If I Was King of the World

Should I be anointed Grand Poobah of all things earthly, I would make significant changes.

As a benevolent leader, I wouldn’t be “mean;” but be confident I’d wield my power to appropriately mete out consequences to society’s ne'er-do-wells.

My first task would be to create a “discomfort pistol.”

Whenever someone did something rude, totally self-absorbed, or incredibly inconsiderate, they would be tagged with an invisible beam by this gun. It wouldn’t cause any damage — but for the next 24 hours, they wouldn’t be able to get physically comfortable, no matter what they did. A good analogy would be a stiff neck or a Charlie Horse. It’s not enough to incapacitate you, certainly not enough of an issue to go to the doctor. Yet, all day, it nags at you and the ache doesn’t quit until you get a night’s sleep.

We would use it on people who talk on cell phones or text in theaters, or aim it at the jerk tail-gating us on the freeway. It would exceptionally appropriate for ignoramuses who park in handicapped parking spaces and don’t need to. Give them — on an extremely minor level — a bit of poetic justice.

Anyone shot with the beam would be all right the next day, but at least for 24 hours, there would be justice. Maybe, eventually, they’d learn.

Of course, since fitness is such an issue for all of us, I’d make getting fit more fun.

Stationary bicycles would actually transport you to your favorite places — only as long as you were exercising.

Can We Be Social Without Going Out to Eat?

I hadn’t seen him in years even though we live in the same town. You know how it is, I’m busy, so is he. Time got away from us. It’s not like we had a disagreement, or we didn’t want to see each other; it’s just that, well, life kicked in…

I answered the phone, “Hey Scott,” says he, “I just realized that we haven’t gotten together in a long time and we’ve got so much to catch up on. I thought we could schedule a time.”

"Sounds great,” I replied, “I can do lunch next Thursday. If that doesn’t work, we could get coffee in the afternoon, or, on Wednesday, we could meet early and grab a bagel. Where would you like to go?”

He responded, “You know the park with the duck pond?”

“Yes, the one with all the trails?”

“Yeah, that one. What about Thursday at noon?”

“Sure, that works for me. But I’m not familiar with any restaurants there.”

“There aren’t any. I’ve been trying to get in shape, and I know you’re always watching your weight, so I thought we could walk and talk. It would be nice to catch up outside.”

And so we did. But, can I be honest? It felt really weird; kind of like wearing someone else’s clothes. It seems normal enough at first glance, but you just can’t get comfortable.

I mean, think about it, what’s one of the first questions we ask when we decide to meet up with someone: Lunch or coffee? If you really wanted to crash our economy, ban meetings in restaurants or coffee houses.

I’m sure it goes back to primitive times. It’s conceivable (at least to me) that early Australopithecines at day’s end gathered around a half-devoured gazelle and discussed their events on the plains. After all, a leisurely grunting session with some close hominoids after a long period gathering, scavenging, and escaping from carnivores would be welcome.

Although the evolutionary train has pulled out, our habits have not. We celebrate with food. We do business over dinner. Relationships begin — and end — at restaurants. Even our last tribute, the wake, is deeply intertwined with eating.

There’s nothing wrong with these; don’t get me wrong. But one has to admit, that for most of us, it’s hard to picture doing anything else with each other. If we’re looking to adjust our collective waistlines and get in shape, maybe we need to examine some options. After all, there are book clubs, quilting circles, or even video games.

My son was in town; this usually involves copious amounts of food. Under the television lies our unused video console; the wireless type specializing in sporting events, where one creates icons to compete against each other.

Said he to me, “Bet I can take you in a sword fight."

I might be 30 years his senior but I still have testosterone; I couldn’t let that stand.

Our characters faced each other. The battle was joined. After several close rounds, lots of laughter, a great deal of sweat, and exclamations of “You’re toast!” or “Take that,” age indeed triumphed over youth.

