Yes, it’s that time of year again—when we at SFR go out and research the foreign world of healthy living. Journalists are notorious for crouching nervously by their desks all day, overindulging in whiskey when the stress becomes too much. But, as we all learned during this issue, it needn’t be so! Santa Fe is full of fresh air, mountains, healers, teachers and general mindfulness—provided you know where to look. So, this year, we’ve expanded our fitness guide to include not only tips for the happy and healthy, but also some good ideas for those of us who aren’t quite so healthy—who, in fact, may need to heal before we even start the path to wholesome living. So here it is, Santa Fe: the road map to a whole new you. —Alexa Schirtzinger

When Dr. Judy Scher asked if she could work on me, I expected to walk out of her office feeling light as a feather, uplifted and sublime—a new version of myself.

A young, dreadlocked woman sits on the floor by the caged outdoor hockey rink at Herb Martinez Park. Though she just suffered an elbow fracture, she didn’t miss her weekly practice. Seemingly unscathed, she starts unpacking her protective equipment, the sun glistening on her impressive RoboCop-approved high-tech brace—the name of which escapes her.

Nestled here in Santa Fe—among mountains and sky, piñon and juniper and everything that makes our city different and special—is Dr. Eric Grasser’s practice, Unity Medicine. Grasser is one of just a handful of MDs in the nation to join Ayurveda, the world’s oldest healing system, with modern Western medicine.

Day 1: It Begins
Nobody ever accused me of being thin, but the sad fact is that moving back to Santa Fe after years in California played a major part in letting myself go. For the first year, it was hard for me just to get up in the morning, let alone exercise, but all that’s going to change. I’m excited and dedicated, and my first step is the vow to eat nothing but salads for a month.

You’re an avid snowboarder, shredding down a Lake Tahoe mountain, when you fall…40 feet. You wake up in the hospital, paralyzed from the shattered neck down. You’re staring up at the ceiling through frightened blue eyes as a hissing machine breathes for you and the doctors tell you that you’ll never walk again. That your condition is “incurable.” That you might not survive the night.

While you and I spend the warm Southwestern summer days judging whether to swim a few cool laps or hop on the carbon horse and ride the Chamisa Trail, the hotshot crews of Santa Fe and around New Mexico are more than likely at war with fire in the wildlands, humping heavy gear to the edge of infernos. They cut firebreaks, fell trees and hike steep, rocky terrain deprived of sleep, all in the searing heat. So that our own fitness concerns are kept to running for recreation and not for our lives, these elite crews have to be in peak shape.

As a teenage girl, I was a troublemaker. I was the kind of girl who was regularly sent home for wearing black lace slips to school and ditching math class. In fact, I loved to break the rules so much that I spent 11 consecutive weekends (a record at the time) in Saturday school my sophomore year for talking back to the vice principal. In spite of my insatiable desire to break every rule presented to me as a teenage girl, however, I fell in love with one of the world’s most rigid disciplines: I was totally and completely infatuated with ballet.

Eighteen months ago, you could’ve called me “Piggy,” “Fatso” or “Rosie O’Donnell.” Without the XL shirt, the potbelly, and the terrible case of chin acne, you probably wouldn’t guess that I weighed 220 pounds just before I entered college.

On July 7, the Trust for America’s Health—a nonprofit dedicated to improving community health around the country—released a report titled “F as in Fat: How Obesity Threatens America’s Future 2011.” The findings are disappointing, if not particularly shocking: Across the nation, obesity rates continue to balloon out of control.