Brainhacks: 10 Simple Strategies To Keep Your Mind Strong For A Lifetime

By Jim Turnbo III

Did you know you can control every aspect of your brain's potential?

How you train and protect your brain determines your thoughts, your actions, your beliefs, and your successes. But do you know how to tap into this hidden potential?

Only one-third of your mental capacity is controlled by your genes. That means two-third of your brain capacity is controlled by - you.

In Brainhacks: 10 Simple Strategies to Keep Your Mind Strong for a Lifetime, you will learn how to create new brain cells while protecting the ones you have? Of course it will require a little focused intention on your part. But look back at what you do every day; without thinking about it.

Like anything, whatever you do repeatedly becomes a habit. Both good or bad.

Learning and living doesn't have to stop when you finish school. It's only the beginning. Each day is a platform for improvement: A new day and a new chapter to add to your life story.

We all know how to take our lives to the next level. Deep down many don't want to do the work. Others need to see the "how;" while others need to see the "why."

That's where Brainkhacks will help.

No matter where you fit on the learning curve, you can create a brain that would have made Albert Einstein jealous.

Learning to develop - and strengthen - your brain to its fullest potential is easier than you think. It's a matter of learning what to do and how to do it. And it's as easy swiping the pages on your reading device.

The sad truth is this: Different forms of Dementia's are robbing us of our latter years.

Often, people are forced into nursing homes from bad lifestyle choices leading up to their retirement years. It doesn't have to be that way. Exercise, balanced nutrition, and learning something new are only 3 of the ways to enhance your cognitive level.

The earlier you apply what you'll learn in Brainhacks, the better your chances of keeping your mind during the last two-thirds of your life.

Don't think because you're in your twenties and thirties the strategies don't apply to you. It does more than YOU can understand. The truth is your mental and physical downward spiral can start in your late twenties. It all comes back to your lifestyle.

But what you have in your hands is about much more than that. It's about creating the life you dream of by creating new health-habits transforming your life to new levels.

It's up to you to take that first step.

If you're ready to hack your full potential, download your copy and start applying the 10 powerful lessons today.

Scroll to the top of the page and click on the "buy" button and get started TODAY!.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Turnbo III
• Release date: Jan 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393340102

Jim Turnbo III

Jim Turnbo III has spent most of his life (since he was 15 years old) devoted to fitness and nutrition. He has an immense desire to help people live long vibrant lives by attacking disease through prevention. In 2014 he published his first book “Beating Alzheimer’s – Life Altering Tips to Help Prevent You From Becoming Another Statistic” on Amazon. After a decade of solely being a Fitness Professional, he found himself helping people in long-term care as an Activities Director. During his time in this position, it became more evident that prevention needed to take front seat in our society. Jim stated, “Our health issues have to be about more than masking the problem with medication! There has to be a focused effort in teaching people this simple fact: what you do today affects your life tomorrow. And more often than not it is in a bad way.” If you want to keep up with what is going on in Jim’s life, follow him on Facebook at facebook.com/jimturnbohealth or email him: [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

Overload. Each of us is in a constant state of overload. Work overload, information overload, stress overload, fun-seeking overload, etc. If I thought long enough, I could write a book showing you overload and the addiction accompanying it.

Instead, let me tell you a story.

It was the summer of 1958. The sun moved across the heavens at a snail’s pace from left to right. The giant orange circle looked motionless. But the quarter-sized sun had places to go and other people to see. But its return was inevitable, a mere twenty-four hours later.

Two lone cumulous clouds danced across the tree-tops a few thousand feet in the sky. At first you’d say they were cotton balls. The longer you gazed, the different shapes they took. But they too had places to go and people to pass over.

Just as today, life on the ground was busy back then, in its own way. The midday heat rooted itself as it does every July. The streets, busy with 57 Chevy Bel Airs and 58 Studebaker Commanders. If I had been old enough, would’ve heard the Everly Brothers singing, "All I Have To Do Is Dream."

