The Department of Morality has expressed her concerns about me binging. The diatribe usually occurs around the COMDB AGM (Annual Golf Meeting) or Oktoberfest.
I assume she is referring to binging of the adult beverage variety. I tell her not to worry, I don’t do it that often.
She may not be the perfect role model herself when it comes to binging . I think 13 episodes of ER in a day qualifies not only as binging but mind numbing as well, which coincidentally is what our AGM is.
Oscar Wilde summed it up pretty well when he said “All things in moderation, especially moderation.” Whatever that means. What would you expect from the guy who said “Work is the scourge of the drinking classes.”
Of course, binging isn’t limited to alcohol or Netflix. There’s food binging, usually around holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. My motto is that it’s not what you eat between Christmas and New Year’s that’s the problem, it’s what you eat between New Year’s and Christmas that is.
The sugar candy binge at Halloween, and for the week after, is a kids and grandkids thing that I believe is sponsored by the dental industry. I’m not complaining since I usually get the red licorice that the sucrose high munchkins discard due to its lack of cocoa content.
But I figure the most dangerous binging of all is exercise. Experts say that the two main causes of heart attacks in men my age in Canada are snow shoveling and having sex, and I don’t mind hiring someone to shovel the snow. Every expert in the fitness field, including Aesop, will tell you that slow and steady wins the race. Compare the life span of the tortoise with the hare.* Fact check that!
Now you are wondering what qualifies as exercise binging. Well, when it comes to my first day of downhill skiing each season the camera crews should be on the hill for a special episode of survivor. Ol’ JT can navigate those hills and valleys like nobody’s business. Me, I’m no pro so the adjective “downhill” is certainly apropos. My ski style is tame but not lame. At least not lame until after.
Now you’re wondering why I don’t ease my way into my first day of skiing, slow and steady. The answer is I’m cheap. At $100 US for a lift pass I’m going to get every run in that I can, some I shouldn’t, and a few I can’t.
I do avoid the ski runs with names like “Devil’s Crotch”, or “The Organ Grinder” or “Adios Motherfucker” (notice the stretcher conveniently located right behind the sign). “Idiot’s Delight” would have me confused, but I think I would pass on that one too.** There’s a none too healthy trail mix for you that would be hard not to recall.***
The first outing of the season was last weekend. I took my grandson with me to do some cross border skiing in the most powerful nation in the world. No wall at the border, peace bridge sounds much more inviting. I gave my passport to the border officer, his name tag said Officer Benjamin Dover, he smiled and said “just call me Ben”. Yikes! Luckily there was no body cavity search, this time around anyway.
On the way back the Canadian border officer apologized for the line which was only 3 cars long. Welcome to Canada, Eh.
By the time we got to the hill and got geared up I was tired out, and we hadn’t even gone up and down once. The “Mardi Gras” run sounded like a party, but it wasn’t, and with a bit of luck I made it to the bottom of Shamrock.**
Not so lucky was the guy on the stretcher that they were pulling through the crowd. There but for the grace of God go I.**** Not much of a confidence booster, a trussed up snow boarder in pain being dragged through the crowds on a sled. Everyone looked down at him with a mix of pity and superiority ,well I did anyway. My grandson casually said “Looks like a broken neck” loud enough for the guy on the stretcher to hear. At least the guy could move his eyebrows, that was a good sign.
Then there was the guy in the chalet with his leg in a homemade cardboard box cast with ice on his knee, I guess he didn’t have a health plan.
My grandson had fun, and waited as patiently as an 11 year old can for me to catch up to him. Despite the harsh realization that I am not as young as I used to be, there were no injuries to speak of other than a bruised ego. Then it dawned on me, there’s a run called Sunrise. There’s also one called Day’s End. The perfect trail mix. Next time I’ll ski one then the other, then I can go for a beer and tell the missus I skied from Sunrise to Day’s End before I hit the bar.**
My old man’s advice was not as eloquent as Wilde’s but just as applicable “Have fun, but not too much fun.” He also used to say “No sympathy for self-inflicted wounds” but he saved that one for the morning after.
I guess the moral of this immoral story, if a story like this can have any morals, is a binge by it’s very definition is something done to extremes, but infrequently. So if you exercise infrequently and to excess, remember, you’re not as young as you used to be. Come to think of it, nobody is, so that’s a bit of a useless cliché. How about taking the old man’s advice, keep doing the fun stuff and have fun, but not too much fun. How much fun is too much fun, you may ask. Don’t ask me, ask the guy on the stretcher.
*Editor’s Comment: The life span of a tortoise is typically around 80 years but some have lived to 150. A rabbit usually lives 8 to 12 years. Rabbits do have a much more active sex life, so they have that going for them.
**Editor’s Comment: Devil’s Crotch is a double diamond run at Breckenridge in Colorado. Idiot’s Delight is at Alpine Meadows in Tahoe Nevada, and Adios Motherfucker (the sign on the hill says AMF) is at Snowmass in Colorado. Mardi Gras, Shamrock, Sunrise and Day’s End are runs at Holiday Valley in New York.
***Editor’s Comment: Quaker Oats recently recalled 38 varieties of granola bars and Harvest Crunch cereals due to the risk of potential exposure to salmonella. Sounds like a cereal to die for.
****Editor’s Comment: “There but for the grace of God go I” is most often attributed to Francis of Assisi and could have been paraphrased from the Apostle Paul in Corinthians 15.8-10.
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