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Monday, April 3, 2017

High Intensity Interval Training Can Defray Ageing │ One in Five Patients Being Treated for High Blood Pressure Do Not Have It

All the signs were there yesterday; and after my younger brother Mark had gone to his bedroom for the night and I had turned off the T.V. and come upstairs here to my computer, the full dissolution commenced.

The sole good of it was that I did not waste too much time; I was in bed by 11:48 p.m.


My first break in sleep resulted in a visit to the bathroom at 2:48 a.m., and a drink of some water. It was almost 6:00 a.m. when I checked the time, wondering on the state of the night. It seemed futile to attempt to derive further sleep ─ it would waste too much of my morning.

I waited perhaps three minutes, and then rose.

My youngest step-son Poté was still in bed, but he was to rise within the hour and leave for work.

My spirit was far too wounded for me to venture forth into the day to run an errand or two like I had hoped I would manage, nor did I feel rested up enough for any such venture. So I put further content into the post I am working on at my Thai-Iceland website, and had a normal day's effort finished soon after 9:00 a.m.

I was too ill-rested to dare any exercise ─ only a nap had any hope of salvaging that much of my day. But I was somewhat hungry, and I knew that I would only feel worse after a nap ─ such is seldom conducive for exercise.

So I buttered up a slice of bread, placed it into a bowl, and plastered a great quantity of natural chunky peanut butter over the top of the bread. Then I washed a couple of stalks of Swiss chard.

And that was my hunger-killer ─ using a spoon to cut off a good-sized bite of the bread laden with butter and peanut butter, I would also bite off a goodly section of the chard, and enjoy them together.

Then having eaten, it was back to bed.

I had a rather enjoyable dream that I will not bother to try and recount; I also had an interesting dream prior to waking and rising this morning. My life is so barren, dreams are something I very much look forward to. I wish that I could vividly recall them, but I cannot.

I have slowly been working out the income tax returns for my wife Jack and I. This morning, I completed the final version of mine. I will likely do the same for Jack this afternoon.

The day turned quite sunny by the afternoon. And without any breeze, it was remarkably warm. I decided to spend some time sitting out in the backyard after changing into a pair of cut-offs and a light sleeveless top.

I had no sooner sat down outside when my wife Jack phoned me. She wanted me to dig out a couple of packages of meat from the fridge icebox. She would be showing up at some point this afternoon from Vancouver.

I obliged her, and returned to the chair I had been sitting in. It was 12:49 p.m. I was to remain seated out there for just over 40 minutes.

It was so pleasantly warm that I could easily have been stripped down into just skimpy shorts, and lying on the sundeck, gotten a start at developing a tan.

I will remember this for the next time we have a sunny day ─ the warm weather has arrived. Unfortunately, though, the rest of the week is supposed to deteriorate where the sunny weather is concerned.

Following the 40 minutes, I visited the small backyard shed and undertook some exercising, and had the best performance that I have had thus far this year.


I have been too involved with exercise over the course of my life to be able to become a total couch potato. I actually wish that I was financially well off so that I could devote myself to achieving whatever might be the pinnacle of physical potential for me.

A recent study has caught much interest because it claims that exercising with a system of high intensity interval training (HIT) can slow the ageing process right down. Here are a few reports on the study:





It should not be necessary to warn that this sort of regimen would easily be disastrous for people unaccustomed to the most vigorous exercise. Even some fit people have too often been shown to have some underlying and unknown weakness that has manifested itself with deadly consequences.

I think this next report on the study was unwarranted, though:


None of the previous reports on the study declared that we all should be out there engaging in HIT ─ the warnings against just anyone attempting such a taxing regimen are clearly there.

However, if we listened to everyone who tried to steer us away from pushing ourselves to the maximum, then there would be no extreme athletes, would there?

Nor would we have such inspiring women such as the Icelandic lovely Sara Sigmundsdóttir whom I just discovered today while compiling material for my Thai-Iceland post early this morning ─ she's a CrossFit competitor.

She looks like a warrior in that photo above, but if you check out this interview from February where she talks about her intention of moving to California so that she can better train, you will be hard-pressed to believe that the sweet young thing being interviewed belongs to the frame in that image above:


I had my blood pressure taken a number of times over the month of February, and on one of those occasions the nurse taking it could not acquire a reading that she felt was correct. She even used two machines for the readings, and still didn't believe that the readings were right.

