The Outside Blog

Dispatches : Media

What Would Survivorman Do?

In the sprawling genre of survival television, there is one man who has managed to earn both huge ratings and the respect of bearded guys with big knives on their belts: Les Stroud, a.k.a. Survivorman. Stroud, 52, grew up in Toronto watching Jacques Cousteau and Tarzan, then became a rock-and-roll addict with dreams of being the next Neil Young. At 25, disillusioned by the music industry, he took a survival course at a Toronto college and was hooked. He went on to train for years with elite survival instructors and honed his skills on numerous wilderness forays, including a yearlong honeymoon with his wife in the remote woods of northern Ontario, during which they lived off the land and used no metals or plastics. Early on, Stroud had the idea of creating a home-video series to teach survival skills, but it wasn’t until 2001 that he pitched a more ambitious idea to the Discovery Channel: just him, alone in the bush for a week, filming his struggles—building fires, catching game, fending off the cold.

The runaway success of Survivorman spawned a string of copycat programs, from Bear Grylls’s Man vs. Wild to this year’s over-the-top Naked and Afraid, in which a nude man and woman are stranded together in an extreme environment. But only Stroud has pulled off a literal one-man show—producing, writing, filming, directing, and starring. In 2009, he temporarily switched gears and created Beyond Survival, a series for Discovery in which he studied the wilderness skills of indigenous people around the planet, then returned in the summer of 2012 with four Survivorman specials. In December, he’ll be back with a full season, including two episodes featuring his teenage son, Logan. Here and on the following pages, Stroud shares his hard-earned wisdom about wild places, why he considers Grylls a phony, and what it takes to live through almost anything:

The first night I spent in a shelter I’d made myself, with my feet sticking out and the rain coming down and the mosquitoes buzzing, I said, “This is what I want.”

You wouldn’t watch a ski jumper on TV and then the next day, having never skied, strap on a pair and go jump. And you don’t watch Survivorman and then say, “I’m going to go out alone in the wilderness this weekend.” It took me years to learn these skills.

There’s no such thing as passive survival. Survival is proactive. You’re doing every-thing you can to deal with the situation.

You know those lemons that come up on Vegas slot machines? When I was teaching guides, we’d always say, “When you hit that third lemon, stop—get out.” Maybe the first lemon is an injury. Then the second lemon is exhaustion. Third lemon, storm’s coming. Done, go home, you’re finished.

There’s been too much emphasis over the years on “stay put, stay put.” Survival and first-aid courses all say that. Why stay put if you can walk out? People might be looking for you, but they’ll stop as soon as you get to a phone.

You do have to stop and ask some questions: How far is it to get out? Do I know the way? Am I confident I can find it, or is it a crapshoot? Do I have the strength to make it? Is anybody looking for me if I don’t?

I go out and go through the experience of survival and document it. I hate the concept of reality television. I’m a documentary filmmaker.

Initially, I think people watch out of morbid fascination. But when you see me really struggling, when you see the sweat on my face and know that I’m really going through it, then it strikes a deeper chord: If I had to, could I survive?

All these other shows are created by TV producers. Anything they can do to get higher ratings, be under budget, get it done fast—that’s what they do. It detracts from what it really takes to survive in the wilderness. Many of the things Bear Grylls and other guys do is completely bogus. Wrong skills. Dangerous skills.

Have I ever been pressured to do it differently? To fake it? Once, very heavily by one producer, and I said no.

My son, Logan, started asking to do a Survivorman episode with me when he was 12—way too young. When he was 15, I said, “OK, let’s do this.” Honestly, I’ve been doing Survivorman for over 11 years. I’m tired of being alone out there. Realllllly tired of being alone out there.

You should trust your guide but never rely on them. Before you start the trip, go to them and say, “Can I see a map with the route?” You look at it and maybe you see there’s a road three miles to the west the whole journey. If anything happens, now you know that. A good guide will be happy you asked. They like it when someone takes an interest in his own safety.

In survival situations, go with what you know. If you can turn around and go back the way you came and reach safety, even if it’s 50 miles back, why are you pushing on into the unknown?

We always want to follow the path of least resistance. That’s what we do as humans. It looks good to go downhill. It feels easier. You have to fight this and use your head. The easiest way can be the most dangerous.

Nature is nature. Christopher McCandless was an extremely charming individual, and he charmed his way through a lot of situations. But Alaska didn’t give a shit how charming he was. It’s Alaska.

Everyone who does wilderness adventure of any kind should take a survival course and a wilderness first-aid course. They enhance your experience, and you’ll have greater confidence.

I can see getting to that place where you say, “I’m done. I’m not going to make it.” Hey, I’ve had my moments.

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First Look: 'The Armstrong Lie'

“I DIDN'T LIVE a lot of lies,” Lance Armstrong says at the beginning of Alex Gibney’s new documentary, “but I lived one big one.”

The film’s title, The Armstrong Lie, suggests an exposé, but that heavy lifting has, of course, already been done. Rather, Gibney looks at the Lie as a thing that took on a life of its own, regarding it from every angle. And that includes Lance’s. Gibney, the Oscar-winning director of Taxi to the Dark Side, had unprecedented access to Armstrong’s tightly guarded camp from 2008 until his teary-eyed Oprah confession. So while there are other retellings in the works—Hollywood is reportedly working on two biopics, and New York Times reporter Juliet Macur’s forthcoming book Cycle of Lies is also slated to go to film—The Armstrong Lie is the first and last Lance pic you’ll ever need to see.

