The division is clinched. Homefield advantage is within striking distance. If ever there was a Cubs team that was made to win, Maddon & Co. are it. We, as Cubs fans, should be enjoying this ride because this year has been fun as hell. Even the pre-Break slump helped provide a baseline of sorts--a lengthy reminder that, yes, we're still watching the Cubs--and that just made what came after all the more exhilarating. And on both ends of that slide, they've been frighteningly good. Their bats are so solid that even when one or two guys go cold (Heyward and Zobrist, as I write this), they still have three or four other guys who can fill those holes (Soler, Russell, and Contreras, as I write this). Bryant, meanwhile, is putting together a convincing MVP campaign that's sometimes been obscured by the funhouse that Rizzo's been building. Their rotation includes Arrieta, Lester, and Lackey, but its their number three starter (Hendricks) who's boasting a baseball-leading 2.03 ERA, with Lester just behind him. They went 22-6 in August. 22-6.
This summer has been way too hot and the wider world has been unrelentingly awful and I almost don't care about any of that because the Cubs have been so, so, so good. My point here is that one day we're going to look back on 2016 and realize that it was a lot more fun than some of us are currently appreciating.
But to tell myself that I need to relax and enjoy the spectacle means I that have to ignore my own struggles with anxiety. Academically, of course, I can do that: I can lay out all the reasons why I should strap in and devote myself to the journey, not the destination. You can analyze any situation rationally and verify everything, making sure that the logic is 100% sound, and know in your higher brain functions that every little thing is gonna be alright. But anxiety doesn't work that way.
Just because I can run through the numbers doesn't mean that I don't get flashbacks to the 2008 squad that dominated the league from April to September only to shit the bed in a three-game slow motion nightmare in October. And with the phrase "slow motion nightmare in October," I'm now getting flashbacks to 2003. If we care to dig through some more numbers, 538 calculates that the Cubs have a 22% chance of winning the World Series. And that's actually really high; the Red Sox, with the second-highest odds, sit at 15%. But that still leaves a 78% chance that the Cubs don't get it done this year. And Fangraphs puts the Cubs' odds at 17.2%, (with the Sox at 15.5% and the Dodgers at 14.8%), leaving a failure to convert chance of 82.8%. Winning the Series is just that dependent on dumb luck and fleeting hot streaks. So we shouldn't even be looking at numbers like that, but part of anxiety's power comes from its ability to make you look for and provide its own fuel.
So, again, I know that, rationally-speaking, I have every reason to stop putting so much stock in a World Series title. I've had panic attacks over genuine anxieties that, if they came to pass, would've been far more devastating to me than whether the Cubs go another year without a title; I owe anxiety some credit in forcing me to have some perspective. But those experiences have also left me with some blindspots when it comes to less crucial subjects. My anxiety and my Cubs fandom likely have very little to do with one another; the former is so skilled by now that it would find something to latch onto, regardless what club I cheer for. Although, I do suspect that the pressure to see my team win (can you feel pressure in an entirely passive situation?) has not paired well with my anxiety. But because I live with both, I end up spending a lot of time trying to keep that anxiety from poisoning my fandom. Luckily, I've had some practice.
When considering the benefits of trying to enjoy this season while it lasts (mindfulness, as some professionals call it) the anxious mind can become divided against itself. If one can focus on smaller scale hurdles, anxiety's instinct to mull over all the nightmare scenarios becomes distracted by the little steps along the way. Clinching the division, and then securing homefield, and then each series in turn once October begins. It's the long stretches of nothingness that allow anxiety to stretch its legs; it's the same reason that your brain suddenly summons everything it thinks you should be worrying about just as you're trying to fall asleep. Because your brain hates you. But the good news is that anxiety doesn't have be conquered en masse (it's really not advisable to do it that way). Just day to day, game to game, series to series. I am not a trained therapist.
