Landmarks, by Robert Macfarlane, left the kind of impression on me that I’m flippantly tempted to compare with some kind of large-scale geographical feature. He uses language so beautifully that his sentences seem to be able to inhabit space as tangible objects. Of course, the thesis of the entire work is that the loss of words to describe particular features in the natural world is contributing to our diminished relationship with it. Language is a multi-layered contributor to the importance of the work, so it’s entirely appropriate that a writer of Macfarlane’s ilk has written this book.

Embedded in the book is a vast glossary of words that provide much richer descriptions than simply saying “stream” or “cloud” or “rain”.  

The book also contains one of the most important paragraphs I’ve ever read:

“I relish the etymology of our word thing – that sturdy term of designation, that robust everyday indicator of the empirical – whereby in Old English thynge does not only designate a material object, but can also denote ‘a narrative not fully known’, or indicate ‘the unknowability of larger chains of events’.”

“I don’t know” is a phrase I have grown to love, thanks to Piet Viljoen, especially when applied to important things that are supposedly in our field of expertise.

For me, there is a big tie-up between these.

It is in the general context of “thing” that I’m wondering if blood pressure isn’t some kind of vague proxy for the state of my nervous system, or at least of my general wellbeing.

While some of the symptoms are still lingering a little, I have shaken off last week’s cold. Consequently, my daily BP readings are lower, with some kind of ‘new normal’ forming around the 140-ish over 80-ish level. I can link the outliers to deficient sleep (either quality or quantity), which resulted from either physical disturbance (i.e. dogs wanting to be let out during the night), or immoderate consumption of red wine. In other words, factors that impact on the body’s ability to use sleep to restore the effective working of our nervous system

Weather got in the way of Saturday’s cycling, but exercise should get back to normal next week.

The bottom line is that I have a greater degree of certainty around some factors that will cause my BP to spike, but I’m still feeling my way to the changes (if they exist) that will get it low. And keep it there.

An example from a different part of the wellbeing ‘landscape’. Every couple of months, I experience growing tightness in my glutes and general hip area. If I don’t do exercises that will release this tension, I’ll end up with a headache that can last a few days. Taking analgesics will remove the headache, but if I’d taken care of my body in the first place, there wouldn’t have been any need for pills.

Attempting to self-correct myself to lower BP is partially informed by this, as well as the measurable observation that there is a certain amount of variability in daily readings. The implication is that “the unknowability of larger chains of events” is somehow at play in these pathways.

I remain curious.

Current interventions:
– no coffee (replaced with cocoa drink, made with lightly alkalised cocoa)
– moderate (mostly) wine consumption from Wednesday to Saturday only
– health and weather permitting, cycling four times per week, with the inclusion of high intensity intervals
– strength training once per week
– aiming to breath mostly through nose

The Week in Numbers

Sunday
BP: 160/100
Bike: 80 mins, mostly zone 2

Monday
BP: 140/86

Tuesday
BP: 151/87
Bike: One hour, mostly zone 2/3 with a burst in zone 4

Wednesday
BP: 143/84

Thursday
BP: 148/90
Bike: One hour, of which 28 mins in zone 4

Friday
BP: 148/88

Saturday
BP: 148/88
Bike: nil