In 2008, Gibney set out to chronicle Armstrong’s return to cycling as a friendly embedded in the Lance camp. He was on the Astana bus as Armstrong spied on teammate/rival Alberto Contador’s press conference. He was in the team car as director Johan Bruyneel hatched race strategy. He was at Armstrong’s Aspen house, camera rolling, when the drug testers showed up. The following day, when two more sets of testers came calling, Armstrong snapped: “This is fucking ridiculous!” Watching the film, even this nonfan had to agree.

But then, well, stuff happened, and Gibney was forced to drop the celebratory doc he—and, no doubt, his subject—had planned to make. He phased through stages of disillusionment, anger, and finally confrontation. After Armstrong’s downfall, Gibney goes back, camera in hand, to ask his subject some tough questions.

Gibney performs a masterful balancing act, being tough on Armstrong while remaining fair, although he largely skips over Livestrong’s role in buttressing the Lance myth, as well as the final remaining chapter in this whole saga—the $100 million lawsuit being pursued by the Department of Justice. Regardless, The Armstrong Lie will appeal to curious rubberneckers and cycling fans alike. We hear from two key players who have been largely silent, teammate George Hincapie and Dr. Michele Ferrari, who oversaw Armstrong’s training regimen until doping suspicions forced him to the sidelines. In one scene, a shunned Ferrari, stopwatch in hand, watches on TV as Armstrong tackles Mont Ventoux during the 2009 Tour, still intently tracking his protégé from afar. And we’re offered a few mini scoops, including a suspiciously timed $100,000 donation to cycling’s governing body, the UCI, in 2007, around the time it cleared Armstrong of positive urine-sample tests from 1999.

There are at least four Lances on display here: the teenage Texas punk who drawls, in a priceless archived clip, “Ah just love beatin’ people!”; the shameless liar who won the Tour seven times; the cocksure 2009 Lance, certain that he can win it once more; and the chastened, post-Oprah Lance, who is far more reflective and sympathetic than the jerk we saw squirming in his chair.

To hear him tell it, Armstrong’s decision to dope made perfect sense: he set out to beat the Europeans at their own game, nothing more—and nothing less. Not surprisingly, Armstrong still shows no remorse. “I know what it took to win those Tours,” he says. “Well, it was a little different from what you guys were told, but I know what it took.”

Check out a trailer for The Armstrong Lie below:

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A Tiger's Tale: Doug Peacock's New Book

Doug Peacock, well-known naturalist, grizzly researcher, writer, and inspiration for Ed Abbey’s character George Hayduke in The Monkey Wrench Gang, has turned his formidable literary chops to the subject of climate change and the kind of “Grand Adventure” humans will be confronting in the wake of environmental collapse. His new book, In the Shadow of t­­­he Sabertooth (Counterpunch/AK Press, 2013), takes a deep and scientific look into our Pleistocene past in order to imagine what a post-climate-change future might look like. We caught up with him recently to hear more his latest work.

Outside: Why did you decide to write this book?
When I decided to write this book, the cardinal issue of my generation was clearly the collective damage we’ve done to the planet, the shorthand we call Climate change, but, more accurately, global warming. The prognosis is grim, and it’s a real bummer story. I didn’t want to write a bummer book, so I wondered how to write around it in some instructive way. I have ancient degrees in paleontology, archeology, geology. I knew that modern humans have experienced two episodes of global warming—now and approximately 15,000 years ago when the great glaciers of the Pleistocene began to melt and the first humans showed up in North America. (There’s not a lot of hard evidence to pin down the dates, exactly.) It’s notable that by 40,000 B.C., humans had pioneered most every habitat on earth with the exception of North America, South America, and Antarctica. Something lurking in the Pleistocene bush might have kept them out of North America.

The wilderness those first Americans encountered is difficult to imagine: First, a landmass 5 times the size of Australia without a single human footprint, no smoke on the horizon, not a sign of an upright primate. Add to that the most amazing array of large animals anywhere—mammoths, mastodons, massive pack-hunting lions, Dire Wolves, American Cheetah (double the size of the African ones), and perhaps, most formidable of all, the short-faced bear. Imagine this animal 15 feet tall standing on its hind legs, flaring its nostrils, capable of smelling the carcass of a mammoth 20 miles away, a formidable problem for ancient hunters.  I decided to tell that story. This involved more research than I’d ever done for any book. I read scientific papers for two years. Then I wrote for five years. It was the most serious commitment to a topic I’ve ever undertaken.

You talk about that time when our ancestors arrived in North America and faced all those animals that wanted to kill us, as the Greatest Adventure. We talk about Adventure a lot nowadays. Nothing compares to that.
The notion of adventure involves risky undertakings, hazardous journeys, with uncertain outcomes. I call the colonization of America the Greatest Adventure because I love wilderness because that’s where true adventure takes place. You don’t always know what’s happening or how things turn out. Back then it was all as wild as the most remote mountain in North America.