This year has been more fun than we ever could've imagined. And after last year's finish, we imagined quite a lot. And, since Spring Training, they've been setting us up for one hell of a finish. But that's for next month. For now, it's only September.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Friday, September 16, 2016
Monday, December 31, 2012
In Praise of the Gym
I topped out at about 270 pounds in high school. So when I say I'm in better shape than I was then, I'm telling the truth, but that truth doesn't mean a lot. I'd been a fat kid since third grade or so, but for most of my youth, the fatness would be covered by a series of growth spurts. Gain forty pounds, grow a few inches, repeat. As a result, I was usually just "the big kid:" obviously fat, but literally heads and shoulders above my peers, so it was a wash (also, basketball was awesome). However, some time into high school--10th grade, maybe?--I leveled out at 5'11" and it was clear that my luck had run cold.
I don't recall what my wake-up call was exactly, but I knew that I didn't want to be relegated to a Rascal scooter before the age of thirty. So, the summer after 11th grade, I would go out running every morning; walk-running at first, building up strength until my fat didn't hurt and I could run a few miles without blowing out a lung. I also cut my meal portions down. Way down. Honestly, it probably wasn't the healthiest way to lose weight, but teenagers can get away with that type of that thing more easily.
Over that summer and into the fall, I lost 65 pounds. The first comment I got upon my return to school was "Did you just get out of surgery?"
I've fluctuated up and down in the years since, most notably in college, where chicken tenders were plentiful and the gym was all the way down there. Then I graduated into the sort of plush office job that the human body has in no way evolved for (eight or nine hours sitting in a chair; who'd have thunk that would've been deleterious for our health?). Turns out that losing weight is relatively easy; the body responds well to minor shocks and the first weeks of a resolution pack enough adrenaline to help you fight through the irritation of hunger pangs and the indignity of shorts. It's maintaining any loss that's tricky.
Still, I've never gotten back to anything like what I was as a teenager. It helps, in some ways, to have that low bar. As long as I don't drift north of 230 or so, I always felt okay. But a low bar is still a low bar. Just because I'm doing better than I was in high school, doesn't mean I don't look like hell compared to other people, particularly my own wife, who kicks her ass a few times a week to continue looking hot.
Last New Year, sitting at 225 pounds, I resolved to drop twenty. I lost twenty-six. I then gained back eleven. Score this year as another wash. Now, I don't like doing endorsements, but I can't not recommend myfitnesspal.com, which despite its irritatingly twee name was crucial to the weight loss I did achieve. I only really started gaining it back once I stopped using their calorie counter. I never saw myself counting calories because I hate dieting and math (in that order). But with their exercise calculator I discovered something about myself: I like working out. While the thought of dieting in any way makes me want to punch celery sticks and rice cakes, an hour or so at the gym actually sounds kind of nice. More time at the gym in order to eat some cake? Why the hell wouldn't a person do that? Obviously going to the gym will not excuse every sin of ingestion and there's no good reason for some of the portion sizes we foist upon ourselves, but if I need to hit the elliptical a little harder to work off an anticipated beer night, I will gladly make that trade.
And once I started going to gym, I discovered other benefits of shape-building that blubbery, 13-year-old me would've dismissed as the rationalizations of a sell-out; seriously, that version of me and the current version of me would come to some serious blows... and current me would totally win. Getting up at 5am on a weekday does suck, but not only does it beat going after work (time which belongs to my precious X-Box and/or wife), I feel more awake when I finish at 6am than I do when I try to wake normally at 6am and that alertness remains throughout the day. Plus--while this should sound incongruous--I get better sleep at night, too. Repeated over time, it gets easier and easier to force myself out of my comfy, comfy bed, which, really, is the hardest part of those mornings. Everything after is pretty smooth sailing.
And weekends, though most gyms are usually busier then, allow for longer workouts, incorporating different exercises--cardio and weight-training. Weekends is actually when I prefer to do weights; you can dismiss this as my hatred of math shining through, but reps are harder to count at 5am than at any other time of the day. And back to that whole dieting thing that I hate: when I've gone to the gym and I'm better rested, I get fewer hunger pangs during the day. Not to mention the psychological aspect of not wanting to blow burned calories on the more fleeting culinary pleasures. I love you, Cheez-Itz, but damned if I'm going to undo my work on the treadmill for a few handfuls of you; better to save that for something more satisfying. Burger and a beer, perhaps.
