Then I found this statement, attributed to Christine Lewis, director of the division of technical evaluation in the FDA’s Office of Food Labeling: “They’re not recommended intakes. They’re really just reference points to help people get some kind of perspective on what their overall daily dietary needs should be.”

Wow. Okay. This despite the fact that the R in both RDA and RDI stands for—guess what?—”Recommended.” So once I battle my way through the aforementioned DVs, DRIs. RDIs, RDAs, EARs, AIs, ULs, SONAs and what-have-you’s, I’ll know precisely…nothing. Good to know.

Check, please.

Grrr. But, again, I do have to start somewhere, so here goes. I try to keep in mind that this whole system of, I guess I should say suggested nutrient intake levels began during World War II, when the government was trying to figure out how little nutrition people could get away with and not drop dead or exhibit symptoms associated with diseases (rickets, scurvy, etc.) caused by nutrient deficiencies. Food availability was one of the factors considered when the first RDAs were created. The folks who came up with those recommendations apparently did so by adding 20% to the minimums.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t define health as the absence of visible disease. I also have more food available to me than anyone in the 1940s could have dreamed possible. And while it’s true that the government’s non-recommended recommendations have grown more sophisticated over time, even the government disclaims responsibility for recommending them. Perhaps this is why the latest incarnation—the DRI—is referred to as the Daily Reference Intake.

I also keep in mind that, at a 2007 Institute of Medicine workshop on DRIs, a number of presenters pointed out the fact that the RDIs are largely based on low-quality evidence, rather than on clinical trials.

Alrighty then. Here we go…

More squeaks, no surprise; at least it’s coming from The Machine and not me. Middle aged people squeak, don’t they? If not, their knees creak now and again. Don’t ask me how I know. But, hey—Hollywood’s most admired stars are pretty much all middle aged, right? Well, the guys anyway. And a lot of the women look better in middle age, too. So there.

But what was I writing about? Oh; exercise. Right. Twelve minutes, 60 RPM. Not bad for a middle aged guy who just started working out.

Punk. Go check in the back. You’re out of my yogurt.

__
Stat tally:

BASE:

246.9 (weight on waking)
73 (pulse, resting)
118/74 (blood pressure)

WORKOUT:

12:00 @ 60.41 RPM (avg)
180* (pulse, after cardio)
110.6 (calories burned on machine)
1,450 (strides)

__________

Well, it’s said that the scariest words in the English language are these: “I’m from the government, and I’m here to help.” After delving into this subject, I think it safe to say that the above aphorism works just as well (if not better) when the word “scariest” is replaced with “most confusing.”

I start with the DV or Daily Values, for the simple and I feel quite rational reason that the way I’m going to track my daily nutrient intake is by checking the labels on everything I eat—and those labels state nutrient content as a percentage of DV. (The unlabeled foods I’ll have to look up, and I’m guessing there will be more of these over time.)

Since the FDA’s in charge of all this, my first stop is an FDA page entitled How to Understand and Use the Nutrition Facts Label. I’m guessing someone in the Obfuscation Department slipped up, because this page actually does a pretty bang-up job of explaining how to read those little nutrition information tables found on most foods. I am pleasantly surprised.

I do, however, have a few issues. One of these is that the DV on all food labels is based on a 2,000 calorie diet, which means all of the figures are going to be off—sometimes way off—for a whole lot of people. Like, for instance, me.

Punching my stats into the (very hard to find) Interactive DRI For Healthcare Professionals calculator tells me I require 3,325 calories a day, presumably to stay where I am now. Which means that handy-dandy food label DV % is, for me, off on the low side by almost 70%. Not good.

What, you may ask, is a DRI? It’s what the DV is based on, of course, along with the RDI. And this is where the government people come into their own. The DV is based on the RDI or the RDA, and the RDI (if I’m following this; it ain’t easy) includes the EAR, the RDA, the AI, and the UL. There’s also a SONA.

Confused much? Not to worry; many argue (fairly convincingly) that it’s all fairly useless—or, at best, inadequate—anyway. So I may not have to learn all this.

More to come in Nutrition Mission: Part 02. And note, if you would, my foresighted use of “02″ instead of “2″—just in case this nutritional decryption effort should run to 10 or more parts.

I hope it won’t—but as there’s heavy government involvement in this area, there’s no way to know…

Not that I’ll let this get in the way of my workout. I tool along at about 60 RPM, wondering idly (or perhaps not so idly) just how high I’ll wind up cranking this baby before using the still-untried resistance and incline functions. Do I just keep cranking faster and shorter (timewise)—or would I be better off cutting back on the pace, but going longer? Does it make a difference and, if so, what kind of difference?

I toy with the idea of creating some sort of intensity index that will allow me to compare my more recent shorter-faster sessions with the longer-slower ones I used to have. Some calculation involving workout duration and RPM. Or would I be better off monitoring my heart rate in real time over the course of each workout?

