‘Do you want to live longer?” asked the enticing headline and I quickly read the report, because one can always use a couple more years.
“The key is exercise,” it said. “Even a brisk walk for 30 minutes every day will add to your years.”
“Been there, done that,” I told myself. I had bought a fancy pair of trainers that were electric green in colour and made me look like Kermit the Frog with thin legs, or someone who had stepped into sludge that accumulates whenever a water pipe bursts in my neighbourhood and creates a living pond of algae and other nasty outdoor creatures.
To give me company, so that I would not be walking alone, my wife bought herself a pair of pink sneakers that looked like cupcakes you buy from cupcake stores. When we stepped out of our apartment building, wearing our new running shoes, they were too much of a distraction to motorists, so we stopped walking together after a couple of weeks.
I also had something called a “wearable” — a watch given to me by my former colleagues who had lovingly pitched in money and gave it to some dolt in the group to choose the gift. (Incidentally, I tried palming off the watch to my sons, but both did not want it).
Unfortunately, the ankle strap that held the pod that had the GPS linked to my wearable broke and I lost the pod. So now I no longer know how long I walk and what my heartbeat rate is and how many calories I have melted away.
“This is crazy,” said my wife as the temperatures climbed to the high 40s even in the evenings and the humidity made her hair frizzy. “Who wants to live longer like this?” she said and stopped walking. “Women anyway live longer than men,” she said with a smirk.
“Too hot for you? Why not join the Mall Walkers,” said the sign in the hypermarket. I knew there was a breed of urbanised human beings called mall crawlers, but had never heard of mall walkers. One Wednesday, I found out this was a special species of expats that wore tights, did not window shop and never sweated.
“Look sharp,” said the coach. “The mall is full of dawdlers, so we have to make our own space and our own speed,” he said, as we walked swiftly past a startled pair of elderly shoppers who were obviously parents of a Dubai expat couple who had invited them to take a leisurely walk in the malls.
Then I found that walking was not enough to live a long life. “Leave a little food behind on your plate, the less calories you consume, the more years you will add to your life,” said the article, quoting a nutritionist, and that horrified me.
“Don’t leave food on your plate, you know who will be upset,” my mother would say pointing to the ceiling. Worried that the fan would fall on my head I would always wipe my plate clean, and now I was being told to leave food behind.
Then I read that it is not just enough to eat less, exercise, stop smoking, stop consuming beverages, not be lonely, and also to not watch TV. Every hour on the couch watching TV cuts your lifespan by 22 minutes, according to experts. But I had just subscribed to Netflix and wondered what then will be left of life, to enjoy life.
Then I remembered Abraham Lincoln’s wise words: “In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but it perfectly summed up things.
Mahmood Saberi is a freelance journalist based in Dubai. You can follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/ mahmood_saberi.