More important, I can already tell it will be one of my favorite memories, far more than yet another trip to yet another restaurant. Plus the added bonus is I got to show him he’d still better not mess with his old man. (Of course, I still can’t lift my arms; but I’ll deny it if you tell him.)

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.

The New Arrival

It doesn't cry or use diapers, but rolls well and I can sit on it. OK, you guessed, I bought a new bicycle! I named it "Specialized Crossroads Sport" (it's easy to pick a name when it comes painted on it). It's a "comfort bike" because riding it is similar to riding a couch. (That is, if your couch rolls up hills and goes against the wind.)

Embarrassingly, by getting a new bike, I felt I was abandoning my old Schwinn Mesa. Of course, it didn't help when my wife said, "I can't believe you're retiring your old bike." Great, pangs of guilt; just what I needed! (Mental note to self: what does it say about me that I get emotionally attached to an inanimate object like a bike? Where is my therapist's phone number?)

First the back story: I'm not someone who does 100 mile cross country marathons, but I do find my way around town, utilizing my bicycle for commuting. I'll ride to meetings, drop off videos, or pick up some groceries. (If you go grocery shopping via bicycle, you save a heck of a lot of money also because you have to lug your goods on your back.) In essence, I do the usual "around town" errands on two wheels instead of four, saving me a few hundred dollars in gasoline, improving my health, and - as an added benefit - feeling I'm making a stand against Big Oil in some small manner.

A bicycle, just like a car (and us), requires regular looking after. Also as with a car, I am not able to provide said maintenance; so I take my metallic steed to the bike shop for adjustments. The last time I brought in my Schwinn, the "bike guy" said the whatchamacallit and the thingamabob were wearing out.

"Not a big deal," adds he (easy to say if you're mechanically apt - unlike me), "But the cost to replace it is more than the bike is worth. You might want to consider one of the newer 'city bikes.'"

City Bikes, I discover, are for people like me; designed for short trips and tasks, they are more comfortable and do not make you stretch as much to reach the handlebars (a big deal, let me tell you). Infused with such newly acquired comprehension, I found my soon-to-be new best buddy at a local bike shop and plunked down my credit card.

After the exchange, it occurred to me:

1. I spent almost $400 on a bike when I used to only buy $79 "specials."

2. $400 on something I actually utilize beats the heck out of $79 on something I won't.

Formerly, I bought all manner of exercise paraphernalia that was eventually relegated to an expensive spot for hanging clothes I did not put away. Now, I know this bike will get oodles of use. Change has really occurred; slowly, over time, and without notice, like it usually does. But it's definitely here.

However, please join me in a moment of silence for my old bike. May he find a wonderful new home.

Walking the walk

Exercise was never my long suit. For decades, the only activities in which I regularly engaged were jumping to conclusions, running myself ragged, and pushing my luck.

Over recent years I have modified my sedentary ways by adding walking and bike riding into my schedule. I have even figured out methods to do most of my in-city errands sans automobile, which does require some ingenuity; a large, sturdy backpack; and better time management. Payoffs however, include improved health, a sense of global pride by helping to some extent to heal our planet, extensive gasoline savings, and an enhanced ego (as many find it way cool to see a middle-age guy in a tie riding a bike; causing them to lavish praise upon my person, which I demurely accept - as to not offend of course).

Lately, I had to ratchet up the activity as the aging process and slower metabolism are having an expansive effect on my midsection. To further that aim, I established a "fitness center" in our house. (OK, to be honest, it's really a TV, DVD player, and three exercise videos in the guest room; but c'mon, you were impressed when I called it "fitness center," weren't you?) Weight loss remained elusive so I reluctantly decided that in order to achieve results, I must actually WATCH the videos and perform the routines (as opposed to leaving them inertly stacked on the bookcase). Grudgingly therefore, I dragged my sleepy body into the guest room, - er, fitness center - and have endeavored to emulate Billy Blanks in his kickboxing routine, Tae-Bo.

