Stand Up, Stand Up for Health

Yesterday, I had a random online encounter with a news headline suggesting that some researchers somewhere say that sitting is bad for your health. I didn’t click on any links, but the idea stayed with me. I went looking for the story today, and discovered that the research isn’t exactly new. Science Daily carried an item in June 2008 headlined “Physiologists and Microbiologists Find Link Between Sitting and Poor Health” (that story was based on University of Missouri research reported in November 2007). A similar item, based on similar research, appeared in the news a couple weeks ago. For instance, on Discovery News: “Too Much Sitting Creates a Health Hazard.” The gist: Long periods of sitting lead the body to shut down certain metabolic processes, and that can lead to weight gain, a higher risk of diabetes and cardiovascular disease.

Ah, the power of suggestion. I’m painfully aware–really: painfully–of how much I sit in the course of my work and in various recreational noodling such as this blog. This morning, I contrived to bring the laptop out into the kitchen to a place where I can stand and work. I’m wondering whether I can get my workstation at KQED set up for standing, too (we had a guy in the office who had a standing desk; maybe his stuff is still around). Stand-up desks: not a new idea.

Guest Observation: Henry David Thoreau

“The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely to be my good behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well ? You may say the wisest thing you can, old man, — you who have lived seventy years, not without honor of a kind, — I hear an irresistible voice which invites me away from all that.One generation abandons the enterprises of another like stranded vessels.”

2 February, FYI

Happy James Joyce’s Birthday (born 1882).

Happy Groundhog Day. I arose before dawn and saw the International Space Station cross the southern sky. Not sure what that means in terms of how many weeks of winter we have left.

Happy Halfway from Winter Solstice to Spring Equinox Day.

There — that’s enough to celebrate for one day.

Altercation

Here’s one I was only a spectator at: About 10:30 this morning, a small delivery van is parallel parking into a space at 17th and Bryant streets, on the seam between Potrero Hill and the Mission. The space the driver is trying to get into is one of those tight ones. Maybe 6 inches longer than the van is. At the back end of the space, a car is parked with the driver at the wheel. She’s got maybe 18 inches or 2 feet between her and the corner red zone behind her. Now think carefully about what you’d do if you were the driver of that car and see how closely it matches what happened.

The van driver, apparently committed to wedging his vehicle into the space, does a couple back-and-forths. On his second pass, inevitably, he bumps the front end of the car, the one sitting there with the driver at the wheel. She has not backed up even an inch. But when the van makes contact with her car, a Toyota Yaris or similar (as the rental companies would style it), she leans on the horn. The van pulls up. The Toyota driver honks some more. The van driver honks, then backs up and bumps the Toyota again — lightly, I thought. The van is in its space, and the driver, a pony-tailed middle-age guy of medium stature and build, gets out and walks back to the Toyota, whose driver has finally been stirred to move, though not to back up. Instead, she gets out of the car to inspect the non-existant damage to her front bumper. The van driver is angry and is raising his voice, but I can’t hear any of what he’s saying. The woman gets in the car.

At this point, a passing cyclist enters the scene. He’s about four or five inches taller than the van driver and maybe 25 years younger. I didn’t see how he first became engaged, but he’s shouting and draws attention. “That’s a lady, you piece of shit! A lady!” The intensity of his rage seems unconnected to the events that have just transpired, but he’s seen or heard something that offends him deeply. His tirade about the van driver’s transgressions against “the lady” driving the Toyota quickly escalates. He swings the back end of his bike toward the van driver to back him up, then pushes the bike against the older man, and finally throws the bike down and sort of slap-punches the van driver once, maybe twice. At this point, the van man looks unnerved and is trying to back away, and the cyclist picks up his bike and swings it at the van guy again.

(I should say at this point that none of the dozen or so people near the corner, including me, made a move to intervene. If a full-on beating had gotten started, I would have tried to stop it. But the thought of getting into a dispute with the crazy bike rider made me keep my distance.)

That’s as far as things go. The van driver pulls out his phone and makes a call–undoubtedly to the police. The bike rider tells him that if he doesn’t leave, he’s going to fuck him up. Then the bike rider walks his bike slowly away. The Toyota driver watches what she helped wreak, then pulls out of her piece of curb space and drives away. I don’t wait to see if the police show up.

Altercation

Here’s one I was only a spectator at: About 10:30 this morning, a small delivery van is parallel parking into a space at 17th and Bryant streets, on the seam between Potrero Hill and the Mission. The space the driver is trying to get into is one of those tight ones. Maybe 6 inches longer than the van is. At the back end of the space, a car is parked with the driver at the wheel. She’s got maybe 18 inches or 2 feet between her and the corner red zone behind her. Now think carefully about what you’d do if you were the driver of that car and see how closely it matches what happened.

The van driver, apparently committed to wedging his vehicle into the space, does a couple back-and-forths. On his second pass, inevitably, he bumps the front end of the car, the one sitting there with the driver at the wheel. She has not backed up even an inch. But when the van makes contact with her car, a Toyota Yaris or similar (as the rental companies would style it), she leans on the horn. The van pulls up. The Toyota driver honks some more. The van driver honks, then backs up and bumps the Toyota again — lightly, I thought. The van is in its space, and the driver, a pony-tailed middle-age guy of medium stature and build, gets out and walks back to the Toyota, whose driver has finally been stirred to move, though not to back up. Instead, she gets out of the car to inspect the non-existant damage to her front bumper. The van driver is angry and is raising his voice, but I can’t hear any of what he’s saying. The woman gets in the car.

At this point, a passing cyclist enters the scene. He’s about four or five inches taller than the van driver and maybe 25 years younger. I didn’t see how he first became engaged, but he’s shouting and draws attention. “That’s a lady, you piece of shit! A lady!” The intensity of his rage seems unconnected to the events that have just transpired, but he’s seen or heard something that offends him deeply. His tirade about the van driver’s transgressions against “the lady” driving the Toyota quickly escalates. He swings the back end of his bike toward the van driver to back him up, then pushes the bike against the older man, and finally throws the bike down and sort of slap-punches the van driver once, maybe twice. At this point, the van man looks unnerved and is trying to back away, and the cyclist picks up his bike and swings it at the van guy again.

(I should say at this point that none of the dozen or so people near the corner, including me, made a move to intervene. If a full-on beating had gotten started, I would have tried to stop it. But the thought of getting into a dispute with the crazy bike rider made me keep my distance.)

That’s as far as things go. The van driver pulls out his phone and makes a call–undoubtedly to the police. The bike rider tells him that if he doesn’t leave, he’s going to fuck him up. Then the bike rider walks his bike slowly away. The Toyota driver watches what she helped wreak, then pulls out of her piece of curb space and drives away. I don’t wait to see if the police show up.

Most Under-Reported Male Cycling Injuries

1. PowerBar embedded in nostril.   

2. Tiger Balm in shorts=groin burns.

3. Poisoning from accidental ingestion of “GU” (aka sunscreen) grabbed without looking from jersey pocket.

4. Eardrums abraded by blaring car horns.

5. Jangled nerves caused by dodging SUV drivers who couldn’t see you riding lightless at night.   

6. Ego bruising caused by riders older, fatter, more female, more uncool — and faster than you.

7. Posterior bruising from all the younger, fitter, cooler riders kicking your ass.

8. Mortification suffered when realizing the guy with the big gut reflected in the window is you.