Look at all the lovely bodies. All kinds of shapes and all kinds of sizes!
I saw this display of of pre classic bodies and my heart skipped a beat.
Look how different they all are. Each tells a story.
These days we are so focused on hyper skinny shapes, we forget our round parts, our squishy bits, our mom soft bellies, our strong arms and open hearts that hug and hold and work and soothe and love.
Love yourself today. Celebrate what your body is and what it does.
For the past few years, I’ve regularly logged my steady little workouts every day in our “222 in 2022” groups, mostly doubling the 216 – 217 – 221 – 222 goal. A habit by now, you’d think. But this summer, here is what some of my posts looked like:
I seem to be not tracking anything, because I’m too exhausted by all the post-funeral estate stuff to actually keep to a real movement schedule. But there have been bike rides, a run or two, walks and a shit ton of moving boxes and furniture. So I’m giving myself one workout a day minus one day since I last posted, so 238.
then…
I had COVID and I’m in Croatia and it’s 37C but I’ve walked v far every day and done two YWAs so let’s call it 245- 251, conservatively. Today I was doing a YWA on my terrace and it was so hot my iPad overheated and I had to put it in the fridge!
255, 256, 257: riding a bike on the island of Solta, which made me realize I am still too sick for the bike trip that is supposed to start Tuesday so instead, in a move wiser than most in my life, I am going home 11 days early. And then walking all over Split and Zagreb.
and more recently:
This is apparently the summer where I just completely lose track of what I am doing re movement because it has been derailed so many times. I last recorded #257 on Aug 12 when I realized I needed to come home from Croatia because Covid still had a grip on me. Most of the past two weeks has been recovery and gentle movement, but let me give it a shot:
1 hike in the woods with gf and dog// 2 x SUP // 1 aborted half hour bike ride when I realized 4 km into the ride I’d forgotten my helmet (#covidbrain) // 4 x YWA // 1 x good bike ride to/ around Toronto island // 1 x half hour in zwift // 3 – 4 #slwfmsmph // So that adds up to… 13? So let’s call it 270. Sigh. I am feeling better but still not what you’d call energetic!
Obviously, there’s a story in there.
The short version: On June 29, my mother had a fall and was admitted to hospital. Many things went wrong quickly, and after a week of intense, 24 hour accompaniment through a lot of pain, she died. There was a funeral, and community, and the blear and numbness and weight of estate administration, which I wrote about here.
August was a planned trip to the Balkans that was supposed to include an 8 day bike trip. The day I left, I had a sore throat. My RAT test in my peaceful little hotel room in Zagreb was positive. It was screamingly hot. I tried to continue on with some of my plans, masked and outside and sleeping a lot, since it was my second time with COVID and I thought I could ride it out. But a week later, I found myself on my little test cycling ride grinding up a hill in unrelenting sun, dulled in every possible way. I found a coffee shop, made some expensive phone calls and started to make my way home.
Three weeks later, I’m more or less recovered from the COVID. Mostly. There is still fatigue that makes me feel like there is something awry with my mitochondria. The grief is also tiring. especially since it involves an awful lot of physical and emotional labour in cleaning out my mother’s house, a lot of emotional labour and time time time in navigating the needs of the estate.
I have good people — my sister, my girlfriend, my colleagues, my large and super present community of amazing friends. I have privilege and capacity and resources. This is not a contentious or conflicted time. But it’s still unrelentingly hard.
So what is happening in my body? What is happening to my capacity to find equanimity and ease through movement, the practices I’ve cultivated for decades for just this kind of moment?
Well, it turns out, deep, cellular fatigue is not a friend to movement.
When my mother was first in hospital, movement was helpful — head-clearing walks, the odd overheated run, a few sun salutations for oxygen in my brain and flexibility in my tight, bundled limbs. But as the fatigue set in, it got harder and harder to move. And as we all know, the harder it is to move, the easier it is to avoid it. And then, Covid. And unmindful eating. And bad sleep. And too much driving and desks and stiffness.
Where even IS my body, I wonder?
