What Is Health?

A 32-inch waist, bulging pectorals and arms bicep-pregnant—that was me in 1990. I worked out twice a day—for an hour at noon, lifting weights, and for an hour at night, riding an exercise bike and doing pull-ups. I was in the best shape of my life—better than when playing football or training in the martial arts. I ate the healthiest foods—grilled salmon and tuna, cruciferous vegetables, and fruit for snacks. I took vitamins and herbs. And that year, I got cancer.
Despite my best efforts to be in top physical condition, I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. All the sacrifice—and for what? Stage Four bone lymphoma, and six months to live. Perhaps I should’ve eaten more potato chips…

It wasn’t until I was in the midst of my cancer struggles that I discovered a new—or rather ancient—approach to health. It was the Chinese art of qigong—energy work. The idea is similar to acupuncture: You have meridians and channels of energy coursing through your body that lead to your organ systems. Keep these channels open, and you have optimum health. If blockages occur, illness ensues. Qigong mind/body exercises are designed to keep the channels open.

So I practiced qigong, diligently, and after four bouts of cancer over six years I finally beat it. I continue to practice, and my oncologists admit that it must have been the deciding factor in my recovery, as according to Western medicine, I should have been dead in 1990.

Qigong does many things: It stabilizes blood pressure and slows heart rate, and the deep abdominal breathing supercharges the lymphatic system, which relies on respiration and muscle action to function. It calms the mind, and releases serotonin. It makes you healthy in a way that lifting weights and aerobic exercise cannot. It makes you healthy from the inside out.

So why don’t more people do qigong? Probably because practicing it doesn’t help you lose weight and gain muscle mass. In other words, it doesn’t make you look good—which is the preoccupation of our so-called culture.

I no longer have a slim waist, and I’m not as muscular as I was twenty years ago. Part of that is the aging process, of course, but part is that I’ve learned not to value “six-pack abs” so highly. No one wants to be overweight, of course, but do we have to look like celebrities to value our appearance? And place a value on ourselves?