8 Health Benefits From Having More of Them

“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise” – Benjamin Franklin

“One key to success is to have lunch at the time of day most people have breakfast.” – Robert Brault

There are many famous quotes by famous and influential people about rising early in the morning.  But is there any strength to these quotes? This article talks about 8 benefits of being an early riser.

Early mornings for some can be a drag, and let’s be honest here, there will always be morning’s especially when it’s dark outside that all you will want to do is pull the covers over your head for an extra 5 minutes.

With so many benefits to waking up early, from enhancing your productivity in school or work, to being better able to stick to a diet plan to having more energy levels and better mood, it’s easy to see why many famous people swear by it attributing to their success, Richard Branson for example says he wakes at 5 am each morning.

Knowing this it is hard not to adopt this way of life to your daily routine. So let’s talk about some of these benefits and how to become an early riser.

1. Positive Outlook

According to studies early risers often tend to go to bed early as well, which means they are more likely to get the 7-9 hours recommended sleep for adults.

Sleeping the full amount regularly is said to help lead towards a healthier body and mind,  which in turn has its own benefits, so it is easy to see why early risers may be less stressed and have more positivity in their lives.

2. More Energy

More rest equals more energy, plain and simple . If you get into the routine of rising early and retiring to bed early you are more likely to have a better sleeping pattern which leads to being more energetic throughout the day, helping you accomplish your goals and tasks in a faster and more productive manner.

3. Body System Reboot

Regular sleep is important for your general health.  Not only does a full night sleep help to drop your blood pressure, helps your muscles to relax and repair, your breathing to slow and your body temperature to drop, but studies show that T-cells, which are the white blood cells that help to fight infection, tend to drop when you get a full night’s sleep. This is your immune system rebooting itself while you rest.

4. More Time to Exercise

After a busy day’s work, you can be both mentally and physically exhausted and the last thing you want to do is head to the gym or go out for a run. You make promises to yourself you’ll go tomorrow, only to have the same thing happen.  Early risers have the benefit of being able to fit their workout in, before the madness of the day takes over. This also helps to kickstart the body and mind which will energize you for the day.

5. Become more Organized

Sometimes the saying “Not enough hours in the day” springs to mind.

We fall asleep thinking about all the things we are going to get done the following day, whether that be at work or at home, or both. Then something throws us off, we sleep in, forgot something on the way to work, or get delayed in traffic and our day seems to spiral after that.

Being an early riser means you can get a head start on the day and helps to kickstart your day off to a good start.

By planning and laying out some goals and tasks to accomplish the previous day can help you be more organized and make use of that early start.

6. Healthier Eating

No time for breakfast? Grabbing something quick and easy on the go while you

run out the door? Sound familiar? Rising later doesn’t give you the much needed time to break the fast from the night before and prepare a sustainable breakfast that will set you up for the day.

Recent research has found that late sleepers generally consume approximately 248 more calories than those who rise early. They tend to only eat half as much fruit and vegetables and twice as much fast food as their early riser counterparts.

7. More Productive

Your brain tends to be the most alert in the morning, so why not use that time wisely to focus on important tasks un-interrupted while the rest of your house and world sleep.

You tend to make better decisions and think more clearly in the morning, then at any other time of day.

Starting the day early also improves your concentration which means you can accomplish those goals and tasks that you set out the night before. It also means that by the time you get to work, you are fully awake and properly acclimatized to the day meaning you will be more alert during those peak hours.

8. Helps your Skin Look Healthy

Our skin tends to look its best in the morning after a full night’s restful sleep. And being an early riser means you can take advantage and take your time to make sure your skin looks its best.

People who wake up early also tend to have regular sleeping habits which help to ensure that your skin gets the proper time to rejuvenate itself.

Getting into the Routine

Ok, so we’ve outlined some tips on how to be an early riser, but how do we start getting into the routine, while also getting enough sleep. Here are a few tips to get you started.

