Hi folks– there’s a particularly vicious cold virus going around, and it finally found me on Saturday. Today I’m in the throes of sleepless, snotty, coughy, crabby ColdWorld. You’ve all been there: can’t find a position for sleeping that doesn’t result in paroxysms of coughing, loud wheezing, breathing obstruction, etc. (Insert more whining here).
Yes, I’m glad it’s not COVID (of course I’ve tested– a couple of times), but it’s just a retro cold. Still, it’s enough to derail my weekend plans, including blog-writing ones. Last weekend I went to a meditation retreat at the Omega Institute, which was a very interesting experience. I’ll be sharing it with you all this week. But right now, I don’t have enough active neurons firing to be particularly expressive or articulate. I had trouble just now typing articulate. You get the picture.
So, until my head clears, here are some pictures of incredible swims people on the Did you swim today? Facebook group have taken recently. A bunch of them are in the Southern Hemisphere, and others in tropical waters, and I am extremely envious. Take a look, and post your own envious thoughts. Or maybe post that you’ve swum there too, and I’ll envy you.
-crabby, coughy Catherine
Happy swimming people off the coast of Turkey on a swim cruise.The same happy swimming people off island off the coast of Turkey swimming in turquoise waters.Blissed-out swimmer in shallow waters off the coast of Mexico.View of Hawaian waters from the Royal Kona hotel, where a lucky swimmer was having a coffee before swimming.
Retouched but gorgeous nonetheless image of a swimming hole in a Queensland national park where some lucky duck took a dip.
Not my idea of nautical fun, but: a swimmer in Montegro, swimming near a WWII submarine tunnel. Pretty water, but too scary for me.
This post is a reflection on a recent bike and barge trip I took with 4 women friends from Bruges to Amsterdam.
In thinking about this post, I re-visited a post I wrote for FIFI in Oct 2014 about my feelings of inadequacy, particularly around my lack of fitness, on a bike trip to Utah. To provide context for those of you who didn’t read, or don’t remember, my earlier post 😊, I am a member of a biking group that started 17 years ago when a small group of women who worked together began taking bike trips together! In 2010, I was asked to join them on a trip to the Loire Valley, and since then we have had the privilege to bike through places near and far, such as Quebec, Italy, Portugal, and Denmark.
Most of these trips were self–guided, meaning we were responsible for getting ourselves around – there was no team leader navigating and no sag wagon available to provide a break from riding. This year though we opted to try something new – biking 300 km over 6 days while travelling on a canal barge.
I suspect the motivation was partly our aging bodies but primarily due to concern about my limitations. Although I am the youngest at 58, I have Parkinson’s disease, degenerative disc disease and other assorted ailments. Furthermore, I broke my tibia in a 2020 bike accident. These factors contributed to limit my outdoor bike riding. Although I did some training on the gym bike, the sad truth is that at the time of the trip, I had only ridden my bike 5 times outside in the past 2 years.
I could comment on several aspects of the trip such as how it made me grind my teeth listening to the “sweep” (another passenger) voluntarily mansplain how to purchase an e-bike to one of my friends. However, I am going to limit myself to observations about two disparate subjects – the power and importance of true friendship and the way the trip helped me begin to accept my new body shape.
One of my favorite sayings is “Surround yourself with champions”. I am very lucky as each one of my fellow biker chicks is a true champion. The following are just some of the ways:
One was insistent from day 1 that I was going, even if I ended up sitting on the boat the entire time. She even offered to sit and people-watch, if need be, when we were off the boat, despite the fact that she had not been to Amsterdam or Bruges before.
When we met as a virtual group to discuss our pre/post time in Amsterdam and Bruges, the group could not have been more accepting of my need to eat and take medicine at specified times, or accommodating, planning around my down time when my meds start to wear off.
For several weeks prior to departure, we checked in regularly regarding our exercise regime to encourage one another in preparation for our travels.
While on the trip, my big heavy bike fell over on me three times – my friends took my bruising in stride and on one occasion one of my friends prevented a well-meaning stranger from physically grabbing me in his efforts to help.
I chose not to bike on two days and felt that the team completely supported my decision.
Perhaps most importantly, my friends navigated the difficult road of looking out for me with exemplary care and compassion, recognizing my need for autonomy but readily providing assistance when requested.
I have always struggled with body image issues but never more than in the past 18 months or so. This is because I am shrinking while essentially maintaining the same weight. I have lost 7 cm and feel like I am all boobs and big belly these days. I truly hated my body before I left on this trip, but I’m happy to say I’m back on the road to acceptance.
Why? The first step was a vow I made on the eve of departure; I promised not to complain about how I looked or be grumpy about having my picture taken. I did this because I didn’t want to ruin my friends’ trip by whining. I even made one of my friends promise to give me the stink-eye if I broke this vow.
The next step was being physically able to participate in the trip. I was able to walk in Amsterdam/Bruges without much difficulty, but the true triumph was biking 200 km over 4 days. I had forgotten how much I enjoy biking as a way of sightseeing. It made me realize that I cannot hate a body that is healthy enough to allow me to experience this.
Lastly it seemed full circle to re-read my 2014 post. I said then that life has a way of throwing us curveballs. The curveballs, although different, keep coming. I need to remember to embrace every opportunity while I can. