told me to lose 50 more pounds, cut any additional salt from my diet, and to exercise and meditate everyday.  When I asked her to clarify everyday, she said, “I mean Monday through Sunday, seven days a week.”

This proves to be very, very difficult.

Today, I’ve only lost 6 more pounds, but I’ve changed my ratio of body fat to muscle fairly dramatically.  I’m training for my first triathlon which I’ll run on September 18th. This means I work out 9 times a week. I’ve eliminated flour from my diet and only eat whole grains – which is not as awful as it sounds (or, perhaps I’ve just drunk the lifestyle “Kool-Aid”) – along with a ridiculous amount of vegetables and fruit each day.

At the top of Cantelow Grade, May 1, 2011.

Because I am not a saint, I do this about 75% of the time.  I still salt my fries (you didn’t think I eliminated salt or fries, did you?).  I still like a dry, dirty Sapphire martini.  I like a prime grade rib-eye steak with lots of saturated fat. On Saturday mornings, I can easily eat five big gluten-free blueberry pancakes with agave syrup.  And if it’s a sunny Sunday, skipping the bike ride and going out for brunch and mimosas seems like a fine idea.

Changing my body’s destiny requires work and an attention to dietary detail most find challenging.  One of my sisters likes to joke that “the only exercise I get is raising the Diet Pepsi can to my lips.”  I can’t be certain, but I suspect she feels like I used to, that the task of health is so monumental and arduous that it’s just easier to medicate the inevitable disease.

I know something different.