  • Start slowly.
  • Try waking just 15-30 minutes earlier than usual at the start. Get used to this for a few days, then cut back another 15 minutes. Keep doing this gradually until you get to your goal time.
  • Allow yourself to go to sleep earlier. You might be used to staying up late, but if you continue to do this while trying to get up earlier, sooner or later one is going to give. And if it is the early rising that gives, then you will crash and sleep late and have to start all over again. Try going to bed earlier, even if you don’t think you’ll sleep and read while in bed or mediate for a few minutes to help relax your mind. If you’re really tired, you just might fall asleep much sooner than you think.
  • Don’t have your alarm clock next to your bed
  • This is an important one, if it is within arms reach, the temptation is there to just reach out and hit the snooze button or worse still you could end up just turning it off.
  • By having your alarm clock far from your bed, you will have to get up out of bed to shut it off. Then, you’re up. Now you just have to stay up.
  • Open the blinds or curtains and get out of the room as soon as you turn off the alarm
  • By doing this you are less likely to talk yourself into getting back into bed, even if it is just for a few minutes.
  • Do not rationalize. If you allow your brain to talk you out of getting up early, you’ll never do it. Don’t make getting back in bed an option.
  • Have a good reason for setting that alarm:
  • Set something to do early in the morning that’s important. This will help motivate you to get up and do it. Once it is done, you’ll be awake and ready to take on the day.

Take advantage of all that extra time

Have a nice hot cup of coffee or tea. Read a book, Watch the sunrise or meditate. Don’t wake up early, to wander around and not make the most of your time. Find something that’s pleasurable for you, and allow yourself to do it as part of your morning routine.

Getting up early has many benefits for both your body and your mind. The hardest part is convincing yourself to do it, and then getting into a routine of getting up early every morning. If you start implementing these tips you will soon see that it gets easier and eventually you will find that your body starts to get used to it, and you end up waking even before your alarm goes off.

 

 

I Had a Brain Tumor

I Had a Brain Tumor

but I’m fine now.

Everything begins somewhere.

A tremor in the left hand, slight muscle weakness, the inability to paint my own fingernails. I accepted these changes as subjects of fascination — idiosyncrasies particular to my body. When I told my mother, she suggested that I incorporate more vitamin C into my diet.

In winter of 2010, the snow piled up against the windows of my garden apartment while I vomited breakfast, then water, and finally a bitter yellow substance for an entire day until I was too weak to move to the bathroom anymore. I fell asleep on the floor wondering whether I would wake up the following day.

How sick do you have to be to call for an ambulance?’ I had texted my roommate who was away on holiday.

After that episode, I began to experience strange throbbing headaches — little lightning storms that I combated by closing my eyes and standing perfectly still until they receded. I lived alone then, an hour into the depths of Brooklyn, in an Italian neighborhood that I reluctantly cherished. I took dance classes five nights a week, unless I was attending a reading or a lecture or some party somewhere. Those were long days, late nights. I lived off coffee and dollar slices of pizza. My fridge held almost nothing but pickles and condiments.

Soon, the headaches joined forces with crippling vertigo. Little spots formed at the edges of my vision. Nausea overwhelmed me in the mornings. I was thin, but that was fashionable.

Once, when the headaches were frequent and fierce, I told my mother that I felt as though someone were pinching the back of my neck and squeezing my brain. I didn’t know it at the time — I wouldn’t find out for months — but I wasn’t wrong.

Near the end of October 2010, there was an early winter storm that swept through New England.  My co-worker, who had been tracking my complaints over the months, escorted me to a nearby clinic.

From there, things progressed quickly. I was given strict instructions to take a cab directly to the hospital. Do not walk, do not get on the train. I nodded dutifully as I continued throwing up into an H&M shopping bag. In the emergency room at Beth Israel, a nurse took me for a CT scan. I had never been in a hospital before. I waited for the results. A concerned attendant peeked through the door at me, then withdrew again. More concerned faces. Bad news, they intoned, without quite saying what was bad. I was admitted, decorated with IVs, and told to wait again. At one point, a young doctor said to me, “That’s quite the goober you’ve got in your noggin.” Goober? That was the first I’d heard of it. He showed me the scans.