To answer that question — my first step is always yoga. When I was in Croatia, I started a simple Yoga with Adriene series called Begin. Once more, Adriene was there for me. About 15 minutes of a simple flow every day, with a 5 minute meditation at the end. More or less the same flow every time, with slight variations. Presence, simplicity, no decisions. Beginner’s mind, she reminds us. Experience what’s there now, not what was once there, or what could be there in the future.
This morning, I started a three day training program for an advanced coaching certification. Three long days in zoom, more emotional intensity. Maybe not the perfect time for it, but it was booked months ago.
This morning, before the session started, I fired up my trusty Find What Feels Good app and found Adriene ready to help me find my body for the day. I paid attention. Hamstrings and calves, so tight. Shoulders, hunched. Upper spine, clenched. Muscles sore from lifting and moving everything my mother ever owned. The ache as I lengthened, as I twisted, as I rolled up — my body, returning to me. Reminding me that as I have withstood two deeply challenging months, my body is here, waiting. Ready to support me, ready to become more supple, ready to hold me up.
Ready to breathe.
Fieldpoppy is Cate Creede, who is grateful to be surrounded by community of people and cats. Here they are in a moment of optimism in Split, Croatia.
I am an avid user of social bike systems wherever I go. These are bikes available for shared public use for a small fee. In New York, it’s Citibike; in Montreal, Bixi; in Paris, Velib. And I’ve used systems in Helsinki, Boise, Berlin, Toronto, London (in the UK) and I’m forgetting where else. In many of the systems there’s a choice between non-electric bikes and electric-assist bikes. The latter involves a slightly higher fee. I choose non-electric the vast majority of the time. Despite that choice, lately I’ve noticed that my mind chafes at the usual way in which people refer to the two different types of bike—one as “normal” and the other as “electric.”
As I’ve become sensitized to all the judgemental implications of the word “normal,” I am uncomfortable with that designation, even for the bike. I see in myself how when I use that word to describe my choice, I am slighting the electric. (Yes, there are many good reasons to choose e-bikes and my fellow bloggers have talked about their choices, including: Elan here, Sam B here and Bettina here. They make great points about the virtues and benefits.)
Despite which, when I choose an electric bike, I am often saying something like this to myself: “I’m so tired. I don’t have enough energy for a normal bike.” Or, “I’m late. I’ll make this compromise to be on time.” Both of these could be as anodyne as discerning what I need, or even just want. Yet, if I’m honest with myself, most of the time the comments are tinged with judgement and self-criticism.
Then, the other day, while riding an electric bike (by which I mean electric-assist), when I started to hear that critical voice in my head, suddenly a new supportive voice piped up, “Not normal, acoustic.” The voice emphasized her point with a forceful strum of a chord on her acoustic guitar. Oh yes, the voices in my head are often kitted out with props.
Acoustic.
Oh.
I considered the implications of this linguistic possibility.
Acoustic bikes are the ones that rely completely on my physical power, on my body and where it’s at that day. I know that wherever I go, whatever hill I climb, it’s all Mina-powered. Acoustic days are ones on which I’m tuning into to my own strength. On the other hand, just like an electric guitar requires an amplifier, electric-assist bikes amplify my strength and fluidity. Some days, Mina-amped is a wonderful option. I can still be outside, instead of on a subway, and I don’t have to wear myself down to a nub. I can be on time, without being harried. Plus (important plus)—the joy of the extra speed, freedom and ease. Let’s blow out the speakers with great music. Choosing with discernment. No judgment.
An electric bixi alone at a docking station in Montreal and me about to unlock the bike (notice the acoustic bike that was docked in between the two photos)
My synapses made some connections with another kind of amplifier—psychedelics. I work as a Learning Facilitator with The Synthesis Institute in their Psychedelic Practitioner Core Training, a program for people interested in facilitating psychedelic-assisted therapy and/or ceremony. Scientists often call psychedelics “non-specific amplifiers,” meaning that the effect is to amplify the pre-existing mindset and setting, which includes the intention a person brings to the experience. Research suggests that even a so-called bad trip can be used to a person’s benefit, if they are open to receiving the message, which may ignite our inner healer, pointing toward new possibility. In my own first facilitated experience, I was subjected to a super amplification of negativity from every one of my inner critics. An unpleasant trip. Yet, I heard the message, “Mina, it’s time to change your relationship with the inner critics.” Changing my relationship with all those voices in my head is a work in progress. Including, most recently, changing my relationship with the inner critic who wants to judge me about my choice of bike on any given day.
