But whatever you do, come back soon from body to mind. The mind must be exercised both day and night, for it is nourished by moderate labor; and this form of exercise need not be hampered by cold or hot weather, or even by old age. Cultivate that good which improves with the years.
Of course, I do not command you to be always bending over your books and your writing materials; the mind must have a change—but a change of such a kind that it is not unnerved, but merely unbent. Riding in a litter shakes up the body, and does not interfere with study; one may read, dictate, converse, or listen to another; nor does walking prevent any of these things.
People will find their own disciplines to keep their bodies healthy, and I suspect that any number of sensible routines will do the trick, as long they are done regularly and wholeheartedly; the preferences are then in service to the principles.
Groaning and moaning are not required, and there is never any need for putting on an elaborate show. It must also be a natural part of the day, not a burden upon the day.
I noticed how my entire Austrian family seemed to follow a set of morning exercises, a sort of calisthenics, which I imagine they had learned in school. They didn’t take long, but they were clearly an important ritual. I learned the hard way not to interrupt my Uncle Gottfried while he performed them.
I was also taught to enjoy my food, but never to be a glutton. It’s the creeping habits that kill you, they said. You may eat with a bit of recklessness on a holiday, perhaps, but if you do this on every day, you will only bring yourself to grief.
Hence one of my fondest memories, the sacred baking of the Christmas cookies, and the way we rationed them out from Christmas Eve until Epiphany. A true appreciation of quality makes the quantity irrelevant. Eight sticks of butter for that recipe? Yes, but you ate one cookie, and it was something like your first love—what came after felt like a bit of a letdown.
And there’s the thing: always come back to what you know in your mind and heart to be true and good, and all those worries about the body will take care of themselves. Yes, one day that body will start failing, whatever your efforts, and yes, one day it will give out entirely. You have done your duty, and you cared for it as best you could. Did it serve you to be more virtuous? You have then done well.
For my first thirty years, I could keep myself fit and strong by briskly walking most everywhere I went, complete with a bag containing thirty pounds of books, and never taking an elevator when I could rush up and down the stairs. For a time, I bicycled in and out of the city most every day.
Then some things got in the way, or, more precisely, I allowed some things to get in the way. Buying a car destroyed my walking or cycling commute. I began to lean on garbage foods for quick and cheap satisfaction. I drank too much beer in a vain attempt to muzzle the Black Dog. I had never felt physically weak before, but now I did.
As I get older, I see how my mental state is directly responsible for how I cope with my physical state. On a day when our car was in the shop, I decided to walk home from work, a distance of about eight miles, in the Texas heat.
My colleagues thought me insane, and the wife was close to hysterics. You will probably also think that something is wrong with me when I say that it was a painful, as well as deeply satisfying.
It reminded me of a time when I was happy with that one cookie, and I didn’t crave the whole box of cookies. I could now turn back to the power within me, however limited, instead of a noisy engine that spits out filthy fumes while I sit back lazily.
There’s no need to buy the treadmill. Go for a walk, until it hurts a bit. Then, the next day, push yourself some more. Before you know it, the beer belly is gone. Your mind and your will did that, not some prescription drug or a piece of equipment.
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