In case you needed one, the New York Times neatly summarizes the results of a study published in Nature last month:

It’s long been known that cells accumulate flotsam from the wear and tear of everyday living. Broken or misshapen proteins, shreds of cellular membranes, invasive viruses or bacteria, and worn-out, broken-down cellular components, like aged mitochondria, the tiny organelles within cells that produce energy, form a kind of trash heap inside the cell.

In most instances, cells diligently sweep away this debris. They even recycle it for fuel. Through a process with the expressive name of autophagy, or “self-eating,” cells create specialized membranes that engulf junk in the cell’s cytoplasm and carry it to a part of the cell known as the lysosome, where the trash is broken apart and then burned by the cell for energy.

Without this efficient system, cells could become choked with trash and malfunction or die. In recent years, some scientists have begun to suspect that faulty autophagy mechanisms contribute to the development of a range of diseases, including diabetes, muscular dystrophy, Alzheimer’s and cancer. The slowing of autophagy as we reach middle age is also believed to play a role in aging.

Most metabolism researchers think that the process evolved in response to the stress of starvation; cells would round up and consume superfluous bits of themselves to keep the rest of the cell alive. In petri dishes, the rate of autophagy increases when cells are starved or otherwise placed under physiological stress.

Exercise, of course, is physiological stress. But until recently, few researchers had thought to ask whether exercise might somehow affect the amount of autophagy within cells and, if so, whether that mattered to the body as a whole.

After reading this (at 4am, as I was unable to get back to sleep), I had two thoughts:

1. Yup, definitely gotta exercise more, and
2. Those poor mice.

I would make a lousy biology researcher.

I threw my back out in December. I don’t know precisely what i did to achieve that, because my back has been in very good shape for a while now. But I did something and I did something horrible and I was in such pain that I couldn’t sit, stand, lie down, or walk for any length of time. You may note that leaves “hovering in mid-air” and I couldn’t do that either.

The first thing I did when I hurt my back was stop exercising. Which is scary for me because as I’ve said exercise is key to my mental as well as physical health. Someone told me that eating 10 percent fewer calories would keep my mood elevated (possibly relying on this book Eat Your Way To Happiness, I don’t know. (Oh, and apparently calorie restriction improves your memory too. That’s a good factoid to know. I hope I remember it.)

The holidays came and went (urp!) and then Darin and the kids and I went to Hawaii for a week. Yeah, I know, my life is rough. Unlike the last time I was in Hawaii, though, I didn’t run at all. The streets were incredibly narrow (when I say they were two-car-lengths wide, I’m including the shoulder, except on the single-lane bridges) and the sand on the beach so dense and heavy that my foot would sink into it. I just relaxed.

But, I have an image of what I want to accomplish this year, so I was back at the gym today. I told my trainer, “I haven’t exercised in three weeks, and I want to take anything slightly stressful to my back off the table for the time being.” My back has been fine, but why chance it?

We did a modest workout. I know I’m no bodybuilder in training, but man this was a mild workout. Split leg squats with no dumbbells! Straight leg rows at 70 pounds! Not even trying to get to the bicep curls! And I still know I’m going to be mildly sore all over tomorrow.

But this is where I have to start at the moment. There’s no use wishing I could do the workout I was doing in early December — that girl managed to hurt herself bad (I’m pretty sure I hurt my back during my workout). I’m not one of these natural athletes that holds my development indefinitely. I have to start where I am and slowly work back to it.

I just hope I don’t hurt enough to keep me from running. Which somehow is on the schedule for tomorrow, although I can’t quite figure out how.

I’ve kind of let my exercise regiment fall to the wayside over the past month. For one thing, it got really cold — I know, I know, wasn’t I the one who would go running rain or shine, in the heat or in the cold, no matter what? Didn’t I run 1000 miles one year? What happened?

I stopped being so hardcore is what happened.

Since I feel better both mentally and physically when I exercise, I need to get back on the stick. I have my general goals, and then I have my reach-for-the-stars goal.