Really, my hopes are relatively simple. I don't want a bro-ish P-90X type system, whose results are negligible and bank account clearing at best. I also don't want to slim down; I have a larger than average-sized head, something that could be quickly spotted on a smaller man. And I certainly have no interest in becoming an engorged anatomy chart. My ideal body type for myself is early 20th Century boxer: square, blocky muscles separated by formidable strips of fat. A solid, utilitarian machine fueled by whiskey, flapjacks, and mustache wax. The kind of thick and impenetrable torso advocated by Ron Swanson.
My goal this year is to drop fifteen pounds and then maintain that. One I'm pretty sure I can do. The other, we'll see.
The Half-Drunken Scribe will not become a weight loss blog, I swear. I don't do peppy boosterism. And tracking my own progress is likely to attract even fewer page hits than my usual topics. But putting this in writing, in front of tens of regular readers, should help keep me more honest this time 'round. Too many people to lie to, you know.
I don't recall what my wake-up call was exactly, but I knew that I didn't want to be relegated to a Rascal scooter before the age of thirty. So, the summer after 11th grade, I would go out running every morning; walk-running at first, building up strength until my fat didn't hurt and I could run a few miles without blowing out a lung. I also cut my meal portions down. Way down. Honestly, it probably wasn't the healthiest way to lose weight, but teenagers can get away with that type of that thing more easily.
Over that summer and into the fall, I lost 65 pounds. The first comment I got upon my return to school was "Did you just get out of surgery?"
I've fluctuated up and down in the years since, most notably in college, where chicken tenders were plentiful and the gym was all the way down there. Then I graduated into the sort of plush office job that the human body has in no way evolved for (eight or nine hours sitting in a chair; who'd have thunk that would've been deleterious for our health?). Turns out that losing weight is relatively easy; the body responds well to minor shocks and the first weeks of a resolution pack enough adrenaline to help you fight through the irritation of hunger pangs and the indignity of shorts. It's maintaining any loss that's tricky.
Still, I've never gotten back to anything like what I was as a teenager. It helps, in some ways, to have that low bar. As long as I don't drift north of 230 or so, I always felt okay. But a low bar is still a low bar. Just because I'm doing better than I was in high school, doesn't mean I don't look like hell compared to other people, particularly my own wife, who kicks her ass a few times a week to continue looking hot.
Last New Year, sitting at 225 pounds, I resolved to drop twenty. I lost twenty-six. I then gained back eleven. Score this year as another wash. Now, I don't like doing endorsements, but I can't not recommend myfitnesspal.com, which despite its irritatingly twee name was crucial to the weight loss I did achieve. I only really started gaining it back once I stopped using their calorie counter. I never saw myself counting calories because I hate dieting and math (in that order). But with their exercise calculator I discovered something about myself: I like working out. While the thought of dieting in any way makes me want to punch celery sticks and rice cakes, an hour or so at the gym actually sounds kind of nice. More time at the gym in order to eat some cake? Why the hell wouldn't a person do that? Obviously going to the gym will not excuse every sin of ingestion and there's no good reason for some of the portion sizes we foist upon ourselves, but if I need to hit the elliptical a little harder to work off an anticipated beer night, I will gladly make that trade.
And once I started going to gym, I discovered other benefits of shape-building that blubbery, 13-year-old me would've dismissed as the rationalizations of a sell-out; seriously, that version of me and the current version of me would come to some serious blows... and current me would totally win. Getting up at 5am on a weekday does suck, but not only does it beat going after work (time which belongs to my precious X-Box and/or wife), I feel more awake when I finish at 6am than I do when I try to wake normally at 6am and that alertness remains throughout the day. Plus--while this should sound incongruous--I get better sleep at night, too. Repeated over time, it gets easier and easier to force myself out of my comfy, comfy bed, which, really, is the hardest part of those mornings. Everything after is pretty smooth sailing.