Progress has been made; I have advanced from inept to clumsy to awkward, and have - believe it or not - started looking forward to morning practice. This newfound over-enthusiasm drove me a sinew too far, the result: a pulled muscle.

In earlier times, such discomfort would have been a welcome rationale to abandon my schedule (having been known to forgo previous routines because of broken shoelaces). Yet, something shifted; instead of attempting to justify inactivity, I turned my thoughts toward, "What can I still do?"

My pulled tendon had not become a barrier; rather, it became a source of pride. I'm not just speaking of how, when queried, "Why are you limping," I could assume a manly, macho, Bruce Willis, swagger and reply, "Pulled a muscle during my workout." Of much more import was the fact that I was not looking for excuses to quit, rather seeking methods to endure.

I consistently profess, "My health is my highest priority," while finding countless validations to avoid the steps necessary to act as such. "I don't have time." "It costs too much." "There's always tomorrow." Such internal dissonance feels plain lousy, generating feelings of hypocrisy and shame; burdens less visible, but equally as weighty, as a few extra pounds.

It is worthy of note that soreness in my quadriceps generated healing in my thoughts. No longer am I only "talking the talk," I am proudly "walking the walk" (albeit with a limp).

Gotta Get Out More

There are countless words describing my childhood; "athletic" is not one.

But when the merry tinkling of the ice cream truck drifted across hot summer afternoons on Rensellor Avenue, I would sprint and leap like a gold medalist on springs. Catching sight of my 150-pound, four-foot-tall frame barreling down the sidewalk, quarter in hand, hell-bent for chocolate coated ice cream was a jaw-dropping spectacle. If I stretched out my arms, I would have achieved liftoff.

Over time, I learned to temper my outward exuberance for treats, figuring if no one saw me eat, they wouldn't notice I was fat. Mind you, I didn't actually stop eating loads of sugar; I just didn't barrel full-steam down the street to get them like some out-of-control locomotive. Instead I opted for more discreet methods such as shaving small slivers from cake instead of taking a slice (making it less apparent to the untrained eye that I had eaten some), or hiding chocolate in my clothes (always a special treat for mom on laundry day - especially if she didn't inspect my pockets first).

If a tree falls in the woods, yes, it does make a sound. So too, if a pound cake is consumed stealthily, it retains its calories. Concealing food does nothing to disguise the results; a 44-inch waist being a reliable indicator of surplus caloric consumption - even if no one observes it.

Please forgive my youthful transgressions, as I was then addled from a non-ending influence of high fructose corn syrup and have come to see the error of my ways, opting now for skim milk (called "the blue stuff" by professional dieters), high fiber breads ("cardboard") and fat free cheeses ("rubber").

Fast forward: My wife went to visit family this week, leaving me to fend for myself. No one will mistake me for a chef, but I do OK. Insert in microwave. Hit start. Peel cardboard. Consume. I won't write any cookbooks; but I don't starve either.

Being lonely, I wanted a "fun food;" you know, something special, a rare treat. Yet years of discipline have left their toll and I begrudgingly opted for salad.

While resigning myself to the doldrums of leafy greenery, I noticed a bottle of full-calorie, creamy white, ranch dressing - the real stuff, not that gelatinous fat-free goop mislabeling itself as "tasty."

With bold abandon, I measured one full tablespoon and poured it right on top of my salad; plain as day. In full view - and I didn't care! What a thrill seeker am I! And then, I ate it - in daylight - just like that!

At that moment I realized I really have to get out more.

Back to nature

For me, exercise consists of walking to the grocery store to pick up a gallon of ice cream. I require goals; meandering wistfully along the beach - no matter how picturesque - doesn't fill that objective.

However, my wife insists we get "out in nature." I am unsure why this is essential. After all, I ride a bicycle and take a daily walk, both of which are outside the confines of my house. Isn't that "nature?"