But I couldn’t know any of these details. See, July 28, 1958 is my birthday. I came into this world in a small town in North-Central Indiana. But pictures tell the tale of my early days.

The delivery room lights burned my undeveloped eyes. Cries echoed the halls while others entered the gateway of this world. It’s the Boomer Generation. The war ended more than a decade ago. This was the generation who did as God ordered in Genesis: Go replenish the earth.

Ten other babies took their first breaths on my birthday; and that’s only one hospital. When you do the math, the fall theory of husbands and wives procreating becomes fact. People from the Midwest tend to be a more active in the bedroom during the time of harvest. 

My parents were hard-working folk. They loved and raised me (and my younger brother of five years) to the best of their abilities. They lived an average life, working hard during the day with the occasional drink during the evenings. On the weekends, drinking started earlier and finished later. Sometimes friends stopped over to visit. Conversations and laughter riddled the air through most of the night. Drinking never brought violence, only loud discussions.

I remember my singe-digit years; primarily eight years old. A few of the guys stopped by and played poker with my dad. More like H.O.R.S.E. poker. It’s a mix of five different poker games. But I didn’t really care. The only thing I knew, the more they drank, the looser the table.

One Saturday night my dad asked me to be the runner – the beer runner that is. My job consisted of fetching beer from the fridge. A simple task when you think about it. Even for an eight-year-old.

As one of the guys finished his bottle, Hey boy, bellowed from the group. Sometimes my dad called. Other times one of the guys called. Honestly, it depended on how well-rooted they were with the group. Fledglings had to earn the right and dad gave them the look if they tried too soon.

Each one drank the same beer, either by default or by choice. If my memory serves me it had something to do with a blue ribbon. A single choice made sprinting for beer much easier. 

My dad was good at poker. He’d brag every time he won, which happened often. I’ll take that, came from his lips as he extended his arms toward the center of the table in a barrel-hugging motion. He’d sweep the pile of coins and bills toward his cards, boasting about taking their money. His cards lay face-up showing the table his wining hand. That night the winnings were good. It’s the first time my dad let me try a beer.

I’d sit in the other room watching TV or playing with my Stretch Armstrong. He’d yell, Beer, or Hey boy. It didn’t take long for me to realize that was my cue to grab one and run it to the table.

Most of my runs were for the other guys. Dad learned to master the illusion of drinking. It became his secret weapon in running the table. It’s easier for a bunch of loaded guys to make bad decisions, he’d say at the end of the night. This particular beer belonged to him.

I ran to the fridge, pulled a blue ribbon beer from the shelf and ran it to him. He looked down and smiled as he always had. Then reached down and grabbed the can as I held it out with my two small hands. He popped the top and raised the can to his lips, but stopped before taking a drink.

He looked at me, shot a smile and gave me a slight nod of the head. I stood at his side looking up not really knowing what to expect. But a father-son bonding opportunity presented itself and I didn’t want to miss it. He moved his arm towards me. His large hand covered the can. He lowered the beer in my direction and stopped in front of my face. Go ahead son, give it a try. In looking back, I wonder if I gave the impression of being too eager.

I grabbed the can and rushed the spout to my lips. The brisk aluminum brought a chill to my hands. Beads of water descended the length of my arms. I tilted the bottom of the adult beverage towards the ceiling. Bottoms up.

The chilled liquid cascaded via the back of my throat. It tasted good for a second. Then it tasted bitter analogous to the way sweaty socks smelled. My nose crinkled, as if the smell bothered me. I handed the can back to my dad. He howled and took the can from me and set it on the table next to him. He winked at me and I ran the opposite direction. I had to get that bitter taste out of my mouth.

Forty years later I still remember my first date with beer. But today, at forty-seven, I look back and see blank spots. The years of drinking, eating unhealthy food and working a stressful job has brought confusion