What kind of bike I ride is just that—a choice between two worthy options. Sure, I mostly like an acoustic ride. And, there are days I want to plug in the amplifier and ride like the Queen of Rock and Roll. Sometimes I need to tune into Mina-amped—to let me know what to work on in myself, or just to get around town.
So I am the sort of person who is good at following the advice of physiotherapists. I’ve successfully rehabbed some serious injuries and I trust the professional advice of physiotherapists. I do what I’m told.
It’s also worth noting that I have exceptionally good benefits and they cover almost all of my physio costs. And yet, even for me, physio after knee replacement is tough and I thought I’d explore why.
First, advice about recovering from knee surgery can sound contradictory. The take home sheets from the hospital say to use your new knee as much as possible each day. It will help you heal faster from surgery and improve your chances of long-term success. But also it says to avoid pushing yourself too far too soon. So as much as possible but not too much. Yep.
And practically it feels like that too.
The knee feels good and so I go for a short walk. After that it swells up and is painful so it’s time for ice and elevation. I’m constantly moving between making the knee work and then helping it recover.
After I posted about going for a very short walk this morning, friends commented, great, now rest!
What’s as much as possible but not too much? There’s not really good intuitive measure at this stage since everything hurts a lot of the time.
Second, unlike other physio I’ve done this is really painful. It’s the kind of painful where you ice before and after and take pain medication around your pt sessions. Since you’ve just undergone surgery and things still hurt from that, you feel a bit like hiding on the sofa, covering yourself in blankets, and waiting until the pain goes away.
Third, it’s pretty time consuming.
Here’s a rough schedule of my days this week. Next week I’m hoping to be able to get on the bike trainer to help with my range of motion.
6 am breakfast, drugs, ice and elevation in bed
630 physio round one, basic stretching and mobility
700 more elevation and icing and getting ready for the day
Tiny walk
800 Breakfast round two, more pain meds, more elevation and icing
900 Physio round 2 mobility and stretching plus regaining strength
930 ice and elevation
10-12 free time for reading possibly napping
12-1 lunch
100 ice and elevation, more pain meds
130 Physio round 3, mobility and stretching and regaining strength
200 ice and elevation
230-4 free time for reading and napping etc
4-6 dinner etc
7 last round, 4, of basic mobility physio
Tiny walk #2
Bed with all the ice and more pain meds
That’s me on the deck post tiny walk, resting and icing, as friends and physio advised.
I accidentally took a Fitbit vacation and it has been swell.
This photo from my Sunday evening walk (sans Fitbit) was taken near my house but it has a real vacation-y feel to it, don’t you think? Image description: a gravel path through grass-covered ground leading between some trees. The sky above is light blue and a a large fluffy cloud is glowing golden pink from the sunset.
Normally, I love my Fitbit.
I love the reminders to get moving. I love the fact that it tracks my steps and my heart rate and all kinds of other stuff without me having to remember to write any of it down. I love how having a timer on my wrist can help anchor me to the flow of actual time -instead of to inside-my-brain-time, an often-entirely-too-fluid concept.
But, I also get frustrated when my perceived effort doesn’t match what my Fitbit has recorded.
Or when my steps don’t register.
Or how an hour of exercise might be recorded as 10 or 20 or 60 active minutes, or, oddly, even more depending on some mysterious calculation…
I can only assume that Mr. Simmons and team are all maximizing their active minutes here. Image description: a GIF of a group aerobics class led by Richard Simmons. The participants are all wearing bright clothing and seem to be having a great time. One participant in the back is even wearing a cheerleading uniform.
Now, to be clear/fair, the Fitbit is operating exactly as it was designed and it can only measure so much from my wrist. The fact that it doesn’t hover around me like a omniscient fitness tracking entity is not its fault.
