Newspaper article Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (Pittsburgh, PA)

Livin' Life on on Edge without Minimum Daily Requirement of Water

Newspaper article Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (Pittsburgh, PA)

Livin' Life on on Edge without Minimum Daily Requirement of Water

Article excerpt

Now that the weather has cooled off, maybe it's time to retire that annoying accessory everyone feels compelled to carry all summer. No, not the straw handbag. The water bottle.

I've noticed lately that everyone but me seems to have had a plastic water bottle surgically grafted onto his or her hand, and they exude the same healthier-than-thou arrogance I find so offensive in spandex bicycle shorts.

I know carrying and guzzling water is the right thing to do. I know I am supposed to consume some completely absurd amount of water every day, or risk dire consequences ranging from wrinkles to massive organ failure. I can never keep straight whether I'm supposed to drink eight 6-ounce glasses a day or six 8-ounce glasses, but it doesn't matter. I can't do it. I hate water. It doesn't taste good. It's all ... watery.

I did try. I got all ambitious at the beginning of the year, and made a resolution to become a clean and righteous person inside and out by pouring the required metric tonnage of water down my throat all day, every day. And from the very first day of my new regimen, I came to an important realization about my body: I can't get any work done when I spend the entire day in the ladies' room.

Seriously - if I'm so chronically dehydrated, how come my poor desiccated tis sues let that precious water just run right through? Within minutes! I could carry water longer in my cupped hands than I can in my body. I'm a cracked vase.

So I skip the water and go right to the sugary, carbonated, acidic, chemical-laced, caffeinated canned beverages that I find so refreshing. Yeah, that's right. And I don't always stretch before and after exercise, either, baby. I am livin' on the edge.

You H2O junkies out there will be glad to hear that my dangerous disdain for the bottle did finally catch up with me. In Arizona, where the vaunted "dry heat" will incinerate you to a fine powder before you can say "I miss haze," I went for a short walk around the base of a very large, very red rock outside Sedona, on a path that looked exactly like the surface of Mars. The sun beat down out of a cloudless sky, and the heat index was about 102 because the temperature was 102 and there wasn't enough humidity in the entire state to moisten the back of a stamp. …

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