There are a number of studies that suggest that regular morning exercise has significant health benefits. People who get their sweat on in the early hours boost their metabolism, tend to sleep better, and even have increased mental clarity and attention span.
During the pandemic, and especially since we bought a Peloton bike in August, I've made a regular habit of working out before I start my professional day. Anecdotally, I do believe I'm more alert and in a more positive frame of mind on days I exercise. And I'm almost certainly more fit today than I was before the beginning of the pandemic, despite a noteworthy increase in my alcohol intake.
Recently, though, I've found a different early-day stimulant that makes me sweat and definitely elevates my heart rate, even though I do it sitting down. And like many things over the past 30 years, I blame Dave.
The New York Times crossword is an iconic part of American newspaper history. It's been a daily feature of the Grey Lady since 1950. Editor Will Shortz is a bit of a geek idol, appearing in The Simpsons, How I Met Your Mother, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine among many others.
Sometime in the past few years, the Times published an app that added a small version of the crossword they called the Mini. And some time shortly after that, Dave turned it into a competition.
I first learned of the Mini at last year's OBFT when Dave lamented that zman was routinely the fastest at completing the Mini. Dave can beat his local friends most days, but it's a rare occasion when he tops zman. Then Whitney joined in, and he usually edges Dave, as well.
I resisted, because I'm a reformed hyper-competitive loon. Mostly.
And then, about a month ago, I downloaded the app and started a new form of daily exercise.
The Mini is usually a 5x5 puzzle, except on Saturdays, when the creators stretch their muscles, figuring we've got a little more time on our hands. A really excellent solver can rip through the Mini in under 25 seconds. My best time is 29 seconds, but I'm generally happy when I keep it under 45. And when I beat Dave.
And therein lies the rub. I usually do the Mini first thing when I sit down to my desk to work. Even before I open the app, my heart rate increases along with my stress levels. As I work the puzzle, my pulse hammers in my head. When I'm struggling, which happens on occasion (took me six minutes to finish a few weeks ago because I had complete brainlock), I start to sweat, first at my temples. When I finish, I check the leaderboard.
Which zman typically sits atop, lording down upon us mortals. I've had the best time on a handful of occasions, which is a good way to start the day. Whitney's probably the second-fastest Gheorghie, a fact that I'm certain infuriates Dave, which gives me more pleasure than it should.
Marls started playing along recently, but that dude has a three year-old, so he's forgiven for not getting time to play the Mini every day.
I'd encourage the rest of you to join in, but I think it's actually not all that good for my health. So if you want to play, do it with your eyes open. The NYT Mini is a dangerous thing.
The English FA, BBC, and Prince William have joined forces to make visible an issue that plagues many, yet is still so hard to talk about. From this partnership, a video entitled, 'A Royal Team Talk: Tackling Mental Health', follows. Featuring several noteworthy professional players, including Peter Crouch, Thierry Henry, and Danny Rose, as well as England manager Gareth Southgate, the video juxtaposes the image of successful athletes at the top of their game with the pressures, anxiety, and mental issues that come with so many aspects of modern life. The piece also features four 'regular' blokes who struggle with anxiety and depression. This clip details the meeting of the two groups.
“As a man, it’s almost forbidden to cry.”
Five of the biggest names in football and the Duke of Cambridge open up about mental health
G:TB superfan Squeaky is a musical connoisseur extraordinaire. I don't know if he has more GB of music than Whitney, but he has a shitload of music. So much so that I requested multiple layzman fillers from him. Here's the first.
Mastersystem
What is Mastersystem? It's a supergroup that TJ and everyone else on G:TB has never heard of before.
They are comprised of members from Frightened Rabbit (a few of you have heard them before) [zcomment: I've heard of them, through Squeaky, natch], Editors (you haven't heard of them) and Minor Victories (not a chance). All their music is indie rock/pop slash whatever the kids are calling it these days.
Mastersystem just released an album April 6, 2018.
The single, “Notes On A Life Not Quite Lived”, is below but you can hear the whole record on the streaming service of your choice at this point.
https://youtu.be/v0boT0OsxCE
The music is more on the dirtier, grungier side of indie rock. It has a little harder edge than most Frightened Rabbit stuff but not punk. But the soul-searching lyrics are still present.
As is wont with album releases, the members of the band get interviewed. Below is one such question and response from Scott Hutchison, lead singer of Frightened Rabbit and Mastersystem.
Speaking with Stereogum about the themes behind the record, Hutchison said,
“I thought it would be interesting to play around with the themes of restlessness and dissatisfaction on this album, both as a counterpoint to the exuberance of the music and as an obvious reference to the angst and tension I heard in the grunge and fuzz of my teenage years. This is not the angst of a teenager, however. This is the anxiety of a man in his mid-30s, and for a lot of this record I found myself wrestling with the ways in which I am not quite doing life right, in spite of appearing to lead a relatively joyful, playful and artistic existence.”
Bold emphasis is mine. But if you spent any time listening to Frightened Rabbit you can always hear about his fight with his own ‘demons’ through his lyrics.
Is this album revolutionary? No. Is it a desert island classic? No idea, but doubtful. Just started listening to it today but after a few passes it’s squarely in my musical wheelhouse.
So why mastersystem, why the bolded emphasis, why this post? Well on May 8 Scott walked away from a Glasgow hotel after tweeting the following tweets.
“Be so good to everyone you love. It’s not a given. I’m so annoyed that it’s not. I didn’t live by that standard and it kills me. Please, hug your loved ones.”