But it’s still annoying to have been working away for a long time only to have my tracker say ‘Meh, that didn’t count.’
ANYWAY!
Last week, on my first day of vacation, I was packing my bag before heading out to visit a friend of mine* in a town a few hours away and I realized that my Fitbit was still on the charger.
I grabbed the Fitbit and the charger and chucked them both into the bag with my art supplies. They settled to the very bottom of the bag where they stayed for the two days I was hanging out with my friend and for the several days since.
It’s not that I forgot about my Fitbit, it’s that I quickly realized how much I was enjoying not wearing it.
My vacation from work had also become a vacation from my Fitbit.
I went for walks, did some decluttering (lots of heavy lifting and trips up and down the stairs), went on a bike ride, did yoga, and meditated daily, all without any information on how long I was moving (or sitting in meditation), how intense my workout was, how many ‘active minutes’ I had so far, or what my heart rate was during any of those things.
And it felt great – I felt like I was moving a lot and working hard and there was no evidence to suggest otherwise.
How I imagine my Fitbit would present the evidence of my activities. image description: a photo of someone’s hand pointing to a cork board covered in photos and maps related to a crime.
Now, I know that the Fitbit is not the boss of me. I know that there are all kinds of aspects of exercise and fitness that it doesn’t measure (enjoyment and perceived effort are just two of those unmeasured things.) And I know that it’s just providing me with information – it’s up to me to interpret it and to decide what to do with it.
And, overall, my Fitbit has definitely helped me to move more and to work a bit harder. It has shown me that I may not always be getting as much exercise as I think I am – very useful information for my ADHD brain that responds well to good exercise conditions but sometimes misjudged whether I am meeting those conditions.
But this vacation away from tracking has helped highlight how often I was getting annoyed with some of the ways that my Fitbit tracks things and how often my interpretations of the information it provides have been frustrating me. And that, in itself, is useful information.
As of now, I’m still on my Fitbit vacation (and my vacation from work) but when I come back, I’m planning to figure out if/when/how to use my Fitbit in a way that serves me better.
I don’t know if that will mean wearing it less often, choosing different metrics/interpretations, or if I will just use it as a handy timer/reminder tool and forget the steps and heart rate info altogether.
Meanwhile…back to my vacation!
*By happy coincidence, it is my friend’s birthday today. Happy Birthday, J! 🧡💚
This Girl Can asked, I shared their question on our Facebook page, and you answered.
“It can be easy to feel comfortable with an exercise or activity we know, but sometimes taking it one step further or trying something you never thought you could do can make you feel like a badass!
What activities have taken you out of your comfort zone and loved them?”
There were such great replies on our Facebook page I asked readers for permission to share their stories here. Here’s some plus some replies from the blog team.
Hiking
Renee is a professional engineer and a recreational acrobat. Cardio is definitely not her strong suit.
Pole
Pole dancing is a demanding sport that requires you to place a lot of faith in your body. You trust your hands and the 6 square inches of skin you have on the pole as you extend your body as far away as you can. Spinning gives me moments of zero G that do something good for my brain. (Marilyn)
Marilyn
Weightlifting
Weights! Both machines and free weights. During my last PT for ankle damage, I did leg strengthening work and got interested in lifting. It made me feel powerful, strong, solid and stable. After a few coaching sessions, I didn’t connect with a gym. Remembering this feeling, maybe it’s time to find a lifting class. (Catherine)
Snowshoeing
Started during the pandemic, going out for an hour or two with friends to public golf courses and provincial parks. You can walk ON the snow in them! I don’t like being cold, but after I invested in these funky green foam ones I actually look forward to bundling up and getting outside in them each winter. (Elan)
Elan and her funky green snowshoes
Triathlon
I started triathlon kind of reluctantly after experiencing a slew of running injuries. I fell in love. I made the most amazing friends and realized I’m stronger than I ever thought- I also reached running PRs in every distance since starting training like a triathlete! As someone who has recovered from an eating disorder, I’m passionate about fighting the negative aspects of sport and have founded Athletes Against Diet Culture, a community that believes athletes come in all shapes and sizes and emphasizes sport for enjoyment not changing your body. (Kate Mroz-Weinstein)
Running and tubing
This question makes me want to write “an ode to my comfort zone” because most things I do, I choose because they work for me and I think that is a good thing. Running, in the first place, was out of my comfort zone, 20 years ago, as the kid who avoided gym class and could barely run across the street. But it’s become very much in my comfort zone.
