All Posts tagged healthcare blog

Good Choice, Bad Choice: An electromagnetic shift

Ann Loyola

Ann Loyola

As I ponder the ongoing shift of the Earth’s geo-magnetic pole, I can’t help but wonder if my brain is shifting right along with it. Instead of a change in the flow of lava, I’m experiencing a change in the usual flow of my sensors and synapses, which I think is in some way connected to electromagnetics, but then again, I’m an English Literature major with a minor in creative writing so what the heck do I know?

But I do have a few recent examples of significant internal changes; changes that defy all sense of logic.

For instance, my most favorite dog breed has always been Doberman Pinschers. I love their looks, size, sleekness, intelligence and playfulness. Now, however, I’m a slave to my son’s mini-Dachshund. I kiss this dog, I speak goo-goo to him, I carry him in my sweatshirt, and I let him sleep under my covers. My husband is disgusted with me over this turn of events and really, who can blame him?

For instance, my infatuation with Chris Hemsworth has been reduced to an “Eh” in favor of the creation of a separate reality in which I’m the object of desire for Benedict Cumberbatch. Yes, I have a serious crush on a man who looks like an otter. Again, my husband is quite disappointed and he has every reason to be. I can’t help it, honey; my polarity is changing.

For instance, I was watching a recent show honoring The Beatles. Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr were sitting on the front row and they eventually got up and performed. It was wonderful and fun, and way back in the mid-sixties whenever my three siblings and I pretended we were The Beatles, I was always Ringo pounding on my mother’s biggest pots and pans. Back to the point, though, there were all of these people in the audience dancing and singing to songs that we all know, and I looked at most of them and I thought – Those people are too old to be rocking-out in public. I was embarrassed for them and proud that I have chosen to behave childishly only in front of my children.

Just a few seconds after I silently prayed that Yoko would stop shaking her booty, and that Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson would stop twisting and shouting and just sit down and simply clap enthusiastically, I had a painful shift in my electromagnetic field.

Ringo is 73, he’s a former BEATLE for heaven’s sake and he still rocks the drums. Yoko Ono is 80 and doesn’t need anyone telling her to sit down. Rita Wilson is only four years older than me and could knock me down with one well-toned hip. I was then reminded of Julian Lennon whom I have met and with whom I had a rock-climbing date oh-so-many-years-ago, and who is now 50 and it struck me that I’m no spring chicken. (You’re not either, Julian.) To paraphrase the current Pope: Who am I to judge the behavior of the elderly when frankly, I’ve arrived at that doorstep?

Dog_dashundWhat will I do with the next phase of my life now that I’m firmly beyond the half-century mark? It occurred to me while watching my now-geriatric idols and petting the little dachshund snuggled in my pajama top (while surreptitiously wondering if Benedict was somewhere in the crowd searching for me) that I still have goals from my younger days that I haven’t achieved, and that I had thought were important. What has been holding me back?  Hint:  ME.

After my head stopped throbbing from all of this electrical exchange, I girded my loins (I’ve just always wanted to say that and what does it mean, anyway?) and signed up for a workshop with Christine Heilman, PHD, ATC, CSCS (in other words, she’s not an English Lit major) that is supposed to help me “discover the central tenants of champion thinking to optimize performance” and “discover tools that strengthen [the] mind and body…to achieve a higher level of performance, health and life satisfaction.”

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Disclaimer: This blog discusses my personal wellness goals and is in no way a soapbox to tell anyone else how to eat, exercise and/or live their lives.

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Good Choice, Bad Choice: A Tale of Winter Fitness and Emeril Lagasse

Winter in the Teton Mountain Range isn’t for sissies. Sure, you can hibernate in your home for six months, wrapped in quilts and sipping hot cocoa (with marshmallows on top) but that would be defeating the purpose of living in Teton Valley. If you live here, you must embrace the winter, endure mud season and go wildly bonkers during our brief summer.

My sister sends me photos like the one on the left. This was taken last month in Newport Beach. To the right, my daughter, Hanna walks her horse in Teton Valley snow.

My sister sends me photos like the one on the left.
This was taken last month in Newport Beach.
To the right, my daughter, Hanna, walks her horse in Teton Valley snow at 12 below.

I have additional challenges during this season in the form of my sister who lives by Newport Beach and loves to send “winter” photos showing her shivering in 83 degree weather.

In our character-building winter season, I have to dig for the inner fortitude to get outside and keep up with some type of outdoor recreation. Snow shoeing and cross- country skiing begins right at my front door. Grand Targhee Resort is just 8 miles up the road and I have a season pass! Add in ice-skating, hockey, snowmobiling, an indoor riding arena and a good selection of fitness centers and there’s simply no excuse for me to put on mama-bear blubber every year.

And yet … I do. Cry me a frozen river.

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Good Choice, Bad Choice: Deck the Halls with Bowls of Candy

Photo: Bing.com/images

Photo: Bing.com/images

Deck the halls with bowls of candy;
fa la la la la…

 ‘Tis the season for elastic waistband-y;
fa la la la la…

Don we now our big sweatpantsies;
fa la la la la la la la la!

As we scarf chocolate ganache-ee;
fa la la la la…  you know the rest.

The holidays are here and I can detect the aroma of fresh baked pie, eggnog, Christmas cookies and fear.  Fear smells like lycra and tight leather belts.  It creeps upon me like a snug, tucked-in shirt and squeezes my muffin-top with unrelenting pressure.  And then —  just when I think I might be able to resist the inviting tin of Williams Sonoma peppermint bark — my powers of magical thinking return and I’m suddenly able to eat a sheet of that delectable bark with the full expectation that I will actually lose weight due to the fat-burning properties of hot sweet peppermint.

My bad.

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