“I’m away now. Thanks.”
As a lot of us know firsthand, depression can bring out the worst thoughts and actions. Let’s hope he is safe but it’s not looking too good right now.
Unfortunately we have more information about Hutchinson now than when Squeaky sent me this. Enjoy what I assume is Hutchinson's last album.
It's Very Serious Subject Week here at G:TB, not necessarily by design. After this post, as I've told others, I'm going to take a trip to the Isle of Dipshittery, where I'll reside peacefully for the next several months. But I hope this one resonates for someone who might need it.
I've been writing this post for almost four years, and I've had a hard time deciding whether I even wanted to publish it. It's personal, and it's scary, and it makes me feel vulnerable as hell. But in light of recent events in my little town, and of my admonishment to our community to reach out when we see people in pain, I feel a bit obligated.
The first 39 years of my life were blissfully anxiety-free. Nerves, sure. Ask Whitney about how I couldn't eat before I gave the toast at his rehearsal dinner, pushing my food around my plate for 20 minutes or so. (Nailed the toast, though.) And I worried about normal stuff - bills, and my kids, and the Red Sox. But debilitating, heart-pounding, depths of despair anxiety wasn't in my emotional vocabulary.
Then, in August 2010, I found myself at a conference I didn't want to attend, with a group of people I didn't care to be around. Alone in a Tampa hotel, I had the longest night of my life. My heart raced uncontrollably. I was drenched in sweat. I couldn't shake the notion that I was going to die. And I certainly couldn't sleep.
I made an excuse and took an early flight home, hoping that familiar scenery and the proximity of the people I loved would help. Not really.
The next month is a dulled blur. I took sleeping pills and melatonin to try to get some uninterrupted slumber, but they rarely worked. I fell asleep at the wheel driving to work more than once. Which was better than my commute home, which I spent every day focused on worst-case scenarios, mostly economic, like losing my job, falling into financial ruin, driving my wife and kids away.
I thought about what it would be like for them if I were gone, me with my $1.0m+ in various life insurance policies. To be clear, I never contemplated suicide - just the results. It is exceedingly easy for me to see how people in a similar place could take that next step. I saw no way out, no obvious remedy.
A few months later, just after Thanksgiving, after a two-year battle against cancer and a rapid decline, my father passed away. I felt it was my place as the man of the family now to be strong for my Mom and my sister. I greeted well-wishers and accepted their condolences, and I wrote and delivered a eulogy, and I talked to my kids about their Papa.
One thing I never did was spend time with my own grief. I was too much of a mess.
Had you seen me at that time, you likely wouldn't have known anything was wrong. I managed to handle my professional affairs, though Lord knows I can't tell you how. Perusing my G:TB content over the first few months of 2011 yields nary a clue. That was the era of #3bids4CAA, and our dustup with Mid-Majority's Kyle Whelliston. (In a bit of supreme irony, I later learned that Whelliston himself suffered from depression, so at least a few of the things I said about him cause me some measure of regret.) I withdrew a bit from my friends, but after a couple of beers I could generally find an equilibrium, or at least moderate the racing thoughts. Depressive anxiety is a motherfucker, silent and invisible.
My wife might tell you otherwise. At home, according to her, I was a zombie. I'd come home and retreat into myself, doing the bare minimum necessary to be a parent and husband, and often even less than that.
I confided in a few people, and when I did, it helped. Unburdening myself, opening up, leaning on others reminded me that I wasn't alone, at least for a brief period. It was that realization that put me on the path to recovery. If you take nothing else away from this, take this: the concern and care of others matters, and is a huge bulwark against the loneliness and helplessness that blanket the thoughts of people in the throes of depression and mental illness like a low-lying and persistent fog.
Ultimately, three things made the difference for me: therapy, medication, and time. My wife has a background in counseling, and she helped me understand that talking to a professional was necessary, that being proactive in trying to help myself was in many ways the opposite of weak. My doctor prescribed an anti-anxiety med, which settled me at a time when I was all over the place, even as it dulled my emotional range. And as a few months passed, the combination of those first two supporting scaffolds enabled me to slowly regain my equilibrium. Those, and the continued, never-judging love and support my wife provided.
It's been nearly seven years since I last displayed any anxiety-related symptoms. Now, when I worry about money, or the future, it lasts a few minutes, and there's a whole set of rational arguments I can make to change the subject in my mind. Like anyone, I have good days and bad days, positive moods and shitty, grumpy ones (that hasn't changed much in 47 years), but the reasons are closely tied to the actual events of the day, not to some imbalance in my brain chemistry. As I said earlier, I'm lucky.
I consider myself fortunate in another way, too. I'm a far more compassionate person as it relates to the suffering of others, particularly those dealing with mental illness. I'm a private person. I don't like to talk about myself. But in the past six-plus years, I've found myself more than once telling someone about my experience because I thought it would help them feel less alone in theirs. I'm an advocate for therapy, and for admitting that sometimes other people have answers we don't. I have no idea whether I've helped, but staying silent seems less of an option now.
As Patton Oswalt has famously said in his recent standup special, "It's chaos. Be kind." I've adopted that as a bit of a mantra for myself. It applies in so many ways in our modern world. I've learned that there is no 'normal', and we're all fucked up in our own, unique ways. There is no shame in seeking help, in admitting that you don't know everything. And if you don't need help at some point, you're blessed beyond your own understanding.
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