Today we can manufacture our adventures: We structure rigorous routes and risky river crossings, and ‘hazardous journeys,’ but the ‘uncertain outcome’ is the real stickler. I was most interested in discovering any lessons to be learned from these Pleistocene hunters about adapting to changing climate.  Are there useful comparisons with today’s crisis? Are we are going to recognize and adapt to the beast of our time—the beast that is global warming? This is not easy. A lack of hard data renders the comparison of the Pleistocene to today more parable than parallel.  I feel that speculating into adaptation is important now because we’re facing a world that we’re not going to recognize in 15 years. It’s that simple.

Ice-age people coming to America crossed massive glaciers and treacherous rivers and faced huge, fearsome animals they’d never seen before, some who wanted to eat them. The Short-faced bear must have been terrible—a truly American beast that never crossed into Asia. Today’s adventure sports are a different thing. You can always quit and go home. You’re pretty sure of the outcome. These people didn’t know what they were going to run into. They didn’t know the country and they didn’t know the animals—unexpected outcomes were the norm. Today, we design modern adventures complete with magazine, book, and movie deals, vaguely hoping that something unexpected turns up, hopefully nothing fatal. This is something we still need…we still crave it. Back 15,000 years ago this was totally organic. Nothing was manufactured. It was part of daily life. Getting through each day embraced all shades of courage.

You said, “We still need this.” Why do you think that’s true?
Our Pleistocene odyssey has not yet ended and we’re about to enter an unfamiliar world. We haven’t finished this journey. We haven’t started to adapt to all the things we’ve done to the planet. The experience of adventure is pragmatic lore. The experience of wild living is an incredible survival tool. It’s natural to survive. We’re going to need those skills in the very near future.

Skills? For example?
Humility, mainly.  We are not in charge. We humans don’t control our own fate. Accepting this is not unlike accepting wilderness. I used to go by myself into grizzly country for weeks at a time. Grizzlies instill a sense of humility better than anything I know in the world—with grizzlies you’re definitely not at the top of the food chain. You perceive the world differently. It’s a healthy perception. You sharpen your survival skills. You see and hear and smell better. It’s a rich way to live. We’re going to need some of that. It’s a very utilitarian perception of the world, the one anchored in humility. Which is also the emotional posture behind reason.

Wilderness is important, but how will it prepare us for this upcoming massive change?
Remnants of that habitat encountered by those first Americans are still around today and we call it wilderness. Wilderness is where all of our evolution took place. The human mind was shaped in the wilderness, by the mammoths we hunted and the sabertooths who hunted us.  We need to keep great hunks of it around to remind us of that original experience, that perception of authentic risk. This is something lacking in modern people. We’re unable to accurately perceive what lies in our long-term interest for survival. Somehow we need to make the transition from perceiving the shadow of the sabertooth in the brush, which is an immediate peril, to being able to see, for example, the distant, incremental, and remote ocean rise, which could displace a billion starving strangers.

So what’s wrong with us? You talk in your book about the Clovis people, these amazing hunters with this amazing technology who may be responsible for mass extinctions. Why are we like that?  We have technology but we lack restraint.
Remember, North America was experiencing climate change at the time. The Clovis people blasted down the ice-free corridor to Montana and ran into Mammoths and wanted to kill and eat one because that’s what their ancestors did 400-500 years before. They discovered stone quarries where they could create the incredible, iconic, magnificent fluted, 6- or 7-inch long “Clovis” spear point, a very effective weapon. The terminal dates of the classic megafauna overlap with the time of the Clovis people, who seemed to explode across the continent, almost as if they  showed up everywhere at once. This brings up the dark question of the nature of the beast: Are we the homicidal brutes deservedly kicked out of Eden ready to duke or nuke it out to the end of the Earth? Or are we what we sometimes see ourselves as—the deeply sentient beings capable of the type of empathy that surviving this new, hot future will require?

If what you describe in your book is the last Great Adventure, what’s the next Great Adventure?
It’s not going to be fun. How about the future portrayed in modern sci-fi literature and films of a thug-like future run by warlords in the Arctic? This may not be so far off because that’s may be the only place one will be able to live.

This may not take a hundred years. It might take ten or 15. The polar ice caps are disappearing fast. Once they’re gone, things speed up; the Amazon collapses. Then the permafrost melts, releasing massive amounts of methane, adding another 6-7 degrees of global warming. In Antarctica, when the Ross Ice Sheet goes, oceans could rise 12 feet within a week—everywhere. That will get people’s attention. No one knows exactly what will happen. It’s like removing a top predator from an ecosystem and causing a cascading series of ecological collapses and disasters. No one can predict the effects. Surviving is not going to be fun but it will be an adventure.

Where’s your joy? What keeps you going these days?
Visiting a little pocket of what you and I would call wild country. I go to Yellowstone and leave the road and walk over a little hill and all of a sudden it’s like it was a thousand years ago. I look for bear tracks and watch the bison and any other critters who are there and, as this is available to me everyday, I take advantage of these pockets of wilderness where I live. And I go to Glacier and I visit my bears in the backcountry. That’s a little part of the world that is still as it always was and experiencing it generates joy. I don’t know of a combative weapon greater than the expression of joy. If we can find joy in our lives we can find the strength to fight back and come out of this thing.  It’s our only chance. It’s worth the fight.