My exercise goals for 2012:

• Run at minimum 3 days a week.
• Lift weights at minimum 2 days a week.
• Run a marathon in under 5 hours.

Which means, running friends, I want to do another marathon. I did one in September last year and it was total crap: there was a five mile stretch both out and back that basically was a single lane through blond gravel, so it was painful, annoying, and blinding…for ten miles of the 26; they didn’t have enough water/refreshment stations and they weren’t stocked well; it was hot. I didn’t do well for a number of reasons, but one reason is that I need to concentrate more on training to do more than 26 miles. Most training programs for beginners/non-elite runners seem to taper off at 20 miles in the training, and every marathon I completely bonk out at 21 or 22 miles. So I need to work on training runs of 25 to 30 miles. I can’t believe I’m actually typing that out, but there it is!

So: let’s do another marathon! Santa Barbara’s half marathon was great, so I wouldn’t mind going back down there!

I am one of these people that really, really wants to see evidence of the strange, unbelievable, paranormal events. Not because I want to be all James Randi and yell, “Ah HA!” when it doesn’t work. No…I want to see it because I think it’d be really cool.

My friends who say they’ve seen ghosts? I suspect that something else happened during their encounter other than “confrontation with an otherworldly spirit,” but the idea of actually interacting with a ghost is mega-awesome-cool.

(I refer you to Stephen King’s take on The Amityville Horror from the perspective of an adult. As a kid, you’re terrified, you’re watching this and thinking, OMG get out! As an adult, you watch the destruction happening in that house and all you can think is, “How would I explain this to my insurance company?”)

I’ve visited a couple of astrologers who came highly recommended by friends as being amazingly accurate. Like, everything they said came true. One of the astrologers told me I was never going to have kids. That’s how accurate my astrological readings were. I do not know of an astrologer I can recommend to you, sorry.

I visited an acupuncturist for two or three session. I can’t remember what the reason that drove me to an acupuncturist was. Acupuncture is a very strange experience and I actually recommend getting a session once — if I can stand having needles driven into my skin, trust me, you’ll be fine. But nothing happened as a result of the acupuncture.

One friend told me that the first time she meditated she had an extreme religious experience. Another one told me about a vision that was so intense he opened his eyes — and when he closed them again, the vision kept right on going. Me? Every time I’ve meditated I’ve spent most of my time trying to sit still and count my breaths. I’ve still gotten a lot out of meditation…I just haven’t had otherworldly experiences at it.

Which brings me to exercise and why it took me so damn long to realize that yes, exercise was having a profound effect on my life.

I don’t like to exercise. I often describe my exercise routine as “The triumph of determination over genetics, ability, and desire.” If I could have all of the same effects from sitting on a couch eating bonbons as I do from exercise, my butt would be on that couch so fast the bonbons would wonder what had happened. My friend Nina (with whom I ran the Seattle and San Francisco Marathons) looooves to exercise — she exercises for the hell of it. I associate exercise with being made fun of in gym class.

There are lots and lots of genuine physical benefits to exercising. I find weightlifting 1000 times more useful for losing weight and keeping it off than cardio (provided you do weightlifting with a purpose and a plan and not just picking up a few weights here and there). I think having a steady cardio routine does increase my energy during the day overall, although the effect is minimal on a day-to-day basis. In fact, my usual response to the axiom that “Exercise gives you energy!” is “Exercise makes me tired!” Which is does. Right at that moment. Overall, however, I have more energy.

Before I go to the gym I come up with all of the reasons I don’t want to go: “I don’t wanna.” “I’m busy.” “What’s the point?” I have to bargain with myself: “Just do one set of each exercise and you can go.” Once I get there, I do my full workout. Afterward, no matter how the workout went, I feel better. I definitely feel like a happier and more positive person than I did before I went to the gym. Somehow, however, my brain can’t figure out that going to the gym is a net-positive, and almost every time I’m going to the gym I have to go through that bargaining session.

