Brushing up on fitness

By Cletus Bianchi

As I inch deeper into my fifth decade, I find that my overall physical well being requires more attention than in years past. The aging process is alive and well which is sometimes more than I can say for myself. It seems that resistance is futile.

I can still honestly claim that I only weigh about eight pounds more than I did in high school, but it seems there has been some shifting around with the location of those pounds. There’s also some obvious changes in what those pounds are able to accomplish on any given day.

In the past, the amount of sleep the prior night or the activity level of the prior day had little impact on what I tackled in the present. Now it seems every morning is a ready reminder of what was done in the previous days and what wouldn’t get done today.

A friend and I were reminiscing last weekend about how easy it was to haul hundreds of square bales of hay in 100-degree heat while we were in high school and still stay out late at a dance. When I finally considered that was 25 years ago, I felt a little better about the soreness a quick ten bales had recently caused.

I also recently had to take issue with clothing manufacturers. It’s just not fair to sell clothing that is intended for men my age but that has a high probability of shrinkage.

I have learned to buy extras when I find a piece of apparel that is comfortable, whether it’s jeans, tennis shoes, or boxer shorts, since the desired article is usually no longer available when I finally wear out the original. Imagine my surprise, and relief, when I opened a new pair of shorts and discovered that the older pairs had shrunk nearly two inches in the waist, presumably from washing! If nothing else, that saved me from extra sit-ups that evening…

It may not be reasonable, but I’d really like to avoid "square pants" as long as possible. You know, when the waist is the same dimension as the length. Since I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting any taller, my battle will be with the waist.

That’s mostly just a matter of ego. Overall fitness, and especially heart health, is a much greater concern.

You might think that a fella that built his own home would be in pretty good shape. True, I could work all day and using my brain as much as my back do some pretty substantial lifting. But none of that really gets the heart rate in the desired range for fitness.

The American Heart Association tells me I should get my heart rate between 90 and 135 beats per minute for half an hour, three times weekly. Truth is, there’s only three things that get my heart going that fast, and two of them are trout slapping top water lures and Astros’ relief pitching.

Recognizing this deficiency, I have been exploring fitness options. I love basketball, but I have loved basketball for over thirty years and have the knees to prove it. I love brisk walks on frosty mornings in pursuit of upland birds, but we only get about five of those per year. I love long wades along shorelines in pursuit of trophy trout, but my boat never follows me on these wades, and the return trip is never as much fun.

I also know what I hate. I hate jogging ‘round and ‘round on a track. Too much like a hamster on a wheel and there’s the whole knee thing again. We bought a Bowflex recently and though the missus uses it daily, it just looks too much like a medieval torture device for me to be comfortable. And, while I enjoy biking, I hate being chased by dogs and diesel pickups.

So I’ve meandered through my fitness choices, uninspired and aging.

Then last week it came to me, like a South Texas epiphany. I was grubbing out some weesatche (I know, it’s really spelled ‘huisatche’, but this is South Texas…) that had sprung up in our ‘yard’ area (like it always does) when I noticed that my pulse was pounding. I took a quick reading and lo and behold it was nearly 140!

How amazing! A full-body workout achieving the desired pulse rate and it’s right here in my pasture. Best of all, it actually accomplishes something besides just getting me in shape!

The casual reader may not understand why this discovery would rate as an epiphany, but the casual reader may not have spent as many hours on the handle of a grubbing hoe as I have. As tools go it is effective, but not elegant. If one likes diesel and poison, it’s not really even necessary.

But if you’ve grown up as a son in the country, then your father likely saw more benefit from the grubbing hoe than you did. Especially if he felt you had stayed out a little too late the night before or weren’t earning all of the food you consumed on a daily basis.

I can readily imagine my father rolling his eyes and shaking his head at my revelation. Make no mistake, he’d be glad I was keeping the edge of the grubbing hoe shiny from use, but he’d not understand my motivation.

He would probably also use the term ‘dumbbell’ but not in reference to fitness equipment.

By the way, if you’re interested in trying out this new fitness regimen, feel free to contact me at the e-mail address below. I’m in no danger of running out of brush anytime soon.

(click here to read archived columns by Cletus Bianchi)