March 14, 1968
More and more, if we get our hands on the right kind of literature, we read of the importance of physical exercise in building up and maintaining good bodily health. The muscles, it seems, instead of resenting any additional burden imposed on them in the name of good health – within reasonable limits, of course – respond by performing some chemical magic that gives us a pleasant feeling of well-being and general fitness, a feeling that is conspicuously absent after prolonged periods of inactivity.
From what appears to be reliable accounts, if the muscles are allowed to become flabby and weak from lack of use all kinds of alarming things can happen to our poor neglected carcasses – improperly supported joints can come undone, even the free-floating bones can snap under unfamiliar impact or strain that should ordinarily go unnoticed. Even the internal organs fail to turn out a good day’s work when unassisted and uninspired by that vaunted muscle tone that can only be acquired by proper exercise.
One muscle in particular, so I hear – and the story seems logical enough – needs plenty of good stimulating exercise beyond the call of ordinary duty. That’s the heart, a miracle-producing glob of muscle that, in spite of the neglect and downright abuse most of us are guilty of imposing on it, keeps hammering away day and night with only an occasional brief pause and off-beat flutter, for what would be an unbelievably long stretch even if it’s far short of that old familiar goal of four score, etc. A stint of light exercise now and then, while possibly giving our sagging spirits a lift, does practically nothing for our sagging muscles. To make the muscles really sit up and take notice their load has to be increased to the point where they at least suspect an emergency is at hand. Then when the demonstration is over they’re left wide awake and with that delicious tingling sensation referred to as tone.
Unless the heart is in such a diseased condition that it must be handled with kid gloves under doctor’s orders, it should be given a workout now and then that sets it to hammering away like a pile driver, for limited periods. This gives the half-asleep circulation a jolt into thorough wakefulness and revives the semi-dormant elasticity of the blood vessels. All of which is supposed to be good medicine for both the soma and the psyche.
When the time comes that old age is supposed to be working its insidious ravages in both our bodies and minds, then is when the benefits of judicious exercising show up most noticeably. A more or less regular schedule of near-limit physical exercise, or at least the recognition of the need for such exercise before the deadly softening sets in, is of real importance.
All of these facts have been handed along to me repeatedly by those who are supposed to know; and, to prove that they are either liars or know what they’re talking about, I’ve been giving their theories a pretty thorough check-up for a number of years. Actually the check-up has been incidental, since the tests have been also my favorite pastime.
Climbing steep mountain trails and clambering about the rocky peaks provides a real muscle-toning exercise, for anyone who likes that sort of thing. A. long time ago I decided such shenanigans were for me. Now whenever I lay off for a few days I feel old age creeping up on me, and I know that it’s time to drop everything and hit the trail.
