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I had occasion to have my pulse measured yesterday. The nurse had just taken my blood pressure, which I’m told actually raises one’s pulse temporarily, due to fears that one’s arm is about to be pinched off just above the elbow. Also, insofar as I was sitting in a doctor’s office, surrounded by gleaming instruments of stainless-steel discomfort and the aroma of disinfectant barely masking the odors of horrific procedures taking place on the still-warm examination table every half-hour, I felt sure my pulse would be abnormally high. Not that I was worried, no. Really, I don’t mind going to see the doctor.

While she took hold of my wrist, I tried something I’ve never done — biofeedback. I started thinking “low pulse, heart slowing down, relaxing, no need to panic, I’m sure they’d never use that speculum on me” although my heart seemed to be pounding away like it always does, in complete ignorance of my conscious directions.

The nurse counted up the beats while the seconds ticked by. And then she said, “wow.” I took a deep breath. Maybe she’d finally diagnose the family mitral-valve prolapse or put in an emergency page to the staff cardiologist. (I wonder if it’s entirely healthy to always expect the worst. At least, this way, I’m rarely disappointed.)

But she said, “you have a very low pulse. Has anyone ever told you that before?” I admitted that I’d heard that before; I had a vague recollection that my resting heartrate was in the low 60s, which is at the low end of the normal range (60-100). I asked, “What number did you get?”

She said, “52.” That’s a solid 8 bpm lower than I’ve ever known it to be. Until this morning when, convinced that she’d miscounted, I measured it myself… and came up with 48.

I researched this today. The condition is called bradycardia. Its possible causes are an unpleasant lot, including:

• serious head injury
• shock
• heroin overdose

Here’s the icing on this dysfunctional cake: “If this is left untreated, it can result in death.”

It could be true that I’m healthy and just happen to have a low heartrate. I suppose it’s unlikely I’d be getting through my days if I was in shock, or had a serious head injury. I believe I’ve never used heroin, but isn’t denial one of the first symptoms of abuse? Perhaps someone’s been slipping some junk into my rice milk.

On the other hand, life (whether treated or not) can also result in death. I’m hoping for an exception, but there’s definitely a strong probability I’ll end up pickled and boxed and stuck in the ground, just like the rest of you. Perhaps sooner than later, if my pulse keeps dropping.

My stiff legs grew stiffer overnight. This morning I was tottering like an old man, my hips virtually fused and my tensor fasciae latae tightened like the mason jars at Dave Draper’s house. Climbing stairs, I wondered if both my kneecaps were about to fly off. Nothing hurt, per se, but everything felt used up.

Regardless, we had another nine miles to hike. Today’s target: Annadel State Park. The first lesson of the day: Tiger Balm is my friend. It cooked the ache out of my legs. Or, at least, the burning sensation on my skin took my mind off the soreness in the muscle underneath. Any other painful distraction might have worked equally well — sand in the eyes, needles under fingernails, testicle clamp, etc.

We started up the Warren Richardson trail, which presents a gradual climb. I felt okay, all things considered, but noticed that I wasn’t moving very quickly. I tend to climb fast, but here I was trudging. Over the course of the day, I realized that my speed is proportional to the incline. Two years on the treadmill have optimized my system for hauling ass up a 13% grade, but anything level, or with a slighter grade, or (gasp!) downhill, and I can’t move as fast. I’m just not used to it.

We’d printed a map of the trails in Annadel, and carefully marked our 9.5-mile route. At every intersection, we pulled out the map to compare it with signposted reality. Halfway around the loop we began experiencing problems — the expected trails wouldn’t appear when due, or we’d show up at an intersection not on our route. We kept to the right at every crossing but still found ourselves edging left off the map. Finally, after about eight miles, came the sinking realization that we weren’t getting any closer to where we were supposed to be. At the next intersection, which made no sense when compared to our map, we didn’t even know which way to turn.

We needed a sage, a wise old mountain man who could lead us out of the wilderness. Fortunately we found just such a guy: fringe of grey hair, worn long around a shiny pate… skinny frame indicating a wholegrain Sonoma-county lifestyle… helpful and caring demeanor despite the fact that his best intentions would send us several miles out of the way.

His sandals and small water bottle tended to indicate that he hadn’t hiked far. So we believed him when he said we shouldn’t continue down the trail, but should instead cut overland in the other direction. We did, eventually finding our way back to the park entrance — two miles down an asphalt road from our car.

After hiking as much as we had, those final miles of pavement began to hurt. We tried to walk down the shoulder, but everything green looked like poison oak. And yet we turned down the offer of a lift — we were both determined to finish under our own power. No pain, not sane, or something like that.

At the ranger station, we checked out the posted maps. Some of the trails had indeed changed. Part of our carefully-plotted route no longer exists. So, it’s no wonder we’d walked off our map. Subsequent analysis put the day’s distance at 12 miles.

