My mom told me often that I taught myself to read at age 3 by sounding out stuff on cereal boxes, mayonnaise jars, etc. And to this day, I read packaging, ads, tracts…whatever is lying around. She also told me that I was extremely frustrated that I couldn’t get a New York Public Library (NYPL) card until I could write my name, which took another two years after I learned to read. She had to take books out for me on her card. I have no memory of either of these things. But I do remember that I was reading fluently by the beginning of first grade. At age 60, I’m still grateful to my first grade teacher, who sat me in the back of the room with a 4th grade geography textbook while she inflicted Sally, Dick, and Jane on the rest of the class (and I still love geography).

A child reading. Photo by Julia Freeman-Woolpert, freeimages.com
A child reading. Photo by Julia Freeman-Woolpert, freeimages.com

Much later, I met my wife, novelist and poet D. Dina Friedman, at a poetry reading in Greenwich Village

I was skeptical of Mom’s claims about me until we discovered when my son was 2 and some months that he could tell words like wax, fax, and max apart, visually, because my daughter had sat him down and taught him. He was not an early reader but obviously could have been if it had been a priority. He was (and still is at 25) focused on music. We started reading to our kids when they were infants. My daughter, gluten-free/vegetarian gourmet food blogger Alana Horowitz Friedman and her husband are both avid readers, too.

Mom was like that too. Once they lifted the old limit of eight books at a time, she would go to the local NYPL branch every two weeks with a SHOPPING CART, fill it with books, and wheel it the mile back to our house. She had a long commute to Manhattan via express bus and that’s where she did much of her reading.

I’m still a voracious reader. Books have opened up my mind to such incredible richness of thought and emotion. Much of my thinking on everything from nonviolent social change to green business success comes from processing and extrapolating on what I read to come up with something new. The world is a much more interesting place to me because of writers like Dave Dellinger, Gandhi, and Gene Sharp’s writings about nonviolence, and Amory Lovins, Janine Benyus, and William McDonough on the green business side.

But a few years ago, I realized that while I made time in my busy life for nonfiction, I didn’t do enough pleasure reading. I started making sure I read at least five minutes a day of a book that had nothing to do with work.

Of course, five minutes was nowhere near enough if I was into a good book. I found all sorts of nooks and crannies in my day to read. And then I decided to get a lot more exercise. Much of that is on an indoor stationary bicycle: a perfect place to read! Typically, I start my first shift of the day with a poem, then ten minutes of nonfiction and ten minutes of fiction or memoir. If I’m biking 20 minutes, that’s my whole shift. If (more typically) I’m doing 30 minutes, I often spend the remaining 10 checking Facebook from my phone, because I have to make time in my life for social media, too.

With most of it on the exercise bike, I’m actually reading more than 80 books a year!

Some vast number of people never read another book after college. They’re cheating themselves. Make time in your own life for this great pleasure!

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Shel reading at the exercise bike. Photo by D. Dina Friedman

In the fall of 2011, my doctor told me, “you’re on the border for diabetes.” That scared me into action. I’d been aiming for an hour of exercise per day and requiring myself a minimum of 30 minutes (travel days and the very rare sick days excepted). I immediately doubled that. (I also looked at my diet.)

For the next three+ years, I dutifully tracked the number of minutes of exercise I did each day—but I didn’t track the results cumulatively. My pound-shedding had plateaued, and I decided that starting on January 1, 2015, I’d log the minutes each day on that month’s calendar page.

At the end of January, I totaled it up—and was shocked to discover that far too great a percentage were much too close to the one-hour mark. Although I did have 9 days where I exceeded 120 (including two days of 160 minutes) and four days at exactly 120, that meant I failed to make two hours 22 out of 31 days. I had too many with numbers like 63, 65, 75, and even one total bust with only 30 minutes. Tracking over the course of the month made me realize how I was letting myself cheat. My total exercise for January 2015 was only 2277 minutes, with a paltry daily average of 73.45.

But here’s the thing: because I was tracking, I was able to adjust. For the remaining 11 months, I never got less than 3290 minutes (February). Many of them were in the 3600 to 3900 range, and in October, I actually went past 4000. The difference even between 2277 and 3290 is an extra 16.88 hours of exercise between January and February—not too shabby. I ended the year with 42,178 minutes of exercise, or an average of 115.55 minutes a day. If I drop January off the average, it goes to 119.46, or just a whisker under my goal of 120 minutes. Because I was tracking, I ended the year averaging an hour and fifty-five minutes, versus an hour and thirteen in January. That’s a significant increase.

Shel reading at the exercise bike. Photo by D. Dina Friedman
Shel reading at the exercise bike. Photo by D. Dina Friedman

Since I do a lot of my reading (and a lot of my exercise, especially in the winter) on the exercise bike, I decided to also track how many books I read. In 2015, I read 89 books. Some of these were monsters in the 500 or 600-page range. Others were quick and easy Young Adult novels of 100-150 pages. Many were business/environmental/social change books, including at least one a month for my review column. But I read more fiction and memoir, by far. This is an outgrowth of a resolution I made several years ago to do at least five minutes of pleasure reading per day. Once I started using the exercise bike regularly, this was a resolution that was easy to exceed.
The proof? I went back to the doctor this summer, and my blood work was all in the normal range (yay!).

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Hands down, my favorite commercial of the Olympics so far–and in fact my favorite TV commercial of the last several years, in any context–is Nike’s “Find Your Greatness: Jogger” (The full transcript,and the one-minute video, are at that link.)

The entire video is an overweight kid running at the camera, starting quite some distance out. Working hard, but not being fazed.

When I saw it on TV, I thought it was an  60-something overweight man. Looking again, I see it’s a kid. But the message of empowerment is the same.

Especially when the voiceover says (in part),

Somehow we’ve come to believe that greatness is a gift reserved for a chosen few, for prodigies, for superstars, and the rest of us can only stand by watching.

You can forget that.

Greatness is not some rare DNA strand, not some precious thing. Greatness is no more unique to us than breathing.

As a somewhat overweight guy who will be 60 in five years–and who has lost 15 pounds since upping my daily exercise regime from 30 to 60 minutes, to 60 to 120 minutes. The ad resonates with me. And not a lot of ads do.

 

 

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