And weekends, though most gyms are usually busier then, allow for longer workouts, incorporating different exercises--cardio and weight-training. Weekends is actually when I prefer to do weights; you can dismiss this as my hatred of math shining through, but reps are harder to count at 5am than at any other time of the day. And back to that whole dieting thing that I hate: when I've gone to the gym and I'm better rested, I get fewer hunger pangs during the day. Not to mention the psychological aspect of not wanting to blow burned calories on the more fleeting culinary pleasures. I love you, Cheez-Itz, but damned if I'm going to undo my work on the treadmill for a few handfuls of you; better to save that for something more satisfying. Burger and a beer, perhaps.
Really, my hopes are relatively simple. I don't want a bro-ish P-90X type system, whose results are negligible and bank account clearing at best. I also don't want to slim down; I have a larger than average-sized head, something that could be quickly spotted on a smaller man. And I certainly have no interest in becoming an engorged anatomy chart. My ideal body type for myself is early 20th Century boxer: square, blocky muscles separated by formidable strips of fat. A solid, utilitarian machine fueled by whiskey, flapjacks, and mustache wax. The kind of thick and impenetrable torso advocated by Ron Swanson.
My goal this year is to drop fifteen pounds and then maintain that. One I'm pretty sure I can do. The other, we'll see.
The Half-Drunken Scribe will not become a weight loss blog, I swear. I don't do peppy boosterism. And tracking my own progress is likely to attract even fewer page hits than my usual topics. But putting this in writing, in front of tens of regular readers, should help keep me more honest this time 'round. Too many people to lie to, you know.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Light Beer, Part II: Your Health and You
**This is Part II of an ongoing series. Read Part I here.**
I've had people tell me that, even though they may usually prefer craft beer or other quality beers, they'll semi-happily drink Bud Light or Miller Lite if they're already drunk and especially if it's cheap or free. And while that logic almost works, consider this scenario: someone offers you a tall, frosty glass of urine. And it's free. Free, ice cold, low calorie (no calorie?) piss. How drunk do you have to be to accept it?
While you're thinking about that, let's examine the health aspects ofpee light beer.
Now, as Miller Lite ads have so astutely observed, real men demand fewer calories. That's how that works, right? And that's why light beer is so desirable: because it's so much lower in calories. Isn't it? Eh, sort of. The caloric range of beer varies, based on style, ingredients, brewing techniques, etc. But you can usually expect the average can/bottle of light lager to come in at about 110 calories. A can/bottle of regular beer (taking into account all styles) will come in at around 153 calories. That's a 43-calorie difference. Using the same source, that's the same as about half a McIntosh apple. Can you honestly tell me you were going to use those extra calories (and remembering that an average adult male is allowed around 2,000 to 2,500 calories a day) on half a McIntosh apple?
Oh, but we now have Miller 64 and Budweiser 55. Can't argue with math.* But let's consider these comparisons to some non-alcoholic beverages: A cup of black tea (no sugar or milk) is 2-5 calories. A cup of coffee (as with tea, adding things to make cappuccinos or lattes will blow this out of the water) is 2 to 4 calories. An eight-ounce glass of V8 is 50 calories. Skim milk, a beverage that is beneficial for health, is about 55 calories per half cup. Each of these is equal to, less than, or well less than even the phantom beverages of Miller 64 and Budweiser 55. Even Coca-Cola--everyone's favorite healthy beverage--at 95 per eight-ounce glass, still has fewer calories than most light beers. You want to go for no calories at all? Try water--you know, the same thing you're currently drinking, except minus 55 calories and losing that stale cracker taste.
