My Life in Exercise: One Man’s Journey

 

Doctors will tell you about the many benefits of exercise—a great way to keep the pounds in check and the metabolism chugging. Exercise also reduces the risk of developing diabetes, colon cancer, high blood pressure, and heart disease. On a personal note, when I complete a workout I feel a small fire blazing inside me. It’s not a burning, hurtful flame, but one providing a glow that lasts for hours.

I’ve been exercising since my 27^thyear. Prior to that, the only exercise I performed was for the PE teacher in high school. Things changed during my late 20s when I lived in Santa Monica, California. One day I walked to the nearby beach with my friends Terri and Ford, a married couple living in my apartment building. I laid a blanket on the hot sand planning on taking a snooze. Ford, an occupational therapist and exercise buff said, “Join me for a run.”

“No, Ford, I don’t run. I’ll get a headache.”

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

“When I was a kid I’d run five minutes and get horrible headaches.”

He looked me over as if I was one of his clients and said, “You’re not a kid anymore.”

I couldn’t argue with that fact, so Ford, Terri, and I jogged along the beach. After three minutes, I was winded. Terri stayed behind as Ford ran along the coastline getting lost among the summer sun worshipers.

As I huffed and puffed, Terri said, “Just walk until you feel like running again.” For the next thirty minutes we ran and walked with ocean spray splashing on our faces and a hot sun beating over our heads. When we arrived back to our beach blankets I couldn’t believe how good I felt. 

I was hooked. Everyday afterwards I followed Terri’s suggestion. I didn’t push myself. I just took it easy. Before the month was out I was running from my apartment to the Santa Monica Pier and back—a three-mile jog I completed three times a week. Before long I was almost keeping up with Ford. Several months later we entered 10K races together. I never won any of them, but collected an assortment of T-shirts given out at the events.

During this stage of my life I was an elementary school teacher who knew how to enjoy his summer vacations. When I was 31 I decided to take a trip to Israel. There I met a lovely woman, fell in love, and got married a few months later. My wife, Daphna, wasn’t into exercise, but I maintained my running regimen alone, for we moved away from my Santa Monica running buddies.

Daphna’s girlfriend’s husband played racquetball. He motivated me to play with him a few times a week, which was a nice change of pace from jogging. However, the courts were poorly maintained, so we decided to join the Sports Connection, a Santa Monica gym close to our homes that had six beautiful courts.

Over the years I’ve learned relationships are like the moon—they wan and wax. As the fire in my marriage dwindled, I discovered weightlifting. This was at a time my wife would leave the house at night not returning until sunrise. When she arrived home I headed to the gym, as it opened at 5:30 AM. My racquetball friend wasn’t about to meet me that early in the morning, so I learned how to lift weights. It was a great stress reducer and helped me think through my marital problems.

My first conclusion made during exercise was to seek marital counseling. When I suggested this to Daphna, she said, “I don’t believe in that shit.” I assumed she was hiding something and figured she was having an affair. I discussed this with the therapist and continued my weekly exercise program of running three days a week and working out with weights two other days.  The therapist said, “You can’t control the actions of your wife, but you can control your own behavior.” Besides, I was the father of two daughters and only wanted the best for them. No matter what happened with the marriage, my girls would not be raised in an atmosphere of hate.  So I decided to tone down the conflict with the wife and jog this uphill battle with some class.

Another thing I learned during therapy was to set limits. My wife had none when it came to ringing up credit card bills. So one evening I snuck into her wallet while she was sleeping and cut up all of her credit cards. She was pissed, but I made my case that I just couldn’t afford the mortgage, her calls to Israel, and monthly five figured bills from Macy’s, Sachs, and Victoria Secret. My teacher salary couldn’t keep up with her. I also told her that if she didn’t get a job and start helping out, I planned on leaving her.

Ten months later Daphna’s behavior hadn’t changed, so I invited her to a neighborhood restaurant and asked for a divorce. She agreed and six months later we went our separate ways. Since she needed “time alone,” the kids went with me.

As a single dad, there really wasn’t much time for a workout and caring for two small children. The girls were with me five days a week. When they visited their mother, I went to the gym. At that time I noticed how much fun people were having in the high impact aerobics classes, so I decided to enroll in a beginning class.

