Daily Training

by E. F. Benson; Eustace Miles

These two exercises, it must be repeated, are (especially for those who need them—i.e., those who have not been in the habit of using the whole of the lungs) rather trying, particularly at first; on no account, therefore, strain or exhaust yourself over them. Let the facility in doing them come slowly. These, like all lung exercise, should be performed by an open window or in a room with good ventilation and as free as possible from dust, since the point is to charge the lungs thoroughly with air, which had therefore better be pure air. The open mouth may be used in these exercises, since a full draught of air has to be taken in suddenly.

But apart from actual exercises for the lungs, an even more important point is that these organs should as far as possible be given, night and day alike, a proper supply of air for their normal and automatic working; and their one and constant demand is oxygen. Considering how much there is in existence, it is wonderful how rare civilised life has contrived to make it, while builders and architects seem to adopt the uncompromising attitude of saying, “We will give you air and draughts, or no air and no draughts.” Sometimes even, by an excess of diabolical humour, they manage to give one draughts and no air, and render rooms both cold and stuffy; and the continual breathing of unvivified air, of air which has been exhausted of its oxygen by the breathing of other people and not renewed by a constant fresh supply coming in, is probably responsible for as much languor and indisposition as any of the errors of diet mentioned in the previous chapter. Nor is it the least necessary that because a room is hot the air should be bad; indeed, one of the reasons why a good fire in the room is healthy is that, if there is an adequate ventilator, the fire by its burning and by the passage of the heat up the chimney induces a current of air, and though it warms a room and may make it even over-hot, yet that heated air is not nearly so enervating as the air of a cooler and ill-ventilated room. The lungs do not in the least object to be fed with even roasted air, as in a Turkish bath, any more than they dislike air of the utmost extremity of cold; what they do rebel against is being given vitiated and exhausted air. It is the quality rather than the temperature of the air we breathe which has to be considered, and many people who say they cannot stand a hot room mean not really a hot room but a stuffy one.

We have heard a good deal lately about the policy of the open door, and recommend to our readers’ serious consideration the policy of the open window as much as possible by day and always at night. Unless the head of the bed is immediately by the window (and scarcely even then), it is practically impossible to catch cold when one is in bed and properly covered. To live under canvas, for instance, means to sleep almost invariably in a thorough draught. But those who have tried that delightful mode of life know that to catch cold under such circumstances is almost unknown; one is constantly wet and is usually in a draught, but one does not catch cold because these things in themselves do not produce a cold in a healthy person, and one’s health in such conditions is improved, because one has enough air and probably not too much food. The air itself is tonic, strengthening; it is largely because in civilised city-life we do not have enough that we are liable to colds. The passages to the lungs, with their lining of mucous membrane, and the lungs themselves, are clogged with impurities, and weak through a mild form of starvation. Feed them. Clean them.

We do not, however, advise the ordinary city man deliberately to sit in a draught, though if that were the only plan of getting air it might be far better than his present procedure. Instead, we recommend him to look to his ventilators, and whenever he feels that the office is stuffy let him cut another or two, one low and one high; let him—and these remarks apply to all dwellers in houses—warm his offices by fires rather than hot pipes, if possible; for fires assist ventilation while they also give heat, but pipes are valueless except for heat. Furthermore, a screen of paste-board, or if light is wanted, of glass, can often be arranged so that a window may be opened without creating a draught at all; for though draughts are not, we think, so guilty in the way of cold-giving as their reputation would seem to justify, yet they are uncomfortable. But above all have windows open during sleep, that mighty friend of recuperation, when rest ought to be brought to every organ. And the natural rest to give the lungs is to supply them with plenty of pure air, so that their work is made easy for them. Nothing is commoner than long drowsiness and heaviness on waking, even after perfectly sufficient sleep, and for this nothing is more responsible than the fact that we have been breathing all night air which has been steadily deteriorating because drained of its oxygen. Let the windows be shut by all means, if you will, while you are dressing; but while sleeping, never.

Though the lungs perform the main part of the breathing, much is done also by the skin, which has this further function of continually striving to throw off those waste products and impurities of the body which rise like scum to the surface. How vastly important these functions are is shown by the story of Pietro Riario, the boy Cardinal-Archbishop of Florence, who at a feast gilded a child all over to serve as a huge lamp bearer, with the consequence that in a few hours the unfortunate victim died. It is clearly, then, desirable to listen to the demands of the skin, which are as simple and intelligible as those of the lungs, and consist of air, warmth (though to a far less extent than is generally supposed), and cleanliness. It is by clothing and baths that we meet these demands.

Now our general method of dealing with the skin is to wrap it up and put it in the dark; in other words we cover it as much as possible, because we say it is delicate and to expose it gives us colds. It is delicate—that is quite true; but what has made it delicate is our habit of covering it up. A woman, for instance, will pass with arms, shoulders, breast, and a large part of the back bare, out of a heated ball-room into a cool sitting-room and not catch cold, because her skin is used to what—as far as the skin is concerned—is most sanitary and healthy treatment. She does not catch cold, because her skin is used to it, and one of the surest ways to guard against colds is deliberately and every day to accustom it to exposure. Reasons of decency forbid us to make this a public performance, but everyone can and should adopt some course of the following kind. Strip completely on getting up and (whether the bath, hot or cold, is taken immediately or not) go through the other incidentals of dressing, shaving, etc., without clothes on. Similarly at night undress completely at once and give the skin ten minutes’ airing before getting into bed. At the same time, it is well to avoid any feeling of chill, and if it is cold, sit before the fire a few minutes, or, better still (unless you find that they keep you awake), have a few minutes at the exercises given above, which will supply a more thorough and invigorating warmth. The effect of this simple treatment is, as we know from personal experience, quite amazing, both in its hardening virtues, whereby we are far less liable to catch cold at sudden chills or changes of temperature, in its tonic effect on the skin itself, as shewn in a vastly increased firmness and elasticity, and also in the constant and immediate feeling of freshness that it produces. We all know how vivifying is fresh air on the face only; here the whole skin is invigorated.

Not less important is the matter of clothing, which should be in the first place as natural as possible, so that it may not distort the natural shape, or cramp a natural movement. In the main, the ordinary man’s clothing, though ugly enough, is in this respect sensible, except with regard to boots, which really seem to be an invention of the devil so as to thwart in every possible way what was meant to be the natural play of the foot. Toes in a bunch, like asparagus, tightness over the insteps, and the whole infernal contraption strapped on by a cruel string cramping the muscle above, the ankle! A more insanitary contrivance, or one better calculated to cramp the muscles and distort the shape of the foot, especially if a man take much exercise on his feet, could not be devised. Moreover, there is a sort of idea that boots which conform to the natural shape of the foot must necessarily be clumsy. This is not the case; but even if it were, it would be the part of sense to go clumsily but healthily shod. What is necessary is to be carefully measured for boots with the two feet separately, and with the weight resting on the foot that is being measured, since the weight naturally spreads out and flattens the foot, and it is of the first importance to have a boot that is not cramped when the muscles of the foot are being used. It is the toes that chiefly suffer in ill-fitting boots, since the boot is, as a rule, made broad enough for the foot in repose, but does not allow for the spread of the toes which takes place (or should take place) every time a step is made. At this moment it is obvious that the toes are being used as a lever to throw the body forward to its next step, the whole weight is for the moment on them, and their natural and reasonable tendency is to flatten out. Instead of allowing for this, most bootmakers make their boots for the foot in rest, with the result that the toes get crushed together at each step. This point, doubly important in the case of children whose feet are still growing is, it is satisfactory to see, being taken into serious consideration at last, and year by year more children are allowed to wear sandals, either with or without socks—an admirable institution, for they give the foot its natural development. Many women’s feet are really altogether unfit for walking purposes owing to the persistent way in which they have been cramped from childhood upwards, following the barbaric and Chinese fashion of considering a small foot a beautiful thing. A delicately made foot of course is, but a foot naturally of moderate size and cramped of its growth is merely a shapeless lump of bent bones and packed flesh.

Secondly, clothing should be as easy as possible; there should not be pressure, except for definite medical purposes of support, on any part of a properly developed body; for pressure not only prevents the free flow of blood to the capillary vessels of the skin, but checks the play of any muscle which is being used, forbidding its expansion at the moment of its energy, and thus cramping the freedom of its movement.

Thirdly, clothing should be as light as is possible consistently with reasonable warmth. What is wanted, therefore, next the skin (in cold weather at any rate) is some material like wool, which is porous and therefore holds in its interstices innumerable little air-chambers that when once warmed by the heat of the body form between it and the outer clothing and air a layer of protection. It is exactly this plan that nature has adopted in the covering of birds, and we find the lower part of the feather-quill clad, not in the hard plumage of its tip, but in soft down which interposes a cushion of air between the body and the atmosphere. This is especially and markedly the case in aquatic birds, part of whose body is incessantly in water; the natural oil of the stiff part of the feathers is absolutely waterproof, while the down near their base prevents, by its air and warmth-holding capacities, the chill of the water reaching the body. Wool also has this advantage, that it absorbs moisture, and thus a man clad in under-garments of wool will be less liable to take cold if he gets chilled after violent exercise, since the sweat is to a large extent drawn away from complete contact with the skin.

On the other hand, cotton or silk next the skin, while it is less warming and has not the full protective advantages of wool, gives more air to the skin, since it does not cling so closely, and thus facilitates the breathing functions of the skin, and also allows more light to pass through it. Much must depend on the constitutional vigour of the skin in individual cases, and on its reacting powers. For a person naturally liable to catch cold, wool is certainly the safer clothing.