Team Junky versus Team Sana

Yesterday I went running with my friend, a chain-smoker and self-proclaimed junky (although his definition of junky is questionable) who happens to have the endurance of a marathon runner, putting me to shame as I panted behind him, face the color of jamon crudo, while he floated effortlessly ahead. I don't smoke, I try to eat well and exercise just about everyday. True, since coming to Buenos Aires I've indulged a bit more than I normally would in the States. My block alone literally has three bakeries, all of which have windows displaying baskets of glazed medialunas, facturas, cheesecakes, everything that I can't say no to. This, along with the fact that meat is cheap and I've been eating steaks the size of my head for lunch everyday, has perhaps slowed me down a bit. However, it still came as a surprise that someone who has smoked for more than half their life can out-run me. After two hours of puffing along Libertador, stopping only to hose down, or to walk cautiously through the field of unleashed Rott Weilers and German Shepherds, I decided that my whole concept of what it means to be healthy is bull-shit, informed by a North American dichotomy of gluttony and self-denial. We label things as unhealthy, when it is really not about the things themselves but our unhealthy way of using/misusing them...