Parts of all sports I do are not in my comfort zone (anything involving coordination, for example) but I try little things all the time just because I am regularly part of a group class where there are opportunities for such things.
Several years ago, I went with a group tubing on the Grand River. It’s a lazy river but it was still out of my comfort zone. Took me forever to get in the tube and get comfortable. But once I did, I really enjoyed it and ended up seeking out the “faster” parts. (Nicole)
Nicole in a bright red PFD and an off white hat
Triathlon
Doing triathlon made me feel as if I was capable of something that had previously seemed impossible for me. The Olympic distance especially. I still look back on it with incredulity. (Tracy)
Winter Biking
Riding my fat bike in the snow is the thing that I do that’s outside my comfort zone and makes me feel like a badass. Partly doing any physical activity in Canadian winter, in the snow and ice, makes you feel like a badass. Fat biking takes it up one more notch when you’re riding in the woods. It feels like a wild wonderful wintertime adventure and it makes me smile. (Sam)
Sam on a fat bike in the snow
All of them
All of them! I’m not a natural athlete and everything I do scares me a little sometimes. Overcoming that fear is powerful. (Diane)
Diane swimming
How about you? What’s outside your comfort zone and makes you feel like a badass?
Surgery was Monday, August 29th. It was supposed to be day surgery but my blood pressure wasn’t fond of the spinal so I kept flunking the physio exam to leave hospital. Each time I stood up my blood pressure sank drastically and I had to sit back down. That was frustrating, especially since the surgery itself went well, but I was happy to see they were obviously okay keeping you if you’re not well enough to leave. Yes, here in Ontario our hospitals are stressed but I felt very well cared for. The nurses and physios and the whole surgical team were lovely.
Day 2 Home!
Tuesday’s big adventure was making it from London to Guelph. Getting in and out of the car was the biggest challenge. I was happy to be home and settled into our ground floor back room with the fold out sofa. Usually it’s our Zwifting studio but no one is Zwifting right now. We have a main floor washroom and so I was saved the need to handle the stairs with crutches until I was a little bit more stable. For the first few days I relied upon a walker.
Today's achievement was Sarah going into work today and me making out onto the back deck solo. Thanks to my mum for lunch. Hard to imagine doing this living alone. pic.twitter.com/KBo83dLuK0
Day 6 post knee replacement surgery my knee has a knee like shape again. Thanks to all the icing and elevation it's no longer just a giant swollen blob. Also, I'm loving our back deck. pic.twitter.com/vKpnQmErUe
Also on day 6 I made it upstairs and slept in my own bed. Bonus!
Day 7
OMG Sarah installed a new handheld shower attachment and I successfully showered. The world is a better place today.
Surgical staples get removed and I have a follow up visit with the surgeon on the 15th. That’s the point at which I can ask about getting back on the bike on the trainer and maybe getting back to the gym for some gentle workouts.
Here are some of my thoughts so far about the recovery process:
It helps to have a team. Between keeping track of all the medication–pain drugs yes but also antibiotics and blood thinners and anti inflammatory drugs–and running out for ice for the ice machine, it’s a lot. Thanks Sarah, thanks mum, thanks Jeff. I can’t imagine going through this alone.
Functional fitness matters. I only needed the walker for the first couple of days and I’m pretty stable on my feet now even without the crutches. I’m using them for walking to help the joint but I feel pretty strong. The new knee is “weight bearing as tolerated” as they say. It helps too that I’ve got some upper body strength and reasonable mobility. All of a sudden when you’re trying to lower yourself into the toilet seat with one leg doing all the work and the other sticking out because it doesn’t yet bend, pistol squats start to make sense. We bought one of the raised toilet seats with handles but I really only needed it for the first couple of days. It’s packed away now.