Overall, we fared well: in three days and 30 miles, we suffered no real injuries, no blisters, no stamina problems, no cougar attacks, no urushiol or stinging nettles or ticks (and leeches). To stay in shape, inasmuch as this can be considered “shape,” we plan to hike every weekend until mid-June; in fact we’ll return to Annadel next weekend in hopes of making sense of the new trail system. And to have a few pointed words with that old man in sandals, you can be sure.

Sunday’s hike was about the longest hike I’d ever done, so today’s plan presented a challenge: can I follow up one 9-mile hike with another? The first steps turned immediately sour when I realized that my day-old polypropylene shirt was beginning to unravel. So much for expensive high-tech clothing.

Our route was ideal: a brief, level warmup walk along the Bear Valley Trail followed by a 2-mile climb through the forest. I appreciate being able to climb in the shade; the effort always seems greater when the sun is beating down. And if I’m climbing, I prefer to climb all at once, steep but steady, than to stretch the incline out over many miles.

We emerged at ~1350 feet for a long trek on Sky Trail. Though the terrain is mixed, there was none of the tough up-and-down we faced the previous day. My knees felt fine; Sunday’s twinges did not return (although they remained on the fringes of sensation, presumably waiting for a single misplaced footfall). All the subsystems — heart, lungs, legs, feet — performed without complaint. I actually felt very good.

Point Reyes offers wonderful views, which we almost entirely failed to capture… the skylight filter on my camera seems to add haze rather than remove it. In fact the skies were remarkably clear, providing unusually good visibility. We could even see the Farallon Islands, 27 miles west.

After the hike, we drove south on Highway 1. This is a fantastic road, but a workout for the driver, all sharp turns and guardrails. The views are amazing: rocky cliffs, breaking waves, and San Francisco hovering in the distance.

The hardest part of the drive was getting out of the car at the end. This was the lesson learned for the day: don’t forget to stretch out! After four hours of constant motion, one hour without was enough to lock up my lower body. I could barely stand up.

“Strenuous 9 Miles with 1500' climb.” Seems like an odd way to spend a Sunday when there’s code to be written. But I’m in training, with many miles to go before June 21. That’s the day I’ll spend hiking Pike’s Peak with a half-dozen equally deluded friends.

The East Ridge Trail at Armstrong Woods is more challenging than it sounds. My sense is there’s a lot more up-and-down than the 1500' figure indicates. I think we probably climbed those 1500' three or four times.

I was testing my fancy new hydrophobic polypropylene base layer, aka “shirt.” It worked better than I imagined it could — I was sweating like a watermelon at a barbecue, but this wondergarment drained all the moisture away. After our break, instead of feeling the pull and weight of a soaked-through, clammy cotton T-shirt, I felt completely dry.

I will admit to looking ridiculous. There’s a certain body type that looks good in skin-tight plastic clothing. Whatever body type I have, it’s apparently the wrong one. Muscles and, erm, other kinds of tissue show in equal relief.

There is also the possibility that my shirt is a size too small, because after the hike, the “care instructions” were embossed in reverse on the back of my neck.

The climb was pretty tough. My energy and wind were fine, but I started having a twinge in my left knee on the ascent. Oddly, it moved to my right knee for the return. This is frightening, for there’s no chance I’m going to finish a 25-mile hike if my knees are tweaked. I’m working on skeletal adjustments, but I don’t know if enough weeks remain for the adjustments to “take.” Tune in in June, I guess… If I don’t post anything during the week of the 22nd, send out a search party.

Habits learned in childhood can last a lifetime. That’s why so many companies market to kids; for example, tobacco companies target advertising to children in hopes of creating life-long addicts, and fast-food companies do the same thing.

So why do schools serve soda and junk food? One might think that it would be beneficial to kids’ health, and to the future economy of the country, to teach kids healthy eating habits. There are actually a number of reasons why schools should continue to serve soda and junk food to kids:

1. Banning soda will cost schools big money.
2. Soda is not the problem; kids need more exercise.
3. Soft drink companies help schools by donating scoreboards, uniforms and equipment.
4. Kids won’t buy healthy foods from vending machines.
5. Banning soda sales violates kids’ right to free choice.

Wrong. A grade school in San Francisco recently phased out soda and junk food and proved all the above “truths” to be untrue. Example: the school found that vending-machine sales rose when sodas were replaced with bottled water and 100% juice drinks. Read the real-world truth behind these junk-food myths.

A regional group called Parents Advocating School Accountability provides additional helpful resources for parents or teachers who would like to replicate this success. Specifically, the “Healthy Food, Healthy Kids” PDF outlines a 10-step program for eliminating junk foods from your kids’ school.

Here’s the article that inspired this story: One school’s uncanny success with junk-food ban