These are questions I’m willing to get to the bottom of—after I finish this 13-minute, near-60 RPM workout and give the repair guy another call.

squeak-SQUEAK-squeak-SQUEAK-squeak-SQUEAK-squeak…

__
Stat tally:

BASE:

245.3 (weight on waking)
73 (pulse, resting)
116/74 (blood pressure)

WORKOUT:

13:00 @ 58.76 RPM (avg)
180* (pulse, after cardio)
130.2 (calories burned on machine)
1,528 (strides)

__________

Trader Joe’s could only have started in California, though it’s since spread over 9 states. The atmosphere is funky and the food a big step up from any supermarket I’ve ever seen. The selection isn’t humongous, but a lot of what they have is really, really good.

The organic free range chicken, done slowly on the barbeque with a bit of thyme, is leagues beyond supermarket chickens, which seem tasteless by comparison. There are a surprising number of cheeses, and also Charles Shaw wine, which I’m told is rather good yet costs a mere $2.00 (hence its nickname: “Two-Buck Chuck”).

Most of the items here are very reasonably priced, making TJ’s seem a good place for the health- and budget-conscious shopper. The produce section, though, is rather small; I’ve visited about a dozen stores so far, and this is true of all. Speaking of which, the stores’ sizes and layouts (and parking) vary considerably—so if one doesn;t suit your fancy, try another.

Next up: Whole Foods. What can one say? This national chain is the antithesis of the common supermarket. I happen to walk into the flagship store in Tarzana (Los Angeles), which is simply awesome. Lots of real food here, literal tons of produce—much of it organic, some of it local—and a staggering variety of edible choices. I could pitch a tent and live here, I think.

Organic meats, fresh fish, scores of cheeses, dozens of yogurts; the place is a a marvel. Suppliers range from folks in New Zealand to the restaurant across the street, which makes and delivers fresh hummus daily. There’s wine here, too—a wine bar as well—but I get the sense they won’t be selling Two-Buck Chuck any time soon. I try the best (and most expensive) packaged turkey breast I’ve ever had (organic, antibiotic-free, etc.), and find a (growth hormone-free) yogurt I adore.

Real food really does taste better. Wow.

Prices here are considerably higher than what I’m used to seeing—but then again, I’m not used to seeing food of this quality. And as Michael Pollan points out, Americans are willing to pay a premium for quality in other areas—so why not food? Standing in this 30,000 square foot wonderland of goodness, it’s hard to disagree. The other stores I visit are smaller, but still sizable. Brands carried can vary, though; I’ve yet to see the yogurt I like in any of the other stores.

Both Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s have an interesting policy designed to encourage customers to try new things: if you don’t like the food, you can bring it back for exchange or refund. Not because there’s anything wrong with it, mind you—but simply because you don’t like it. Works for me; I’ll be trying all kinds of new things.

To some extent it must, because I feel a different burn coming on fast. My posture is suddenly very different, as if I’m skiing downhill while ducking to avoid low-hanging branches. It’s a strain to backpedal for a mere 30 seconds. I slow to a stop, then start forward again. To my surprise, I now seem to have more “go” than I did a moment earlier.

I roll for another 2 minutes, which I’m sure I could not have done had I just kept pedaling forward. My theory is this: backpedaling gives the muscles I use to go forward a bit of a break, allowing them to rest and recover just enough to give me (in this case) an extra 2 minutes. Nothing else seems to make sense.

I’ll have to check this out.

__
Stat tally:

BASE:

245.5 (weight on waking)
70 (pulse, resting)
112/74 (blood pressure)

WORKOUT:

15:00 @ 59.66 RPM (avg)
180* (pulse, after cardio)
149.3 (calories burned on machine)
1,790 (strides)

__________

How did the apple—a native of Kurdistan—establish itself across the globe? Or the lowly potato, which started in South America? Marijuana, a central Asian native, is everywhere; the more governments try to kill it, the stronger it becomes (in more ways than one). The tulip was at one point so madly desired that a single diseased plant sold for the modern equivalent of $15 million dollars, and the speculative tulip market had a value six times that of the host nation’s economy—which swiftly imploded when the tulip “bubble” collapsed.

Once upon a time, plants were largely local, their range limited by the distance their roots or fallen seeds could travel. Angiosperms—plants with flowers and fruits—changed all that by appealing to more mobile creatures. Bees came for the nectar, and spread pollen from one plant to another. Larger creatures ate the fruits, ingesting their seeds and excreting them miles away (along with a nice pile of fertilizer). People deliberately collected and planted the seeds of desirable plants, often half a world from where they found them.

And so, ultimately, plants offer us a bargain: eat us, but take us with you. They attract us with taste, beauty, the promise of altered consciousness—and we accept the deal. Some, like the apple, have developed sweet fruit and bitter seeds, so we eat the fruit as we go, and discard the seeds. Apples thrive in nearly all climates because each apple contains an unpredictable mix of seeds, each of which is likely to produce a tree whose fruit bears very little resemblance to the parent tree.

In this way, any given apple’s seeds are capable of giving rise to trees able to survive in soil and climates that might well have killed the parent tree. It’s the opposite of specialization: apples can live almost anywhere. They’re survivors. There are, in fact, over 5,000 varieties of apples, with a wide variety of tastes. And yet a mere 4 varieties account for some 80% of all US apple sales.