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The Human Body has a Story to Tell

Daniel Lieberman, the Harvard evolutionary biologist sometimes credited for sparking the barefoot running revolution, has a new book out—The Story of the Human Body—and it’s a doozy. Lieberman argues that only by looking at human physiology through an evolutionary lens can we truly begin to understand how we get fit, and, consequently, why we get fat.

That humans are poorly adapted to our modern lifestyle of convenience foods, flat screens, and desk jobs isn’t very controversial. But how we best cope with this new reality often is. Lieberman takes on many popular notions, including barefoot running, the paleo diet, epigenetics, and a host of hot topics ranging from obesity and chronic disease to Nanny State politics. We caught up with the good professor to hear more about his new book and the story of our bodies.

OUTSIDE: I wanted to ask you first to explain more about the provocative idea you bring up early in the book, the notion of "disevolution," which is something we seem to be in the throes of right now.
Well, I'm very interested in evolution and medicine, which forms one of the core themes of the book. And some of the focus of evolution and medicine has been: Why do we get sick?

It's not an insight that we, as a society, spend too much time treating the symptoms of diseases rather than their causes. But I guess the argument I'm trying to make is that that, too, has an evolutionary basis. I mean evolution as a perspective helps us inform what's going on, but it's not a traditional kind of evolution, with Darwin and natural selection. This is really a form of cultural evolution.

It seems like one of the key turning points has been this idea that, for many generations,  humans have been trying to get enough calories, and now we've suddenly entered this period where we have too many calories.
Mm, it's amazing. And we're just not very well adapted for it.

Do you look at this from an evolutionary perspective and think, wow, we're really in this bizarre and transformative period?
I think so, yeah. One of my jobs is to try to look around at the world we live in, and to think about what's really normal and what's abnormal from an evolutionary perspective. It's normal to think that the world you grow up in is normal, right? We think it's normal to fly in airplanes, drive a car, eat breakfast cereal from a box, and all the other things that you and I probably do—but actually they're abnormal.

Now, just because it's new doesn't mean it's bad, and I think that's probably one of the problems with a simplistic ancestral-health, paleo-diet view. But just because it's new doesn't mean it's good, either.

A lot of things we take for granted make us sick. And we pay a huge price for it. Illustrating that perspective helps us step out of the world we live in and think about it more critically. And that's really the point.

So you’re saying that, basically, the lifestyle that we've come to understand as very normal and commonplace is actually, from an evolutionary perspective, quite abnormal.
Correct. A lot of people might think, oh, I'm going to go back to nature, and what they mean, usually, is to be a farmer. We think of that blissful, pastoral farmer's life as back to nature right? That's actually also abnormal because that's pretty recent. In fact, you could even argue that the bow and arrow is a pretty recent invention. We invented the bow and arrow, and we stopped having to run. And that's only the last 70,000 years.

Evolution is a complicated thing. There's no one point in time when all of a sudden our bodies became normal or abnormal. It's a constantly moving mosaic, which is why I tried to not just start with hunter-gatherers, where I think a lot of paleo-diet, ancestral-health perspectives begin. Hunter-gatherers are the end of an even longer story, and we need to know the whole story. I started arbitrarily with the origins of the human lineage when we diverged from apes, but of course we could go all the way back to fish.

What do you think about the paleo movement, since the back-to-nature idea has moved beyond the farmer and is now the caveman?
Anybody who reads what I wrote carefully will find the critique of the paleo diet in there. But there isn't any one paleo diet. There were many paleo diets, and just because our ancestors ate it doesn't mean it's better for us. After all, one of my key arguments—not an original idea, but I try to drive it home—is that natural selection is not geared toward making us healthy. It's geared toward making us have more babies in a very different context. But the relentless theme that I keep trying to bring up throughout the book is that adaptation is a tricky concept. And there's no simple answer to the question: What are we adapted for?

Early in the book you say that we haven't evolved to be healthy or happy. That struck me because not only do you see a lot of people seeking out solutions to health and fitness, they're also trying to sort out how to be happy. There are some evolutionary factors there as well.
I agree. I don't know the secret to it, either. Certainly having health helps you be happy. In your line of business, in my line of business, we become very aware of the relationship between the mind and the body. They are mutually interactive for many reasons, mostly because the things that make us healthy also make us happier. Physical health and mental health are often both improved by exercise and diet. 

You write a bit about how running has influenced the humans we've evolved into today. I just want to make sure I understand one idea in particular, that we're the only animals that have evolved to run long distances in hot weather?
Pretty much, yes. There are other animals that have evolved to run long distances but they do so at night, or dusk or dawn, when it’s cool. We're the only animals that run long distances in the heat. And that gives us a huge advantage. I don't know the last time you tried to run down an antelope or a deer but, should you want to do it, you'd be better off doing it on a hot day.

I haven't chased one recently. But we can do so also because we’re designed to sweat, right?
It's the combination of the ability to cool by sweating and the ability to run at speeds that makes it possible. Because quadrupeds can’t pant when they gallop, they can’t cool themselves. So you basically knock out their thermoregulatory system. If you chase it long enough in the heat, you'll actually drive it into heat stroke. It's called persistence hunting. I can't pretend it's my idea. I've worked a lot on the evolution of running, but other people proposed that first. We just fleshed it out in a famous paper in 2004, the "Born to Run" paper, with Dennis Bramble.