I do it, though. I have to exercise. I’ve discovered I have no choice. Not just the physical effects. Not just the reminder to keep my body in good shape. No, it has incredibly profound and noticeable effects on my mood and my mind.

On days when I have a huge run of 15 miles or more I’m far more likely to be napping in the afternoon than saying, “C’mon, kids, let’s put on a show!” But if I don’t exercise regularly, I nap every afternoon.

This was actually a problem when the kids were little and I didn’t exercise much. I would lay on the couch, unable to stay awake, and they would watch Dora the Explorer or whatever. When the show was over, Sophia would poke me and I would wake up long enough to put on a new episode for them. I haven’t spent an afternoon like that in, literally, years.

The biggest and most repeatable effect that exercise has given me is that it has completely changed my brain chemistry. If I exercise regularly, I am happy and productive. If I don’t exercise, I am depressed and weepy.

There’s a one-to-one correlation on this.

Exercise: wake up every day and go about my day.

Don’t exercise: wake up and think, Enh, I’ll go back to bed. And really feel a complete lack of hope in my day, despite absolutely nothing have happened that might cause that.

So there isn’t a question of whether I’m going to exercise. It’s like brushing my teeth at this point: I have to do it. This effect is probably why I’ve only had the runner’s high once or twice with all of the running I’ve done — the endorphins are spending the rest of their time lifting my mood out of the dirt. They don’t have time to give me a real zing.

I discovered this, by the way, because I used to take anti-depressants. The more I kept exercising, the better my mood was getting…yet I’d continually forgotten to take the pills. Eventually I said, “Apparently I’ve gone cold turkey without meaning to, so I’m going to stop taking these altogether, ‘kay?”

It’s hard when I throw my back out or when I travel, particularly to cold climates. Generally the longest I can go is a week before I get a wave of melancholy, and that’s enough to make me say, “Okay, gotta go for three.” I don’t think I have to exercise a lot to achieve this effect — maybe three days a week is good enough.

The rest of the time, the exercise is to keep my body in shape. Yeah, there’s no getting away from that angle, I’m afraid.

*

Oh! I forgot the one “offbeat” experience I tried that really did work for me: chiropractic. I’ve seen a couple of chiropractors over the years — I have a herniated disk in my lower lumbar — and I’d say the sum total of benefit received was about zero. Chiropractic really ranked around the level of astrology for me. I was about ready to get a prescription for medical marijuana to deal with the pain and have I ever mentioned to you what I think of cannabis? (If you enjoy it, godspeed. I’m one of the people who it affects very, very badly.)

A few years ago I threw my back out and my trainer at the gym told me to go see his chiropractor. I really didn’t want to. What was the point, really?

Then the pain got worse and if you’ve had really bad, chronic pain, you know you’ll try anything, even if you suspect it’s probably quackery.

I went to see my trainer’s chiro and in one visit, he reduced my pain about ninety percent. In the morning I couldn’t stand, sit, or lie down comfortably, and in the afternoon I could.I didn’t have to wonder, “Is this effective? Kind of? Sort of?” After the next few visits, my pain was entirely gone.

His name is Armen Agacanyan and he is amazing. He used to have an office near Santana Row, but now he’s moved to having his office solely in Morgan Hill. I don’t care. Driving down there is completely worth it.

I mentioned recently that my hair has been endlessly awesome of late—I basically never have a bad hair day any more. The reason I’m not posting pictures is that this does not necessarily apply to my stunning good looks, unfortunately. (I want to get some nice portraits of me taken, which means “not via the cam in my MacBook Pro,” which is how I have been doing it.) A few people have asked me HOW I have managed to get such amazingly awesome hair.

The simple answer: The Curly Girl method.

I have had decades of hating my hair. From my mother pulling it unmercifully when combing it out to the other girls at school asking (yes, literally), “Did you stick your finger in a light socket?” to the heartbreak of split ends, I loathed my hair. When I was 10 or 11 I actually cut my hair off because I was so tired of being made fun of for having frizzy hair. The only time it behaved was when I put it up in a ponytail or tight braids. I never had long hair because long, frizzy hair is basically a one-way trip to Roseanne Roseannadanna-ville. To grow my hair one inch vertically requires about two inches of actual hair.