Pain management is a thing. Part of me worries about pain meds and addiction. I also like feeling like myself. But knee surgery isn’t a time to try to soldier through. You need to keep moving and do the physio and to do that you need to keep the pain under control. There’s always some pain but I’ve been told to try not to let it get too far above 5/10. I’ve been using the heavy duty pain meds at night for sleep and before and after physio.
Physio, physio, physio. Recovery from knee surgery is a full-time job. I’m off work for at least six weeks and part of me wondered why. I could work from home and make my meetings virtual meetings. One reason is of course pain medication and judgement. There’s also time constraints. If you’re doing physio two to three times a day and you need to prepare for physio and recover after, there isn’t a lot of time to do other things.
This is also going to take a lot of patience. It’s tough work and I know it can feel like slow going. Wish me luck!
Good leg good to heaven, bad leg goes to hell. Crutches advice for the stairs.
Happy to answer any questions anyone has about my surgery experience. Ask away!
Maybe you’ve been on a remote retreat somewhere without internet access. Maybe you’ve been on a no-electronics challenge. Those are the only reasons I can imagine you not knowing that Serena Williams, 23-time Grand Slam singles tennis champion and one of the world’s great athletes of all time, has played her final tournament matches. Here she is, in action this week.
Serena after an overhead winning shot.Serena setting up for a scorching serve.Serena expressing emotion after winning a match at the US Open this week.
The news and social media are filled with odes to Serena– what she means to tennis, to women’s tennis, to black women in tennis, to black women athletes– everyone, it seems, has something to say about how Serena Williams has touched their lives.
That includes us at Fit is a Feminist Issue. We’ve written a lot about Serena and the countless ways she’s a role model for us. We’ve spoken out fiercely about those who have policed her body, her clothing on and off the court, and tried to deny her the right to adequate health care, and the right to protest calls made during competitions in the way that men protest. Among other things.
For decades, families in southwestern Ontario have cooled off in the summertime heat at the St. Marys Quarry, formerly a limestone quarry that was converted to a public swimming area in the 1940s.
Thank to a recent addition to the quarry—the Super Splash Waterpark—there are two different swimming experiences for quarry goers. I share about my one experience, which was shaped in part by the other that I did not have.
Basic and Super
Before the coming of the Super Splash Waterpark (SSW), with an admission ticket guests could swim around freely to about the middle of the quarry. The basic park now includes play features like a few rafts, a slide, and a trampoline.
The Super Splash Waterpark website explains that for this added option guests pay general admission and then 3x more to access to a giant inflatable on-the-water playground. Only a limited number of tickets are available for 2-hour time slots. Reservations are made through an online portal.
With one of the hundred spots reserved for SSW, at the quarry get a wristband, a fitted yellow life jacket, and a safety primer. SSW guests must access the inflatable playground by swimming through the “basic” swim area, now limited to the front quarter of the quarry.
The SSW park has a large set of access and safety rules. Few if any of the quarry’s water features are fully accessible, but the SSW definitely isn’t. Here’s a view of the quarry from land.
The St Mary’s Quarry, featuring the roped off Super Splash WaterPark behind the general admission section. Pic by me.
A Super Time at the Basic End
You might predict where my story of goes next. Some friends and I decide to go to the quarry, but due to the limited number of SSW tickets only half of us get access to the inflatable park. The rest of us—basic access only.
Let me tell you—there is nothing that makes an inflatable water park look like more fun than when your friends can go but you can’t (even if you are an otherwise mature, mid-life, child-free cis-woman). I sat on the grass in my suit, grumpily contemplating whether I would go in the water at all. Take that, quarry!
I asked a friend (who had walked away from her computer mid-reservation so was similarly relegated to the basic quarry area) how a 10 year-old kid might feel seeing but not being able to access the SSW. She recited some parenting wisdom about how making one’s own fun on the basic quarry side is better because it builds character. But I already had character, my 10 year-old self whined—what I wanted was the fun-looking waterpark!