I think that you can't really understand the value of long-distance running, and that's part of the theme that you mentioned earlier—what's normal versus abnormal. When you look around the world today, when you look out your office building, you'll see lots of people walking but you won't see a lot of people running. There are a lot of hunter-gatherer groups that don't run very much, but I'll make a bet that if you could go back 100,000 years you'd see a lot more running going on. Because before bows and arrows, before stone weapons were invented, how else were you going to get dinner? No one's come up with a better idea of why we are so good at running.

Let's talk about barefoot running, since your work pretty much put barefoot running on the map.
Yeah, sometimes I wish I'd never touched the subject! People have so many preconceptions about it and so much anger about this particular issue, which I find interesting. From my perspective, I'm not crazy about it. If you don't want to run barefoot run, don't run barefoot. It's more about how you run than what part of your feet you use.

Do you still find yourself confronted with a lot of controversy about it? It’s ebbed and flowed a bit in terms of its general popularity. And I've had a few conversations with physical therapists who are like, "Oh, god, barefoot running!"
Part of the problem is that it's been approached in a fad-ish way. A lot of people read Chris McDougal's book, Born to Run, which is a terrific book. And they think, oh my gosh, if I take off my shoes, everything will be perfect. I'll suddenly become an ultra-runner, and I'll have this incredible body. And of course, it's not that way. For one, barefoot runners get injured, too. Secondly, if you haven't been running that way your whole life, you're not adapted to it. You need to build up strength in your calf muscles in order to run properly.

But in any kind of fitness or conditioning program you are trying to introduce adaptation through progression.
Absolutely. I see that a lot of the time. People go buy a minimal shoe. I've heard a lot of good things about minimal shoes, but if you've been wearing cushioned, elevated shoes with arch support your whole life, and you suddenly just throw them away and put on a minimal shoe and you go for a 10-mile run, you are going to be very unhappy. And probably soon seeing a physical therapist.

But if you slowly introduce it, and adapt to it, you might benefit from it. On the other hand, if it ain't broke, why fix it? If you aren’t getting injured running in a conventional shoe, there's nothing wrong with it. I'm not opposed to heel striking. I just think that we shouldn't pretend that it's not normal.

Is evolution, or adaptation, or both, accelerating? Are we changing faster than we did in the past?
Well, that's a bit of a debate at the moment. So it depends on the time span you look at. There was a good, popular book a few years ago, The 10,000 Year Explosion, that makes the argument that evolution has actually been accelerating since the emergence of agriculture. There’s a section in my book where I discuss those ideas.

To one extent the answer is yes, and to another extent the answer is no. By having much, much larger population sizes, for natural selection to occur, you need to have intentions that are beneficial or detrimental. And differential reproductive success. One engine that drives at our regeneration is intentions, and the other engine that drives it is competition.

Larger populations create more mutations. So there's more variation out there to act on. But the other side of the coin is that, now, cultural evolution is acting strongly. How much the effects of those variations influence how many offspring you have that survive and reproduce is debatable. One example might be that since the origins of farming there have been lots of selections for genes that affect how we digest carbohydrates. But on the other hand, those diseases that we get from digesting carbohydrates, like Type-2 diabetes don't often affect people until after they've had kids.

It’s kind of an extreme way of saying that natural selection hasn't stopped. And there's more variation out there. But on the other hand, we have so many cultural means to deal with the deleterious effects of our genetic background that it's probably not so important. For example, we know there's a genetic basis for things like myopia and flat feet. Those genes didn't cause people to get myopic or flat footed back in the paleolithic, because they weren't living inside, and reading books, and wearing shoes with arch supports. But the environmental interactions lead to myopia and flat feet. I would be really shocked if people who were myopic or who had flat feet had lower reproductive fitness than people who have normal feet and normal vision. There's no deleterious consequence because in this culture we've got orthotics, and we've got glasses and contact lessons. So natural selection is clearly not acting in those cases.

At times when I was reading the book, I felt like I was projecting forward and wondering if we were all going to end up looking like the cartoon humans in the movie Wall-E.
Oh yeah, I made a mention of that. I think that's where we're headed. Two thirds of Americans are overweight or obese, and about a third of American children are overweight. The numbers don't look good at all.

And other countries are in for a serious crisis. Take India. The journal Nature called it a Type 2 diabetes time bomb. The middle class there has terrible rates of obesity, and diabetes is rising at an alarming rate. One of the scary things about India is that they appear to have less genetic background that protects people. And people are getting it at lower ages there. Also, a lot of the medications that have been developed don't work as effectively on younger individuals.

You talk about the different factors that influence health and fitness, that it really goes beyond diet and exercise to includes genes, your microbiome, stress, and sleep.
Yep. No question about it. I also discuss the hygiene hypothesis, about how our bodies are filled with things that aren't us—about 10 times not you in terms of cells in your body, especially in your gut. Every time you take an antibiotic you change the bacteria in your ecosystem. Sometimes that can have negative consequences. A lot of autoimmune diseases may result from changes in our microbiomes. Certainly, it's been proven to have an effect on obesity.

As for sleep, lack of sleep elevates chronic stress and leads to a series of problems. Sleep also affects your appetite, and the regulation ghrelin and leptin. Everything we talk about is a gene-environment interaction. I focused on the environment’s role, partly because we can't really change our genes. So environment is where we need to focus our efforts.