Those are the varieties with producer-friendly qualities and a sweet taste. They dominate because the are grown from cuttings grafted onto other apple trees, making them, essentially, clones. This is how you get ten million apples that all taste the same—in a sense, they’re all the same apple. Bred for one thing: “sweetness without dimension.”

According to Pollan, something has been lost in the translation from 5.000+ varieties to 4. After my experience with the peach tree in my yard (and my disappointment with the store-bought variety), I believe him. I want to experience what’s been lost. I want to taste those other apples. Where are they, and what do they taste like? And who decided that my experience of appleness would be confined to 1/1000th of what’s really out there?

Well, the industrial food system. They want apples that are pesticide-resistant, handling- and transport-resistant, long-lasting (which probably means picked unripe and then (literally) gassed to simulate ripeness), attractively colored, very large, and as sweet as possible.

I just want an apple that tastes fabulous, and is good for me. Which means I really don’t want an apple bred for pesticide-resistance, tough flesh, unnaturally long shelf-life, artificially-induced ripeness, or sweetness to the exclusion of all else. Nor do I particularly care how big it is, or what color the skin turned out to be. Which makes me realize something.

My priorities have little if anything in common with the priorities of the people who brought this food to me. And that’s as true of potatoes as it is of apples. The potatoes we know in this country are basically grown to specifications provided by the nation’s fast food franchises—because they buy most of them, and turn them into French fries. And while I like a great French fry as much as the next guy, when I want a potato I want a potato—not something that was created to make a good French fry.

Just as 4 kinds of apples account for 80% of all apple sales (something like 20 varieties account for nearly 100% of sales), the potatoes I’ve come to know are a tiny, tiny fraction of what’s out there.

After reading Pollan’s book, and viewing the dvd (which is significantly different; I recommend both), I am in full-revolt mode. I feel cheated. Like Neo in The Matrix, I realize that my experience of the world and the actual, real world are not the same. But in this case, the real world of real food is better than the fake and managed world that has imprisoned my tastebuds and my health.

The same, incidentally, goes for flowers. The reason cut flowers have barely any scent at all is that they’ve been bred (by what one might call the industrial flower system) for other things—pesticide resistance, handling and travel resistance, and so on. Scent has taken a distant back seat.

I want real food. Real flowers, too, come to think of it. And I shall have them.

Stay tuned.

I run in circles for 16 minutes today, again cranking near that 60 RPM average. It just feels like the right pace now, though I think if I’d tried this a month ago I would have stroked out. My heartbeat also seems to recover—that is, return to normal—more swiftly now than it did before. It’s all good.

Except the squeak, which is back.

__
Stat tally:

BASE:

247.3 (weight on waking)
73 (pulse, resting)
117/78 (blood pressure)

WORKOUT:

16:00 @ 59.12 RPM (avg)
180* (pulse, after cardio)
160.4 (calories burned on machine)
1,892 (strides)

__________

I actually have to go out and buy one. While doing so, I realize that these organic store-bought peaches are not the peaches I’ve come to know and love. They’re huge, of course, but also rather hard, with largely stunted, buzzcut fuzz. More like a peach crossed with Marine Corps apple, really.

I recall as I fondle it what Michael Pollan pointed out in the Botany of Desire documentary (review coming soon): the demands of commercial agriculture have fundamentally altered the foods we eat. Even here, in the organic produce aisle, I hold a peach that has obviously been bred for size (eye appeal), short hair (ease of cleaning), toughness (withstands shipping), and who knows what else. None of which have anything to do with what I (as opposed to the food-production-and-delivery chain) desire: great taste and nutritional value.

In fact, this store-bought peach tastes different from my tree-picked peaches—not as good. The peach has become a product—more product, perhaps, than peach. Though I must concede that the peaches on my tree would never survive shipping. The mere act of taking them off the tree often bruises them. Bounce them down a conveyor into a box with a hundred other peaches, rattle them around in a truck, and they’d be mush long before they reached the local produce department.

Still, we can’t all have peach trees in our front yards. Perhaps some compromise is necessary to bring peaches to the masses—or is it? Must the peachness of the peach be sacrificed to deliver even the semblance of a peach to the consumer?

And what of other “real” foods? Do I even know what they taste like—or are the (admittedly few) fruits and veggies I’ve known all my life the equivalent of the Marine Corps peach I had today? And if so, short of having all of these things growing in my back yard—how do I find out?

I sense a new road stretching out before me—a journey of discovery, or rediscovery. A journey to real food.

I try to find a comfortable pace without sneaking any looks at the RPM display. But, as Jack says to Tess in Working Girl: I may have peeked. I don’t remember. I wind up close on the heels of yesterday’s pace. The ratty headband kind of fell apart on me, but I find that tilting the tower fan against the wall and dialing it up to max vaporizes most of the sweat from my face, cooling me a bit in the bargain.

__
Stat tally:

BASE:

246.1 (weight on waking)
70 (pulse, resting)
114/74 (blood pressure)

WORKOUT:

13:00 @ 58.53 RPM (avg)
180* (pulse, after cardio)
126.8 (calories burned on machine)
1,522 (strides)

__________