When I think of tumors, I think of metaphors of invasion. Something foreign, forceful, and undesired. The growth of darkness where before there was light. The young doctor pointed to the screen and said, “There.” Therewas a shadow at the back of my mind. A sphere lodged against the cerebellum, a presence that was both alien and of myself. Not a tumor yet, but not not a tumor either. To confirm that either way required a series of MRIs.

From the emergency room, I was moved to the neuro step-down unit. That was serious, a friend informed me by text. An older doctor whose glasses sat at the tip of his nose and whose voice was firm but kindly throughout his explanation of the condition hemangioblastoma agreed that it was indeed serious.

At that age, I thought I had things figured out. I thought I was invincible. I could take another Advil. I could push through the headaches, the vertigo, the nausea. Everything was fine, I’d convinced myself, because everything was supposed to be fine. Sickness, tumors, brain surgery: those things happened to other people. The doctor asked to schedule the surgery immediately. I asked for a moment. For twenty minutes straight, I sobbed aloud at the edge of my hospital bed. I don’t want this, I can’t do it, I don’t want this. How did this happen? Why?

Hemangioblastoma are vascular tumors located in the cerebellum, brain stem, or spinal cord. Accounting for less than 2% of tumors in the central nervous system, hemangioblastoma typically affect middle-aged individuals and can be associated with Von Hippel-Lindau syndrome in which tumors recur continuously throughout a person’s lifetime. They are noncancerous, but can cause serious complications over time. As long as surgical excision is possible, prognoses tend to be positive.

To ask why or how,  I was diagnosed with a rare tumor known to affect an age range far beyond my own, is to commit my thoughts to a wheel of irrationality. I could turn the question over and over and never have an answer. From there on out, I moved as though in a dream.

I had to call my mother. Nothing could happen until I’d seen her in person. But when she answered, I couldn’t form the words. Handing the phone over, I asked the doctor to explain the problem. Three thousand miles away, a grown woman pulled over to the side of the road and cried, then purchased a plane ticket so that she could attend the imminent craniotomy of her frightened twenty-something daughter.

My mother kissed my face, told me she loved me, but did not accompany me to the prep room. The walls were white and the hallways went forever. Four hours of surgery turned into eight. There had been some bleeding, they said.

Four hours of surgery turned into eight. There had been some bleeding, they said. I woke panicked and groggy. What time was it? Did my mother know I was okay? In the ICU, the nurses told me I had the healthiest lungs in the ward. My head was so heavy. I remember the morphine made me sick. I thought my stitches would split back open.

Slowly, the physical evidence of trauma faded. I wrote so many pages pondering the dreamless darkness of those eight hours. If I had died, would they have gone on forever? Would I have known myself missed? Had I glimpsed into the after and found it empty? For weeks afterward, I dreamt vivid, terrifying flashes that woke me in the night.

Through a scattered plot of points over a period of years, I can trace a path from the first suggestion of something amiss to the doctor’s final diagnosis. At any number of crossroads, I could have turned another way and arrived at the end more abruptly. I think of the neurology appointment I made in March of 2010, then canceled because the headaches had subsided for awhile. Or the end could have been different, could have been worse, could have been nothing. If I had taken more vitamin C or had eaten better or slept more? If the tumor had been cancerous or inoperable? Or — again — that wheel of irrationality.

It’s many years on now and I can climb mountains as well as stairs. I write stories and keep more in my fridge than condiments. My hair has grown out and most of the feeling has come back to my head, though they severed the nerve there. Whenever I tell anyone that I once had a brain tumor, I qualify the statement by adding: but I’m fine now.

 

At the end, this is the main reason I play the piano, it was my first medicine to come over my pain and the change I had in my life. Please respect my thoughts.