KEEPING FIT. Orison Swett Marden

are incapable of accuracy or satisfactory efficiency. They have no enthusiasm for their work; their minds wander; they make all sorts of mistakes and blunders, and their vitality is so depleted that they are in no condition to focus their powers upon their work. The superintendent of one of the largest concerns in New York tells me that it is really pitiable to watch some of the employees when they come to work mornings, especially after holidays. He says they look as if they had already been through a hard, trying day’s work, and were utterly exhausted and ready to quit work instead of just starting it for the day. He says that it often takes half a day or more for them to get into condition to do even passable work; that they are indifferent, without energy or enthusiasm all the forenoon; and that, in fact, often many of them do not get into the true swing of their work during the entire day.

      These workers probably think they are having a good time in thus dissipating their energy by turning night into day, robbing themselves of sleep, and going to all sorts of amusements and questionable places. They call this excitement, this dissipation, “enjoying life,” but they little realize what they pay for it.

      I know young men and women workers who tell me that it is a rare thing for them to retire before midnight, and often not till one, two, or three o’clock in the morning. Of course they must do very inferior work during the following day. Yet on every hand employees are complaining that they are not treated fairly, that they don’t have a fair chance, and that they are discriminated against.

      It is not the vitality we utilize that dwarfs our power and whittles away and shortens life; it is what we foolishly throw away. Millions of people have made failures in life by letting their health, their most precious asset, which might have made them successful, slip away from them in foolish living and silly dissipation.

      Keeping ourselves fit, up to our highest physical and mental standards, so that we are always ready to do the most superb thing possible to us, is not an easy task. Few are willing to pay the price for it in self-denial and sacrifice of what others call “having a good time.” But it is the only price for masterfulness, and he who is not willing to pay it, who is not ambitious to make his life successful, to make it count, must be content to be catalogued with the mediocrities; he must be satisfied to be classed with the nobodies, those who would like to be somebodies and do something in the world but are not willing to plod the path of self-restraint which alone leads to excellence.

      The desire is not enough; it must be backed by vigorous resolution—determination which knows no retreat.

      He who would get the most out of life, who would reach the highest expression in his work, and yet would retain his freshness, vigor, and enthusiasm to the last, must lead a regular life. He must conform to the rules of health; he must become acquainted with his own body and give it all its needs, no more, no less, to keep it always at the top of its achievement-possibility.

      The moment there is any letting down of standards, or decline in physical or mental force, deterioration expresses itself at once in everything one does.

      The quality of the work cannot be up to high-water mark when any faculty or function, any of your ability is prejudicially affected by inferior physical or mental condition. You may be sure that your weakness, whatever its cause, will appear in your day’s work to dilute or cheapen its quality, whether it is making books or selling them, teaching school or studying, singing or painting, chiseling statues or digging trenches.

      I know men with but one talent whose life habits are so healthful and regular; whose meal hours, time for recreation and sleep, exercise, and vacations are so well ordered; who take such superb care of themselves that they are constantly at the top of their physical and mental condition, and accomplish with ease much more than other men of five or ten talents who waste their energy and squander their power by abusing their human machines, so marvelously and wonderfully made.

      I recall a slipshod, slovenly farmer,who never seemed to have anything just right on his farm. His fences needed mending; his barns were not painted; his harness was usually tied up with a string or piece of rope; there was always something out of gear in his carriages and carts. His farm buildings were dilapidated, windows broken, and old hats used in the place of glass. The yard was filled with worn-out sleds, broken pieces of machinery, and bits of junk of all sorts. Shiftlessness and lack of system was everywhere in evidence. The whole farm was covered over with the earmarks of his sloppy, slovenly methods. He himself was always “just getting along” with things until he could get time. He would say to his farm hands, “Just make it go now; do it anyhow so we can get along. When we have a rainy day we can fix it in good shape.” But the things were never fixed “in good shape.” Whenever I asked him how he was getting along, he would tell me about his “hard luck,” how things were always going against him. But his neighbor, now—he always seemed to be “lucky.” His harvests were always good, and he did not have half so much trouble with his help as the other had. This was true, but as a matter of fact the difference in luck was that the neighbor was naturally orderly and systematic. He cultivated the same sort of soil, but with a difference. Everything about his place had a snug, neat appearance. Buildings were painted and in good repair; yards were clean; wagons, carts, and farm machinery were in good order. Work was always done in season, and in the right way.

      It was just the difference in the methods of these farmers that made one “lucky” and well-to-do, the other “unlucky” and head over heels in debt, with a mortgage on his farm. They are good types of the people who keep fit and those who do not.

      A great many people go through life just like the sloppy, slovenly farmer. They never have things up to the mark. There is always something the matter with their life machinery; it is out of order, and they go on from year to year sowing faulty seed and reaping scant harvests.

      Distinctive achievement of any kind is costly. It is not half as easy as sliding along the line of least resistance and having a good time, not bothering one’s head about system; but there is a wide difference in the results.

      There is nothing like keeping fit, keeping things up to the standard; nothing like regularity in one’s life habits, order and system, both in life and in work. It will make all the difference in the world, in results, whether you go to your work every day in prime condition, with all your faculties up to their standards; whether you go at the top notch of your efficiency; whether you go an entire man, so that you can fling your whole life into your task, or only part of one. He who wins in this day of sharp competition must bring the whole of himself to his task; he must keep himself fit in every respect.

      Most people take only a small part of themselves to their tasks. They cripple much of their ability by irregular living, bad habits, lack of sleep, and eating injurious food. They do not go to their tasks every morning whole men; a part of themselves, often a large part, is somewhere else. They have been trying to have a good time. They carry weakness instead of power, indifference and dullness instead of enthusiasm and alertness, to the performance of the most important duties of their lives.

      There are, on the other hand, many men and women who cut down their fitness and ultimate efficiency by continually overdoing and never allowing themselves a good time. They go to the other extreme.

      I know self-made men who formed such iron habits of work when they started as poor boys, when their success depended upon working a great many hours every day, that they have become slaves to the habit. No matter whether they feel like it or not, they compel themselves to remain in their offices or factories just so many hours a day, when, perhaps, three-fourths of the time they are merely mechanically forcing their brains to do very ordinary work. They could accomplish more and better work in less than half the time with fresh, vigorous brains and minds elastic and spontaneous. They do not realize that a mind that is habitually held to its task by will-power for long hours after a time becomes permanently injured by losing its spring or resilience, just as a bow would lose its power to rebound if it were always strung.

      These men know this principle very well, and they can see that their friends who are doing the same thing are making a great mistake in straining so, in not going away now and then to get freshened up or renewed, with a new view of things and a fresh outlook on life and business. They plainly see their neighbors’ mistake in not putting themselves in the way of that rejuvenation which comes