My gaze could not even escape the inflatable obstacles that filled the quarry horizon, a constant reminder of where I could not go, the fun I could not have. Even my once-greater swimming freedom was reduced to a quarter of the quarry by that blow up monstrosity!
My friends eventually came back from the inflatable side—removing their special wrist bands and yellow life jackets—to spend time with the rest of us. And, as the oldest ladies on the trampoline on the “basic” side of the quarry, we did indeed make our own fun.
Next Time at the Quarry
Aside from my poutiness, it all seemed some sort of microcosm of the inequalities besetting some exercise activities in a capitalist society: only a percentage of people get access to what looks like a bigger and better time if they plan in advance, have the added money to spend, and are physically able to participate. Those with less info/tech savvy, disposable cash, and/or differences in ability are more likely to be excluded but must also watch from the sidelines.
My friends reported that the SSW part of the quarry was harder and more tiring than they had expected, and they probably wouldn’t pay for it again.
If I went back, would I choose to plan further ahead to reserve a limited SSW ticket, even if the park is less accessible, I have to pay 3 times as much, and I may not even have that much more fun?
Sadly, my answer is probably yes—because I know that the real privilege of privilege (in a capitalist society or a two-tiered Waterpark) is having the freedom to choose.
Once again, news outlets are booming out warnings about the life-or-death-level importance of balancing.
Balance training is an important but often-neglected skill, one that impacts both our longevity and our quality of life, beginning around age 40.
Every news article about balance will remind us of the World Health Organization grim stats on the effects of falls on health and life globally. However you manage it, having good balance is super-important, especially as we age. There are loads of tips in this article about ways to improve our balance through various exercises. You all undoubtedly know a lot about this already.
How can we know how good our balance is? Maybe they should devise some sort of test.
This girl make balancing (on a slack line) look easy.This woman– Mia Noblet, from Nelson, B.C.– makes balancing look surreal.
Luckily for most of us, what researchers have in mind is a 10-second balance test. But what sort of balancing should I be doing? Where does the other leg go– to the side, bent or straight, lifted or near the standing leg, what?
The internet fails to offer a consensus opinion.
My favorite, making like an airplane.Modified tree yoga pose; article promises longer life if you can learn this. More advanced version: climb craggy mountain and stand on peak on one leg.
As we know, science is complicated. As an illustration of that fact, the researchers came up with this graph to show the role of balance in longevity. I hope this clears things up.
Oh yeah, that helps a lot. Thanks!
Okay, enough idle snarking. Here are my two takeaway points:
Takeaway point one: medical science researchers are always looking for easy, simple and inexpensive-to-implement predictors of future health status. Checking to see how someone performs on a 10-second balance test is easy to do and can be done in pretty much any indoor setting in well, 10 seconds. And it costs nothing.
But, it’s just *one* metric among a lot of others, some of which are *much* more salient to a person’s health status. And it’s partly predictive, not causal. Yes, problems with balance can contribute to falls, which contribute to complicated health problems throughout the life trajectory. But, the results from this study are simply offering some statistical evidence that this cheap ‘n’ easy test might be useful information for clinicians and patients. Performance on the test doesn’t determine how long you’ll live, and cramming to do better on the test won’t affect your longevity (not really).
Takeaway point two: what about those people who, for loads of reasons, the 10-second balance test isn’t appropriate or doesn’t apply? We come in all sorts of bodies, with all sorts of structures and limitations and conditions and medical histories. Using metrics from the 10-second balance test excludes lots of otherwise healthy and functioning people, as predictive health algorithms or processes won’t be applied to them.
Also, relying on the 10-second balance test alone ignores ways in which lots of people navigate, balance and manage their environments within whatever constraints or limitations or different structures they live with. And if those ways are ignored, then clinicians won’t detect changes, so patients won’t get help they might need to maintain their ways of life.
It’s important to remind ourselves, researchers, patients and the media that cover such stories that good medical care doesn’t always come in a cheap, easy and quick packages. That’s because we (the humans) come in a variety of packages ourselves. So we need some variety in the ways we take care of ourselves and the ways others take care of us.