I don't have a problem with "nature" per se; I'm just not sure where are its boundaries. How far from home must I go to be in it? Why isn't it closer? When I leave the window open, is not the breeze flowing through my screen, "nature"? Weekly, I brave the flora and fauna of my front law - all part of nature I presume - as I mow it. (My wife insists trimming the grass is as similar to "being in nature" as rearranging patio chairs is to landscaping.)

Don't get me wrong, I hold nothing against the great outdoors; I even watch the weather channel. It's just, that nature is so darn, well - how can I say this - "natural." I get cold in nature. Dirt gets on my clothing. When I go to Nature, I must put on special trail shoes with laces long enough to tie down an ocean liner. The extra loops and flaps on these shoes baffle me and make me feel stupid.

When my wife is bored, I inevitably hear, "Honey, let's do something different."

I hate that sentence; I know where it's going - and it's not inside.

"Such as?" I'll ask, hoping my preconceptions are wrong.

"I don't know. What would you like to do?"

See, this confuses me. I'm content doing what I'm doing or I would already be doing "something different." I enjoy doing things the same. I know how to do them.

"How about (... wait for it, wait for it...) we go to nature?"

I attempt to delay the fait accompli. "It's cold outside."

"Wear a jacket."

"It's windy."

"Put on a scarf."

"My scarf's itchy."

Accepting the inescapable, my cranky inner child bundles up in prickly neck wear, overstuffed coat, insulated gloves, and ski mask, to join my wife on the beach - perfectly timed for an arctic blast of freezing cold wind, carrying sharp pin-pricks of icy sea mist to slam into my glasses, making it impossible to see.

Unaware of my trauma, she says, "Isn't this beautiful?"

Too wrapped in protection to move freely, I merely grunt, and imagine warmer times in my living room, staring out the window, observing nature where it belongs.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus lost 70 pounds in 1994 and is a professional speaker. He is available for speeches, workshops, or comments at 707.442.6243 or scottq@THINspiration.com. His new book, "Striving for Imperfection, 52 Motivational, Playful Columns on Weight Loss, Habit Change, and Other Acts of Faith," is now available by contacting him or visiting www.TheEatingCycle.com

Priorities

If Life is a journey, priorities form the road map.

Priorities are not all alike. For example, there are the trivial; "Honey, let's have potatoes instead of pasta." There are intermediate: "Do we refinance the house to pay for the kids' college?" And then there are enormous, powerful, life-changing ones to light our way and guide us to our final destination.

In philosophical discussions at dinner parties, the question arises, "In order, what are your three most important priorities?"

My well rehearsed reply rolls off my tongue, "Health, Family, Career." I know this because I am enlightened (and have engaged the service of fine therapists). Such topics matter to enlightened people.

I also accept that one might disagree (even I do at times); that misses the point. Rather, the issue here is "The Three" are so critical, I don't even have to think about it. Yet, therein lies a dichotomy: if they are so very important, why not reflect upon them more than I do?

I vocalize, "Health," then eat excessively, evade the doctor, and seek extensive rationale to avoid exercise. If health is my highest priority, I manifest it in an unusual fashion.

Second Priority: "Family." However, when my wife says, "let's play," resistance wells up; I just have so darn much work to do. She - being the loving, supportive partner - gives me permission to enhance Priority Three: Career, and write my overdue speech. I opt instead to use those two hours adjusting the desktop photograph on my computer. After all, who can be productive when the scenery on screen is unattractive?

As a result of my inappropriate time management, Guilt makes its appearance - always a catalyst to eat blindly, medicate away my feelings, and insult my health. Voila, a cycle is complete!

If analyzed by what I do, rather than what I have memorized to impress people, would not my priorities be: "Eating, Procrastination, Guilt"? After all, that is what fills my days.

It's so easy to proclaim out loud what's essential (especially when directing others), yet it's not so effortless to actually follow through.

If health is truly my Priority One, I must act upon it.

I was going to conclude with sage advice on how you could adjust your priorities. But you'll excuse me if I instead put down this donut and take a walk.