What's your usual? Maybe a five-mile run in the morning, or a bike ride after work? Perhaps you get some cardio in by stalking the gym during lunch hour looking for a free elliptical.
We all have our routines. And those of us who like to mix in some exercise regularly often develop a set regimen, or at least a preferred context for our exertions. With that in mind I'd like to ask a rhetorical question: When you return from your morning or evening constitutional, when you towel off after your "usual," are you the same person you were when you began? If the answer to that question is "Yes," then let me humbly suggest there is much more to be gained from your endeavors than mere exercise.
It was a small kind of victory. I had just reached a spot in Caspers Wilderness Park referred to as “The Gazebo,” an open-sided wooden ramada that sits on a hill at a trail junction. My overt satisfaction was born of a historical (and, admittedly, probably constitutional) grumpiness over having often hiked three and a half miles - the last mile or so gaining over eight hundred feet in elevation - to get to this lovely location only to find it already occupied.
Can we talk?
in spite of apparent success. The mortality rate among reintroduced individuals is high, and the reasons are varied: lead poisoning (from the bullets in discarded carcasses upon which the condors feed) is still a big problem, and so are trash ingestion, egg-thinning (it will surprise no one that residual DDT is likely the culprit here) and collisions with technology (wind generators and power lines). The article is an eye-opening, cautionary read. It counsels us not to take the current number of "wild" condors (some 230 spread over California, Arizona, Utah and Baja - up from zero in 1987) as evidence that successful