Since I’ve gone all-in on Curly Girl, I think my hair has grown 5 inches and it’s past my shoulders now. It’s shinier, bouncier, and, yes, curlier than ever. I’ve even gotten a bonus side effect I wasn’t expecting, but which I’m absolutely sure is a result of my new hair care regimen. (I’ll put it at the end of this blog post, under the TMI section.)

You can read all about the Curly Girl method in Curly Girl: The Handbook by Lorraine Massey. You can also read more than you can believe on the method and the products you should use at NaturallyCurly.com (note: I’ve got nothing to do with that site, I’m just a satisfied customer). And here’s another pretty good page on how to get started with the Curly Girl method from WikiHow.

Here’s the basics to get you started.

I ran another marathon yesterday. Once again, I ran it with Nina.

We finished. I have photographic proof.

That’s about the most cogent thing I have to say about the San Francisco Marathon right now. Perhaps the Wall Street Journal can speak more effectively?

The Race Even Marathoners Fear

Every year, marathons in New York and Chicago draw some 40,000 participants each.

But not the San Francisco Marathon. The race, which takes place July 25, attracted fewer than 7,000 runners last year, and open slots for the upcoming event remain plentiful. The reason: San Francisco’s famous hills, which draw tourists from around the world, are a bear for runners to traverse. “To put it tactfully, this course is not for the casual runner,” says Jenny Schmitt, spokeswoman for the San Francisco Marathon.

The San Francisco Marathon’s low profile frustrates its fans. This year, the race’s organizers have hired new publicists to try to raise its profile. Many runners loath to do the full race have been drawn to a half-marathon option added about a decade ago, and more recently a second half-marathon alternative route has been put in place.

Going the whole distance in San Francisco has put off some first-time marathoners who don’t want to risk falling short of the finish line. And many seasoned runners don’t want to waste their energies on a race that offers no hope of setting a personal record.

Personal record? PERSONAL RECORD? I took up belief in a spiritual being so I could pray to someone to put me out of my misery. We finished with a time of 5:40, or 40 minutes longer than we did Seattle. I suspected I hadn’t trained enough for this, and wow, did this marathon prove me right.

At mile 21 or 22 (when the women running next to us were cracking me up by thanking every cop and every Hell’s Angel—noIamtotallynotkidding—who were in charge of stopping traffic to let us run by with “Thank you! You rock! I love you!”), we came to a short but definite downhill and I said to Nina, “You know you’re in a bad spot when running downhill doesn’t feel good.”

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a gorgeous marathon. You go through many, many, many beautiful and scenic areas of San Francisco, including an out-and-back across the Golden Gate Bridge. You go through Fisherman’s Wharf. You make a large loop around AT&T Park. It’s really some excellent sightseeing.

We actually did the first half (around the Embarcadero, across the bridge, then up through Sea Cliff and over to Golden Gate Park) in two and a half hours, which was exactly our pace for the Seattle marathon. We had really high hopes for doing San Francisco with much the same time.

Then we ran west through Golden Gate Park, followed by east through Golden Gate Park, and I kid you not: it was uphill both ways. By the time we made it out of the Park and into the Haight-Ashbury, I was done for.

Most popular line Nina and I used during the race: “This is the last hill! I’m absolutely sure of it!”

I’m completely sore today (even hobbling a little bit), in a way I wasn’t after our 20 mile run a few weeks ago or even the Seattle Marathon, so I’m guessing it was the hills. I have to do a lot more hill training. Let’s put it this way: I’ve been telling myself I need to do more hill training, and now I just had the school bully slap me across the face a few times with a loud “HA HA.” I’m not feeling as psyched about running as I have in the past: I’m actually suffering post-race blues.

Nina says we have to run another marathon or we’ll never run a long race again. I don’t think today is the day to decide about that.