Like the first time I jogged with Ford and Terri, I became winded easily. It took about a month to get used to aerobics, but before I could wear out a pair of shoes, I was taking advanced classes. I made a few friends, especially during “Barbara’s Class”. This class was comprised of young adults drenching their T-shirts in sweat during an hour ritual where our instructor, Barbara, a teenage blonde Amazon, put us through our paces.

One of the guys I met in Barbara’s Class was Joe Bock. Both being Jewish and ex-New Yorkers, we bonded fast. When my kids visited their mother on Friday night, I’d either have a date or meet Joe for a run followed by dinner at a New York style deli. We’ve been following this ritual for over twenty-five years.

As my daughters grew, I tried to get them interested in exercise. Channie, my eldest, preferred dance while Koren took up soccer. I explained to them how exercise benefited me and I expected it to lengthen my life expectancy and enhance the quality of my life. I told them about their grandparents, uncles, and aunts all dying from heart disease. When Ford and Terri brought up running, I figured it would be the perfect way to keep my body healthy. I didn’t realize how much it would help my mind.

A few years after the divorce I awoke cocooned by a wall of silence. Except for a buzzing noise in my left ear, my hearing was severely muffled. I saw a doctor and then an ENT specialist. I was diagnosed with progressive bilateral sensor-neural hearing loss with progressive in dark foreboding letters.

Naturally, I went to the gym, lifted weights, and rode a recumbent bicycle to think about this new problem. Since deafness was my future, I figured I should learn American Sign Language (ASL). I bought a few books and shared them with my daughters who thought-learning sign would be cool. Their interest waned, but I enrolled in weekly classes.

Six years later I suffered from a second attack the doctors called a virus. Now my “good” right ear was legally deaf leaving me dependent on a lousy left ear to hear my students. I couldn’t comprehend what my pupils said to me. It was like hearing a conversation with my head submerged in a tub of water. The hearing aides just weren’t cutting the grade. So the ENT specialist thought it time for me to resign from teaching and take disability. I concurred.

It was now time to beef up my ASL studies, so I enrolled in classes at Pierce College. Since a college course entails tests, and I didn’t want to set a poor example for my children by coming home with a C or worse, I had to study. I put words on index cards with their signs on the back. And since we also studied Deaf culture, that information was added to the mix. Right after I dropped my youngest daughter, Koren, at high school, I ran around nearby Lake Balboa and studied the cards. After the run, I drove home and learned the craft of the writer.

Thus far, I’ve written five novels for young adults. Two of my books, The Legend of Koolura and Goodbye Tchaikovsky, were published February 2012. Both books were inspired during my long jogs around Lake Balboa. A few years ago, Goodbye Tchaikovsky, a story about a deaf boy,won Second Place in the 2015 Royal Dragonfly Book Awards; and in 2018 Koolura and the Mayans won First Place in the eLit Awards Juvenile/Young Adult Fiction.

Several years ago Joe Bock encouraged me to sign up for a basketball class at Santa Monica College. I’ve never been a basketball buff, but for my friend, I complied. Besides, Coach Joe was teaching the class. Joe has never been the most coordinated person I’ve known. He has Nonverbal Learning Disorder (NLD). People suffering from NLD have visual spatial perception problems, have motor coordination difficulties, and can’t understand non-verbal cues. When Joe retired from his engineering job he decided to learn more about NLD. Since then he’s been volunteering his time helping children with similar difficulties, and a few years ago he founded Benchwarmers Basketball where young uncoordinated boys and girls have the opportunity to play basketball with their klutzy peers. Bock’s Santa Monica College basketball class for the Athletically Challenged was his attempt to reach out to adults who love basketball but play poorly. Thanks to Joe’s coaching, I won the “Most Improved” certificate during the second semester of taking the class.

At the ripe old age of 69 I jog, lift weights, and a year ago started working out once a week with a trainer. Jogging is my favorite, and every time I hit the pavement I think of Ford and Terri. I owe those guys a debt of gratitude for encouraging me to include exercise in my life.