I take my dog, Fideo, out for a hike in Runyon Canyon three times a week. It's about 45 minutes round-trip with a variation of super steep hills and flat areas. He's always running ahead, which helps me push myself, especially up the hills.
Every season has its peaks and valleys. What you have to try to do is eliminate the Grand Canyon.
Giving thanks is that: making the canyon of pain into a megaphone to proclaim the ultimate goodness of God when Satan and all the world would sneer at us to recant.
I was accustomed to being in far, far riskier environments. So I thought going into that canyon was a walk in the park - there were no avalanches, it was a beautiful day and I was essentially just walking.
I limited myself to one shout a day. But I didn't like the sound of my voice. It sounded panicked, it sounded scared. And I knew from experience you can't hear more than 50 yards either way down a canyon.
Just about every weekend when I was growing up, we would throw rods and rifles and tents and shovels and pickaxes into the back of the truck and then head off to the side of a mountain or the bottom of a canyon. Hiking, fishing, hunting, rock-hounding: this is how my parents passed the time.
Life is supposed to be a series of peaks and valleys. The secret is to keep the valleys from becoming Grand Canyons.
When I did the video for 'Holding Out For A Hero,' we filmed that on top of the Grand Canyon, and that was quite frightening. I was close to the edge, and there was a helicopter hovering about, creating a lot of wind, and I was nervous I was going to fall off.
My business life takes a big chunk of time, but I still put exercise in my schedule. I'm up at 5 A.M. and get up and stretch and go for a run in Runyon Canyon with all five of my dogs.
Those Laurel Canyon days were great. I have a real fondness for that era, 'til about '68. Musically, it was wonderful, and there was this great innocence, an idyllic view of the world. After that, everything got a little... edgy.