I don't know what readings she had gotten, but she actually asked me if I was feeling alright?

Well, a recent study here in Canada has found that so many readings by medical professionals are inaccurate that probably 20% of patients currently being treated with high blood pressure medication do not actually have the condition.  

Note these two reports:

Science Daily.com


So if you are taking high blood pressure medication, you ought to follow the advice in that latter report and check into this. Maybe you're okay after all.


It has come to light that more and more seniors are suffering falls than ever before ─ note this headline reporting on a study about this increase:


Supposedly it is all quite a mystery, but I didn't need to read the following report to gain an understanding of what the likely reason is:


The mainstream medical profession can't seem to dish out pharmaceuticals fast and lavishly enough for practically every complaint folks come up with.

I am really pushed for time to get this post completed ─ I have no doubt this is apparent. I apologize.


Well, my wife Jack led me to suspect that she would be here the remainder of the day, and spend the night. However, she suddenly came upstairs towards 6:00 p.m. and hurriedly readied herself, soon leaving with the promise that she would be back tomorrow.

I am going to close out today's post with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting the little unit in a house located on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.
SATURDAY, April 3, 1976

Around 3:30 a.m. I am sure I heard someone at my door making sounds as if a note were being left; the departing footsteps brought David to mind.

I roused for the final time around 5:00 a.m. arising 15 or so minutes later.

I dreamed of being out with Bruce and the gang, beering and pizza eating, to the detriment of my meat diet.

Sometime today I'll be mailing in a $16 tithe plus an order each for a Western and Olympic Lottery ticket.

I worked on a letter to Terri.

At 1:00 p.m. I lied down, to have my rest shockingly interrupted by some knocking that did not last long ─ I assumed because any note David left made it look as if I were certainly out; I heard a male voice, but whether it spoke to me, itself, or a companion, is a mystery.

Thus ended my nap attempt.

I am not finding my diet very satisfying, for I never eat till filled; calories are the factor here, but so is expense.

This early evening my eyes have been burning from strain and lack of sleep; I'm looking forward to retirement.

After dark I mailed my letters, finding David's note; it's a lovely evening, the day having been sunny, and I wish I could have opportunity to walk at this point in the day.

David's note asked of me why Bill & I didn't come over yesterday around noon; I guess Bill promised; David seems to have moved to 330 - 4th St.

I'm bedding at 8:30 p.m.

A short while after 8:00 p.m. Bill came over telling me to prepare for the States, but he had to accept my intent otherwise; so he left rather abruptly.

My complexion is too lousy, apart from my diet.

He said he saw Art today.
As of the 1st of April, I was trying to have a predominantly protein diet, and to exercise with daily regularity.

Philip David Prince was an old friend I had first begun to know back when we both started Grade VIII at Newton Junior High School out in Surrey during the 1962/1963 school term. He had his own room elsewhere in New Westminster.

Another old friend of mine ─ William Alan Gill ─ was also living in New Westminster, perhaps four or so blocks from my room. Bill was renting a bachelor suite.

If David had arranged with Bill at some point that Bill and I would visit David, Bill certainly never let me know of it.

It was my maternal cousin Bruce Halverson who seemed to figure largest in my dream. Apparently I was already imagining there to be roadblocks in my strict diet.

The letter I worked upon was to American pen-pal Terri Martin.

I rarely answered my door. Only a very few people were welcome, and they knew enough to call out to me, and/or use an identifying knock.

Unfortunately for David, despite him being an old friend, he was just too unwelcome a guest. He would hang around tirelessly, and I would be unable to get on with my normal routine, whether of exercising or reading or whatever else. He would also shamelessly feed himself, availing himself of whatever I had that struck his fancy.

When Bill showed up that evening, he would have been involved with either my relatives ─ the Halverson clan ─ or maybe my younger brother Mark and Mark's girlfriend Catherine Jeanette Gunther. Another equally likely scenario was that the lot were involved in partying, and consensus had been reached that it would be nice to drink beer across the line in Washington state.

I suppose that quite apart from my ill complexion, I didn't want the useless calories a load of beer-drinking would bring on. It would also necessitate a late night ─ heck, I mightn't even get back to my room, and have to spend the night at my Aunt Nell Halverson's home.

None of this would have been an encouraging prospect with me, newly involved with this rather stark diet.

It was a former co-worker of mine, Art Smith, that Bill said he had seen. 
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