My sense is that a lot of people feel like they're doing something to combat weight issues and they're frustrated because they’re going to the gym every day and working out for an hour and not getting the results they want. You're suggesting a more comprehensive fitness strategy where all of the factors need to come into line. Changing one or two of them isn't going to really make much of a difference.
I agree with everything you just said. If your sole goal is to lose weight, if that's the reason to exercise, then yes, you are going to be disappointed. It's very hard to lose weight through exercise. But since when was that the only reason to exercise? Physical activity makes you happier, makes you smarter, helps your heart, helps digestion, and a thousand other things.

Second, the data on physical activity helps you keep weight off more than lose it. And third, you're right, there is no magic bullet and part of the problem is that once you're overweight, your body wants to stay that way. That's what we're evolved for.

There's a reason dieting is hard, people who lost weight, were at a reproductive disadvantage most of our evolutionary history. So when you diet, guess what, you exercise less, because you lose the motivation, because you're tired, right? That makes sense, because before the industrialization of food we were programmed to save that energy so we could reproduce better. If people understand the evolutionary story, they can better tackle the problem, they understand their body’s natural response.

This is the genetic destiny we all share, then. Am I understanding it right?
Yeah, absolutely. It’s harder for the person who is already overweight because signaling mechanisms shut off sensitivity to leptin that prevents going into negative energy balance. So we have to stop blaming people who are overweight for being overweight. It's not their fault and we should stop demonizing and ridiculing them. Instead we should understand what they’re going through and how we can help, and that requires an evolutionary perspective.

You get into some ideas at the end of the book about ways to encourage this change.
Part of the book was about that because everybody has strong opinions on what to do. Evolution offers several lessons. One is what kind of environment we’re adapted for, and how there's a complicated trade off for every adaptation.

Secondly, it's important to recognize what we're up against—our evolved instincts. They're almost clichéd, right? If I put celery and a donut in front of you, and we talk for an hour, at some point you are going to reach for the donut before the celery. I would.

If you put a little peanut butter on the celery, maybe I'd go for the celery… Nah, I'd probably still go for the donut. Especially if it's the afternoon, when my brain is really craving the sugar.
Exactly. Those are real instincts, and they need to be understood. And to ask people to suddenly start pretending that their instincts don't exist is just fantasy. There are a few of us who can occasionally do it, but most of us fail most of the time.

So the way I stay fit and healthy is by coercing myself, frankly. I like to run marathons. I sign up for them, not so much because I like to run marathons, but when I sign up for one, it forces me to train because, say, on October 15th I've got to slog through 26 miles. If I didn't, there's no question, here in New England on a Sunday morning in February when it's minus 20 and the roads are covered in ice, ehhh, I'm not going to run.

I have a group of friends I run with so I've now forced myself, I’m accountable. When I go shopping, I always go shopping after I've eaten so I'm a little less likely to do all that craving purchases. We all learn tricks. Fortunately I have enough means and have time to train and run and buy healthy food and not everybody has those opportunities and abilities. And that's why we coerce children. Nobody gives children the choice about what they're going to eat, or at least most people don't.

You bargain and negotiate.
Once you start negotiating, you've lost. The problem is you can't philosophically justify coercion in most cases for adults. In some cases we do, like with seatbelt laws, but they are big battles.

You can't prevent somebody from smoking or eating donuts, but we can't do it on our own, either. We live in a world in which people have provided us all of these comforts and foods that we crave, and our instincts aren't, for the most part, able to handle it.

There is also a lot of deceptive advertising. You know, all those muffin shops claiming their goods are fat free. Technically they're right—these muffins are fat free. But they're 50 percent sucrose, and sucrose is 50 percent fructose, which basically turns straight into fat in your liver. We need laws to prevent that kind of advertising because people don't understand it. We need government on our side in a way that helps us help ourselves, but in a way that respects people's liberties and freedom to do what they want with their lives.

What do you think about things like Mayor Michael Bloomberg's soda ban in New York?
I think that's actually a good example of libertarian paternalism. Because on the one hand, he's not preventing people from drinking soda. He's just saying you can't buy 32-ounce sodas. If you want 32 ounces of soda, you have to buy two. And you can't prevent anyone from doing that. I think people overreacted, as if it was an infringement of their rights. But I think it was a reasonable nudge rather than a shout or a push.

We're in a healthcare crisis. We spend, what, 2 trillion a year in the U.S.? Some of the diseases people get are preventable. Heart attacks, coronary heart disease, strokes—and it's costing a fortune. Can we afford not to take some action? What's going to happen to our economy if we don't start enacting some measures?

It certainly seems like the argument from an evolutionary biology perspective is making a very effective and persuasive case against a lot of this.
Thank you. I also wanted people to understand where they really came from rather than having some kind of artificial idea about cavemen.

Some people just seem to think they should eat more meat. They need some of the actual science behind it and that's in short supply right now.
I also think the paleo movement has done a lot of good, but its become a bit's not quite a clique, but there is a bit of a group think.

