The whole reason I forced myself on Anne of Shifting Gears was a post she wrote about her girlfriends.  The day I read it I knew I had to reconnect with a childhood friend that over the last few years, frankly, I’ve neglected. Five years after starting my own business I realize that in building it, I’ve let my friendships fade. She reminded me the importance of nurturing this part of  life.

In our conversation, she also mentioned that her parents had been cremated and simple wood urns were the natural choice for both parents. They didn’t want their kids to spend a lot on a funeral and didn’t want to be buried.  What to do with the urns? One of Anne’s daughters suggested that since they both loved to read, why not use each urn as a bookend until a final resting place could be determined? So, Anne’s parents reside on the bookshelf in her home for now.

Polaroid image courtesy of: Square America

She’s lost over 400 pounds!

No surgery or magic pills.

How’d she do it?

The simplest and purest form of exercise,

One step at a time.

Tammey Burns (left) and her coach Colleen Young

When I met Tammey in August of last year, she couldn’t make one lap around the track, without having to sit down. By October, Tammey had lost over 200 pounds and completed her first 10K.

You should see her now!  She’s leaner, stronger, and walking up to 10 miles a day.  Girl gets up at 4:00 AM and starts burning calories right out of bed. 6 DAYS A WEEK.

Oprah? You need to book this girl and tell her powerful and inspiring story!

Photos courtesy of Springfield News-Leader

JP’s post on the Twitter tool, blew me out of the water and totally validated my thoughts on using the application for my business. Over the past year I’ve watched the My Space come and go, Facebook is hot, and now Twitter. Meanwhile, I’m still clunking away trying to understand the blog concept.

And frankly folks, nobody wants to read about death and dying every word of every post, and Blawg knows, I can’t bear to write about it. Jet Packs’ laid it on the line:

And here’s where marketers fail: They don’t see the revenue stream. And here’s what they don’t want to hear: There is no revenue stream. Corporate blogs failed for the same reason. No one wants to write a company blog (and even fewer want to read it) that amounts to nothing more than spider food, especially when you have the comments feature disabled.

The blog has worked as spider food, and I’ll continue plunking away, trying to blend the life that I currently live: fitness in the morning, funeral in the afternoon.

My prediction that Amy Winehouse would be dead by the end of the year didn’t play out. Word is that wino has hired a trainer and joined the Virgin Active Gym in London. Work it girl.

“The white deer is a mutation. It does not belong in the wild. It should be shot.” Günter Giese, the president of the Saxony Hunting Federation, Germany.

There’s a whole lot of killin’ goin on around here. It’s deer season and this past week I’ve heard several tales of the mighty hunters bagging 10 pointers.

Several weeks ago I asked an experienced hunter if he’d ever seen an albino deer. He had. In Northern Michigan years ago. The reason for my question was an excerpt I’d read from Vance Randolph’s account of albino deer in this area.

Bad Joo-Joo?

It is very generally believed that the appearance of an albino deer is a bad sign; some hillfolk think it has something to do with witches’ work, others that it is an indication of disease among the deer, and that venison will be unwholesome for seven years. In 1939 a white deer was seen in Taney county, Missouri,and many natives were pretty much upset about it.

It was said that if early settlers saw a white buck in the woods, nobody would shoot it for fear of bad luck.

Last weekend, one of the fearless hillfolk here heard about an albino deer sighting nearby and started stalking his prey. He found it in some thick woods, and shot it from about 125 feet away. He plans to have it stuffed, “marveling at the rarity.”

Cloisonne Deer Urn

He’s in his 90’s now, but to baby boomers and their parents, the name Jack LaLanne is synonymous with health, vitality and fitness.

LaLanne used to regale his audience with his one-armed push-ups done on fingertips. He showed them how to turn their recliners into mini-gyms by pumping imaginary bicycles and doing other chair exercises.

In the 1930s, he even began advocating weight training. To go beyond the usual barbells — and to keep his gym clients from getting bored — he worked with a blacksmith to develop leg-extension equipment and one of the first adjustable weight machines that are standard equipment in today’s gyms.

He rises at 6 or 7 a.m. and heads for a two-hour workout. His wife of over 50 years, Elaine takes a more laid-back approach. “He rolls out of bed and I roll over,” she quips, preferring to work out in the pool later in the day.

He eats two meals a day, but notes that this regimen isn’t for everyone. “You’ve got to figure out what works for your schedule,” he says.

Breakfast is at 11 a.m. He eats four to five pieces of fruit and gets protein from cooked egg whites. “Once in a while I eat a turkey sandwich on whole wheat with avocado and tomato,” he says.

“Every restaurant near us now has a Jack LaLanne salad,” he says. “It’s at least 10 raw vegetables chopped, and very little lettuce.” He brings his own sesame oil salad dressing and sometimes adds more hard-boiled egg whites for additional protein. He also eats fish, especially salmon, which is rich in healthy omega-3 fatty acids.

And, of course, there’s a little wine, a tribute to his Franco-American heritage. “Ever see a Frenchman who doesn’t drink?” he asks. He sips a glass that’s a mix of White Zinfandel and red wine — because, as he says, “one’s too sweet and one’s too sour.”

Sally Squires, Washington, Post

During that difficult period I had the good fortune of connecting with The High Priestess who helped me through that anxious chapter by teaching me how to breathe. Turns out I’d been holding my breath for most of my adult life. She introduced me to a practice that changed my life.

All though her post today took me back to a couple of awkward moments of my youth and I started thinking about how many times I’ve been flashed by a stranger. Three times that I can distinctly remember. All male. All in public places.

My old neighborhood, I was 12-ish and riding my bike when a man pulled up and wanted directions, as I approached the car…well, you know.

Fassnight pool. I was in my late teens sunning with my girlfriend. A guy in very short cut-offs pulled up to the chain link on a bicycle and leaned against the fence and dangled his bits.

Smitty’s Liquor/Video department. I was moonlighting there and a creepy customer was letting it air out. Where’s the thrill?

Thanks for that unleashing that repressed memory.

Don’t forget to breathe.

Spotted at the gym:

Jack Lalanne

In order to offset the grim business of death and dying, I like to mix it up a couple of days with fitness in the morning, funeral in the afternoon. The fitness police job starts very early, and there’s a narrow window where there’s no trained medical personnel on staff*. Usually, on those days I’m operating on 3-4 hours of sleep, and I’ve had a premonition that with this early bird crowd, the “Door Rattlers”, that one of my silver foxes would over exert themselves.

Today it happened a little after 6 AM. One of the regulars strolled in half asleep and starting gettin’ sweaty on the stepmill. I saw him fall backward and heard his head thud. Luckily, we had a doctor in the house who also happened to be working out and took control.

The doctor revived him, our patient walked out on his own two feets and admitted he was straight out of bed, no food, no liquids. No good.

Today’s Fitness Tip: Avoid consuming cabbage and fried food before strenuous exercise.

*I am CPR certified and can shock your heart as well as fire a taser.

Meet Mr. Owen Hilton.

WWII Military Vet.

Purple Heart.

84.

Works out everyday Monday-Friday. He usually starts shooting baskets about 5:30 in the am.

Takes NO medication, except for: A Baby Aspirin Daily.

Nothing else.

Mr. Hilton is the only 84 year old gent that I know that doesn’t’ take a zillion pills.
He’s a fine Physical Specimen and a nice guy too.