I've been on the road for a few weeks, traveling around the country to meet with doctors, patients, advocacy groups and community centers.  My travels have taken me to Denver, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Sacramento and, later this week, Orlando.

It wasn't easy packing for two-and-a-half weeks, especially since I only own (apparently) 12 pairs of underwear (I recently over-purged that drawer).  So now I'm left looking for a laundro-mat in Nobb Hill, San Francisco.  Weird, but true.

What's weirder is that, despite all the travel, I'm not in any great discomfort.  Usually when I sleep away or travel for more than three days I begin to feel the wear-and-tear in my body (from the bad pillows to the nasty spring mattresses).  I've done a decent job eating (sort of) healthy food, working out (on occasion ... yeah, right) and getting as much sleep as possible.

So while we're "holding hands with America," I am conscious to put my health first, wash my hands often, stretch at every opportunity, and not eat crap.  Sounds like the making of a travel book ...

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The last few weeks have been especially rough.  There was one day, in particular, during which the world seemed to be closing in on me:  I couldn't get from point A to B without above average amounts of pain.  I couldn't open jars, write for more than a few minutes at a time, or lock my finicky door.

It certainly doesn't help that the locksmith who installed the lock on my door must have been an ex-convict because he jerry-rigged this thing to be so difficult to lock/unlock that it takes five minutes every time to get the damn key to work.  I guess it's better to be safe then sorry ...

That said, I wasn't going to allow a little bit (OK, a lot) of pain stand in the way of an overbooked social schedule, with parties, dinners and celebrations to attend every day of the week.  The world kicked back into overdrive after the lull of the holidays.

As the week progressed, my limp became more pronounced.  By Friday I was outside of a club, approaching the doorman, and he said, "A man with swagger like that must be important."  It made my day!  I smiled and thanked him, and proceeded downstairs (slowly) but felt as though my pain was not for nothing after a shout out from a giant bouncer like that.

There are worse things in this world, I suppose.

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These have been some Hot August Nights (as the great Neil Diamond once said).  The weather in the New York area has been absolutely brutal -- hot and sticky with a very unstable atmosphere.  This has taken a toll on my body, and I'm ready for the fall.

Or for a fall, whichever comes first.

Part of the problem with humidity is the sweat factor.  No matter what you do -- whether you're in the sun or the shade -- your body sweats like a leaky faucet.  This is uncomfortable on the surface but, for me, the discomfort runs much deeper.

These Hot August Nights have given me headaches, made my joints stiff and achy, and put me in a bad mood.  And I'm not the only one -- over 8 million New Yorkers were pacing the streets, cranky as can be, these past few weeks.

Far be it for me to complain about the heat when there are so many other worthwhile things to complain about.  But sometimes you just need to vent.

I am stoked for the morning I wake up chilly, needing to bundle up in a sweater and scarf (just in case).

Call me crazy.  Actually, just call me arthritic.

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Nothing is worse than when both of your ankles swell up.  I'd rather my knees or hips or back or hands or any other joint to stop working.  The ankles, for some reason (well, I know the reason), really get to me.

This morning I woke up, and before I opened my eyes I knew that it would be a tough day.  Down at the foot of the bed were two very achy ankles.  I knew that eventually I'd suffer the consequences of playing softball with senior citizens, and this morning was the world redeeming its "I told you so."  If I hadn't hit a huge triple, threw the bat down, and ran like I was chased by the Boogie Man, I'd probably be walking today.

Instead, I am hobbling around in great agony, taking with me the feeling of sweet, sweet victory last night.

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This past weekend was a very interesting one for me.  I opened my mind and, as a result, hooked up my body.

Yoga has never been something I'd consider a hobby (or even an interest) of mine.  Probably because, in college all those years ago, I signed up for a class just to follow a girl on whom I had a crush.

Needless to say, that didn't end well (on any front) and left a really sour taste in my mouth for yoga.

It might have been the attitude (a good one), the clean country air, summer sun or all of the above which conspired to make my first (technically second) yoga experience a really great one.  Alignment, happiness and clarity came together at once to make me feel better -- on the spot.

Seriously, what the heck is this all about?  I am definitely on to something here, there is much more to come.

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