Then there's another question: if you're watching your caloric intake that closely, should you be drinking beer at all? Or any alcohol? Finally, the booze comparisons: A glass of Pinot Grigio wine will be around 123 calories; Pinot Noir, about 122. A shot of Grey Goose vodka (roughly similar to the amount of alcohol in a beer) is 69 calories. Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch (a personal favorite) is about the same per serving. If that 50 to 100 calorie difference is really scaring you off of regular beer, you shouldn't be bothering with any of these, either. And it's not as though alcohol does anything especially healthful for you (with the possible exception of red wine). If you're a strict diet, booze should be one of the first things to go. This guy says it pretty well:
But you just wanted to get drunk, you say? Fair enough. And it makes sense that you'd want so as quickly and as cheaply as possible. (Never mind the fact that if that really is all you want, a handle of cheap whiskey or vodka will do the trick for a comparable cost) Well, here's the problem: beer is not the ideal beverage for that task. The average ABV of beer is around 4-6%. A glass of wine ranges from 8-20% (a variance that surprised me some, actually). And liquors often hover around 40%. For the sake of ease of drunkenness, then, it's no contest. You shouldn't be bothering with beer at all. (And, in that cheap handle comparison above, that one handle will have you and your party trying to hold on to the floor while the party next door is only halfway through their stupid goddamn beer-amid).
And outside of the imperials and a few largely experimental beers, most people will be full before they can get drunk. It's one of beer's great advantages, I find: I've had enough long before I'm too drunk. If it's the buzz I'm after, I reach for scotch. Not to say I haven't been drunk on beer, but the process is neither cheap nor quick. And if light beer drinkers aren't going for cost or drunkenness, what are they after?
Well, we're back to the pesky question of personal choice again. Someone may rightfully point out that people are going to drink what they're going to drink. And, though shallow and obvious, it's true; I mentioned in my first post that taste is not a universal thing. I also can't stop people from drinking light beer and I don't propose to; that, to my mind, would be both immoral and impractical, as well as generally douchey. But prodding should be acceptable, yes? Even as a polite (ha, who am I kidding) question on my end. If you're a light beer drinker and you've made it this far (and again, ha), you should certainly have no problem confronting the question yourself.
My question from the beginning has been why. Along with women's clothing sizes and Jimmy Buffet's appeal, it's something I've repeatedly tried and failed to wrap my head around. Why is light beer such an apparent (if, thankfully, diminishing) staple of our culture? Why do we as a culture continue to embrace a beverage with no serious health benefits, little real chance for drunken carousing (yes, I'd consider that a reason), and less taste than many equally available alternatives? And why are banality and mediocrity celebrated--or at least accepted--so readily in a nation that traditionally relishes its knack for innovation and ambition and betterment?
Stay tuned.
*Or can I?**
**I can.
***Another common argument and where I differ with this sentiment: "I drink it because it's there." Well, after first referring you back to my pee-drinking analogy above, I've long thought that "because I can" is among the worst reasons to do anything. If you're hungry, are you going to eat those old batteries someone handed to you?
I've had people tell me that, even though they may usually prefer craft beer or other quality beers, they'll semi-happily drink Bud Light or Miller Lite if they're already drunk and especially if it's cheap or free. And while that logic almost works, consider this scenario: someone offers you a tall, frosty glass of urine. And it's free. Free, ice cold, low calorie (no calorie?) piss. How drunk do you have to be to accept it?
While you're thinking about that, let's examine the health aspects of
Now, as Miller Lite ads have so astutely observed, real men demand fewer calories. That's how that works, right? And that's why light beer is so desirable: because it's so much lower in calories. Isn't it? Eh, sort of. The caloric range of beer varies, based on style, ingredients, brewing techniques, etc. But you can usually expect the average can/bottle of light lager to come in at about 110 calories. A can/bottle of regular beer (taking into account all styles) will come in at around 153 calories. That's a 43-calorie difference. Using the same source, that's the same as about half a McIntosh apple. Can you honestly tell me you were going to use those extra calories (and remembering that an average adult male is allowed around 2,000 to 2,500 calories a day) on half a McIntosh apple?