My take is that the core community that embraced paleo initially were a little bit more serious about it and probably understood the nuances better. Now that it's more widespread, people are just co-opting it and taking it as dogma.
You know, if you think about it, with 7 billion people on the planet, we're not going to be able to feed them all grass-fed beef. Whether you like it or not, we can't do it. It's just not an option. That's not our solution, and that's not going to help the largest number of people.

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A DIY Tour of "Breaking Bad"

People brag about such-and-such city having “the worst drivers,” but I’m going to reverse field here and compliment the many, many motorists of Albuquerque, New Mexico, who are actually pretty good drivers. They have to be. Otherwise, given the amount of traffic and the speed at which it’s moving, you’d see 100-car pileups every hour or so.

The Duke City is an offbeat metropolis that seems like it was laid out by a drag racer on blue meth. Experientially, much of the city is defined by a vast grid of wide, high-speed boulevards, each of which is lined on both sides with shopping centers and old-school strip malls. It’s hard to describe how many shopping places there are in Albuquerque. It’s hard even to imagine it, not unlike contemplating the distance between galaxies in an expanding universe.

One of ABQ’s defining racetracks—Montgomery Boulevard, which runs east-west in the city’s spiffy-scruffy northeast quadrant—is roughly six miles long, with stores jamming both sides. So that’s 12 miles of pure commercial overload right there. From east to west and from north to south, there are many more boulevards just like it, roaring zoomways with evocative names like Menaul, Candelaria, San Mateo, Juan Tabo, Eubank, and Lomas. I have no idea what the total length would be if you placed all these storefronts side by side in a line, but I’m convinced it would extend for hundreds of miles, perhaps enough to span the entire width of New Mexico.

Where are the houses? In the big checkerboard spaces between the boulevards. Walter White’s modest casa is tucked away inside one of these squares, and I was surprised to learn that the White family lived just a few blocks from a big Marshall’s on Montgomery Boulevard (where I’ve made some of my most important white-socks purchases over the years) and A Taste of Italy (a pizza slice-and-sandwich place on Juan Tabo that is my go-to favorite for meatball subs). Walter easily could have walked to either establishment. He threw that away for a life of crime?

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Like many fans of Breaking Bad, I wanted to see, in person, some of the iconic locations used in the series, so I decided to create my own driving tour. There are of course professional outfits that will take you around to look at Breaking Bad sites for a price, but where’s the adventure in that? I know Albuquerque very well: my wife, Susan, and I love its homely strangeness and friendly people and have been there dozens of times to shop, eat, and goof around. There are various fan hubs online (like this one) that can help you figure out for yourself where to find the best Breaking Bad locations. I know how to use a map and a turn signal and how to stomp frantically on my brakes and make semi-legal U-turns while screaming with frustration inside my car. Miles of bad road beckoned. And so, the day before the season finale, on an achingly bright autumn Saturday, away we went.


I arranged our tour to take us in a northeast-to-southwest meander that included most of the urban spots important to any fan. (I plan to put together a separate Desert Tour later.) Some of the bleakest black comedy in Breaking Bad happens in northeast Albuquerque, an area north of Interstate 40 and east of I-25 that sprawls upwards into the foothills of the Sandia Mountains, the rocky bulwark that rises dramatically on the city’s eastern edge. The homes of Walter White and his DEA agent brother-in-law, Hank Schrader, are here, as are the offices of supershyster lawyer Saul “Better Call Saul” Goodman.

Susan and I started at Saul’s office, which sits in the un-aptly named Paradise Square shopping center at 9800 Montgomery. Because Albuquerque has an oversupply of commercial property, a lot of it winds up either empty or in a state of existential despair, which is what happened here. Saul’s old digs are now home to a skeezy booze-and-rock venue called Hooligan’s Tavern. (“Warning,” warns their website. “Not for the Faint-hearted. Please consult your doctor before entering Hooligans!”)

Also “on tap” in the square: a tattoo parlor and more bars, one of which is called The Dirty Bourbon. On the plus side: May Hong Vietnamese restaurant (first seen in Season 2 of Breaking Bad) is still in business. And on a huge billboard across the street, there’s an ad seeking victims of “Motorcycle Bicycle & Truck accidents.” It reads: “Hurt? Call Bert. 322-Bert.” I like to think Bert did this in the Spirit of Saul.

Next stop was the home of Hank and Marie Schrader, who tried to do right but were thwarted by wrong. At least I think it was their home, because something went awry here. The Schraders lived in a fancy-pants neighborhood in the Sandia foothills called Glenwood Hills, an area that (rare for Albuquerque) exists Outside the Grid. After you pass the intersection of Montgomery and Tramway, you see a sign informing you that you’re entering a finer realm, and just like that things go from being all asphalt-and-storefront to being all curvy streets, scenic views, and well-landscaped homes.

From the moment we entered the hills, I was tailed by a helmeted man on a buzzing little motorbike. Was he a private security guard hired to swat away fans like us? No. He was a friendly local named Gavin who takes friends on informal Breaking Bad tours, riding his bike and leading them and their cars around to locations. Today he was “improving his route” while shooting selfies in front of key spots.

The address I found online for Hank’s house (4915 Cumbre Del Sur Court NE) turned out to be wrong, but Gavin pointed me to what he was sure was the correct house. And yet ... I think I must have heard him wrong, because the snapshot I took does not match the Hank house that I’ve seen so many times on the show. I’ll get that problem sorted out eventually, but this much I can assure you: I was on the right street, and wherever the correct house is, it’s big, its exterior is brown, and Hank once made Schraderbrau in its garage.

Nothing went wrong in our search for the Walter White home (3828 Piermont Drive NE), which was thrilling to see, even without a gravity-aided pizza sliding down its sloping garage roof.

Right after I parked and got out, Gavin buzzed into view again, never removing his helmet as he spoke to me, sharing insider lore about his experiences guiding the route. The White home is occupied by real-life non-actor people, he said, and the woman of the house is understanding about the fact that fans are constantly driving by and taking snapshots—on occasion, she has even come out and spoken to Gavin. Gavin figures that interest in the house will last long after the show stops airing. I agree—several vehicles rolled by while we talked—but I also have to wonder about something. No offense to the house, but it’s the kind of place you might raze simply to stop the fan hassles. If that happens, I hope it can be reassembled at the Smithsonian, like Julia Child’s kitchen.

Other key spots in this part of the city are the auto-and-money-laundering A1A Car Wash (which is an Octopus car wash at 9516 Snow Heights Circle NE) and Taco Sal (9621 Menaul NE), where Marie and Walt’s wife, Skyler, handed out fliers when Walt briefly went “missing” during Season 2. The car wash was everything I hoped it would be—it’s huge, and it sits on a big, bleak savannah of pavement, just like in the show—while Taco Sal was ... well, the sign out front is great, a classic Route 66-style invitation to come in and chow down. But the tacos I ate were bland, a far cry from the spicy, rage-flavored carne burritos made by Tuco-the-psychotic-drug-dealer in Episode 9.

For me, the finest experience in the Northeast Cluster was the John B. Robert Dam (Juan Tabo and Osuna), the concrete structure where fugitive characters go to get picked up by Ed the Disappearer, the vacuum-cleaner repairmen who, for a price, helps criminals start a new life. As seen in Breaking Bad, it’s hard to tell what the dam really is—it looks like a defensive installation built for the Maginot Line. But, up close, it’s obviously part of Albuquerque’s flood-control system: on the back side of the structure, you see a wide arroyo coming down from the Sandias. The dam is spooky; its upright concrete slabs suggest a graveyard. On one of the slabs, some imaginative citizen-artist has mounted an old, broken vacuum cleaner, a symbol of Ed’s inability to cannister-vac Walter into a happier place.


In Albuquerque, Central Avenue = Route 66, and it’s worth any tourist’s time to creep down its many blocks at a stop-and-go pace. There are some excellent dumpy hotels on Central, along with the country’s most depressing state fairgrounds. Near Nob Hill and the University of New Mexico campus, you’ll find a shopping strip with good restaurants and a lot of fun, funky stores. You’ll also find several notable Breaking Bad sites, including the Denny’s where Walt eats breakfast on his mysterious 52nd birthday.

But I wanted to spend as much time as possible at the doomed love shack of Jesse Pinkman and Jane Margolis (corner of Terrace Street and Lead SE).

The real building is much dingier-looking than what you see in the show, which depicts the place after it’s undergone a full renovation, overseen by Jane’s helicopter-parent of a dad. My photo of this spot is not so great—the sun got in my eyes!—but to me this was the second-most-resonant stop on the tour. To paraphrase The Onion: Jesse and Jane worked very hard to turn this meth house into a meth home, but it was not meant to be.

Next stop was the creepy Crossroads Motel (1001 Central Avenue SE), where so many awful things happened: Jesse’s marathon of alibi sex with Wendy the Meth Whore; Uncle Hank forcing Wendy to display her receding gums to Walt Jr. as an object lesson in Where Drugs Can Lead. Definitely worth a stop. A warning, though: the parking lot is smaller than it looks on TV, and there was a woman in the lobby who seemed unhappy that I and other non-paying tourists were crowding it. I’m worried that, soon, the only way to tour this place will be to pay for a room.

On this trip, pressed for time, we had to skip Twisters (4257 Isleta Boulevard SW), the stand-in for Los Pollos Hermanos, the fast-food chicken franchise that defines many episodes of Breaking Bad. But the Southwest quadrant featured plenty of other riches. At 1st, 2nd, and Atlantic Streets SW, you’ll find Combo’s Corner, where a member of Jesse Pinkman’s meth-selling posse was gunned down by a kid on a bike.

The scary Tuco HQ is found at 906 Park Avenue SW; and the Dog House, where Jesse had a miserable solo meal, is just up the road at 1216 Central SW. The Grove Cafe and Market, where nervous Lydia Rodarte-Quayle conducted some of her Stevia meetings, is at 600 Central SE.

We wrapped up a fulfilling day with stops at the home of Jesse’s parents (11th and Roma NW) and Jesse’s aunt’s house (16th and Los Alamos SW), where so, so, so many grisly things happened. You’d never know it by looking at this place. The house is beautiful, and it sits in the middle of a high-end, out-of-the-way Albuquerque neighborhood called Huning Castle. Jesse’s house looks a lot better than it does in Breaking Bad, so there’s no chance it will ever get knocked down. We were there in late afternoon, but I think the best time to see it would be early morning—when you have a better chance of seeing old ladies power walking by, sprinklers running, or a dazed guy named Krazy 8 staggering down the middle of the street.

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