Drop Dead Healthy by A. Jacobs (books to read to increase intelligence .TXT) 📕

recommended konjac root for suppressing appetite, and I added that to my monstrous to-do list. It’s like when I want my sons to eat their dinner. “Just one more bite. Okay, one last bite. Now, last, last, superfinal bite.”

I have to stop, or I’ll go to my death trying to be the healthiest human. Next month is my last, last superfinal month.

I’m glad I didn’t finish yet, though. Because a few days ago, being in good shape—and maybe having improved vision—came in terrifyingly handy.

Julie, the kids, and I were walking in the park on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Well, Julie and I were walking. The kids were zipping around on their scooters.

I got a cell-phone call from my dad. He wanted to meet us at a playground. I was giving him directions—I couldn’t have been distracted for longer than twenty seconds—and then I look up. Zane and Jasper had vanished.

We were near the Great Lawn, a huge field filled with baseball diamonds and sunbathers. The path forked in front of us.

“You go that way, I’ll go this,” said Julie. She and Lucas hurried off to the left. I dropped the canvas bag with Jasper’s baseball bat—I’d pick it up later—and started running to the right. Sprinting.

I was devouring that road. I shot by strollers and carts selling Popsicles and Gatorade. I jumped over puddles and dodged waddling toddlers. “Jasper!” I shouted. “Zane!” My newly strengthened eyes scanned for their orange scooters. “JASPER! ZANE!”

My adrenaline was pumping so high, I could have run across Manhattan, over the bridge, and into New Jersey. I understood the old legend of the woman gaining superhuman strength to hoist the car from her pinned children.

“Jasper! Zane!”

Then the magical thinking started kicking in. I started to conjure up all the horrible scenarios. The secret dungeons they would end up in, the screeching tires of a taxi that was about to run them over . . . and then I reined in my thoughts.

The fear was overwhelming. I was being sucked in. I chose anger instead. I could deal with anger. I was angry that my sons took off without looking back. I was angry at myself for being momentarily distracted. I was angry that there’s not yet an affordable LoJack system for locating kids. We have the technology!

I sprinted around the entire Great Lawn at what I swear was Usain Bolt speed, no thought of slowing. “Jasper! Zane!” Four minutes and still no sign. I kept running.

And there, at the bottom of a path, near a statue of Shakespeare, I spotted their orange scooters and their cute, worried little faces. They’d gone up to a police officer to tell her they got lost. Thank God, thank God, thank God.

I want to borrow the cops’ handcuffs and latch my kids to my wrists until they are fifty-four years old.

Chapter 26

The Skull

The Quest to Not Be Killed in an Accident

I JUST SPENT A TRULY harrowing half hour reading the CDC’s index of ways you can die and get injured. It’s a mind-blowing document. Thousands of categories. They list the classics, like car accidents, of course. But also balloon, snowmobile, and animal-drawn vehicle accidents. They list dog bites, but also unpleasant contact with sea lions, macaws, and giraffes. There’s accidental gunshots, but also rogue sewing machines and can openers.

It all makes you want to curl up in your bed. Except that your bed could kill you in any number of ways.

• entanglement in bed linen, causing suffocation (category T71)

• falling while climbing into bed (W13.0)

• burns from highly flammable sheets, spreads, pillows, or mattress (X05)

• drowning involving bed (W17.0)

I’m not sure how the mechanics of bed-drowning work, even with a water bed, but that’s what’s fascinating about this list. Half of the causes I wouldn’t have conceived of on my most paranoid day. Like Y35.312: hitting a bystander with a baton.

The point is, you can eat your Brazil nuts, meditate like a champ, and run five miles a day, but it won’t help you if you trip on the sidewalk and crack your skull.

Accidents are the fifth leading cause of death in America (following heart disease, cancer, stroke, and lower respiratory diseases). Home accidents alone account for 21 million medical visits a year.

Safety’s not the sexiest part of the wellness industry, so accident prevention doesn’t get a lot of play in the media. I’m guessing Men’s Health wouldn’t sell a lot of copies with cover lines like WALK THIS WAY: 10 HOT NEW WAYS TO AVOID SLIPPING AND FALLING. But if you want to live a long life—a crucial part of the definition of health—you have to keep safety in mind.

The losing-my-sons incident was the catalyst for a month of safety. I’ve become obsessed with safety. Which is saying something, since I was pretty overprotective before.

When my first son was born, I bought the electric-outlet covers and the foam corners for the tables. As Julie will attest, I got a little carried away. I spent some time on the Internet researching whether you could buy helmets for babies. I didn’t buy the helmets, but I looked. They’ve got such soft heads, you know? Julie mocked me hard for that one. She also mocked me for not wanting to read them The Cat in the Hat. But I stand by that one: Here’s a boy and a girl, left alone, and what do they do? They let a smooth-talking stranger into the house. Then they try to keep the whole incident secret from their parents.

Point is, I thought I was on top of things, safetywise. It turns out I’m an accident-prevention slacker. My harmless-seeming apartment is a death trap. At least according to those who obsess about this stuff even more than I did.

I invited over Meri-K Appy, head of the nonprofit organizations Home Safety Council and Safe Kids USA. Just as my aunt Marti inspected my home for toxins, Appy would scrutinize our apartment for safety violations.

When I answer the door, Appy is scanning