Oh, but we now have Miller 64 and Budweiser 55. Can't argue with math.* But let's consider these comparisons to some non-alcoholic beverages: A cup of black tea (no sugar or milk) is 2-5 calories. A cup of coffee (as with tea, adding things to make cappuccinos or lattes will blow this out of the water) is 2 to 4 calories. An eight-ounce glass of V8 is 50 calories. Skim milk, a beverage that is beneficial for health, is about 55 calories per half cup. Each of these is equal to, less than, or well less than even the phantom beverages of Miller 64 and Budweiser 55. Even Coca-Cola--everyone's favorite healthy beverage--at 95 per eight-ounce glass, still has fewer calories than most light beers. You want to go for no calories at all? Try water--you know, the same thing you're currently drinking, except minus 55 calories and losing that stale cracker taste.
Then there's another question: if you're watching your caloric intake that closely, should you be drinking beer at all? Or any alcohol? Finally, the booze comparisons: A glass of Pinot Grigio wine will be around 123 calories; Pinot Noir, about 122. A shot of Grey Goose vodka (roughly similar to the amount of alcohol in a beer) is 69 calories. Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch (a personal favorite) is about the same per serving. If that 50 to 100 calorie difference is really scaring you off of regular beer, you shouldn't be bothering with any of these, either. And it's not as though alcohol does anything especially healthful for you (with the possible exception of red wine). If you're a strict diet, booze should be one of the first things to go. This guy says it pretty well:
Depending on your lifestyle, (light beer)'s either a half-assed indulgence or a half-assed health kick. I'll drink light beer when it's handed to me,*** but otherwise I base my beer choices on several different criteria, none of which involve calories. I'll get the cheap one or the good one or the high ABV one or the weird one, but I'll never get the one that wants a pat on the head for sparing me half an apple's worth of calories.
But you just wanted to get drunk, you say? Fair enough. And it makes sense that you'd want so as quickly and as cheaply as possible. (Never mind the fact that if that really is all you want, a handle of cheap whiskey or vodka will do the trick for a comparable cost) Well, here's the problem: beer is not the ideal beverage for that task. The average ABV of beer is around 4-6%. A glass of wine ranges from 8-20% (a variance that surprised me some, actually). And liquors often hover around 40%. For the sake of ease of drunkenness, then, it's no contest. You shouldn't be bothering with beer at all. (And, in that cheap handle comparison above, that one handle will have you and your party trying to hold on to the floor while the party next door is only halfway through their stupid goddamn beer-amid).
And outside of the imperials and a few largely experimental beers, most people will be full before they can get drunk. It's one of beer's great advantages, I find: I've had enough long before I'm too drunk. If it's the buzz I'm after, I reach for scotch. Not to say I haven't been drunk on beer, but the process is neither cheap nor quick. And if light beer drinkers aren't going for cost or drunkenness, what are they after?
Well, we're back to the pesky question of personal choice again. Someone may rightfully point out that people are going to drink what they're going to drink. And, though shallow and obvious, it's true; I mentioned in my first post that taste is not a universal thing. I also can't stop people from drinking light beer and I don't propose to; that, to my mind, would be both immoral and impractical, as well as generally douchey. But prodding should be acceptable, yes? Even as a polite (ha, who am I kidding) question on my end. If you're a light beer drinker and you've made it this far (and again, ha), you should certainly have no problem confronting the question yourself.
My question from the beginning has been why. Along with women's clothing sizes and Jimmy Buffet's appeal, it's something I've repeatedly tried and failed to wrap my head around. Why is light beer such an apparent (if, thankfully, diminishing) staple of our culture? Why do we as a culture continue to embrace a beverage with no serious health benefits, little real chance for drunken carousing (yes, I'd consider that a reason), and less taste than many equally available alternatives? And why are banality and mediocrity celebrated--or at least accepted--so readily in a nation that traditionally relishes its knack for innovation and ambition and betterment?
Stay tuned.
*Or can I?**
**I can.
***Another common argument and where I differ with this sentiment: "I drink it because it's there." Well, after first referring you back to my pee-drinking analogy above, I've long thought that "because I can" is among the worst reasons to do anything. If you're hungry, are you going to eat those old batteries someone handed to you?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)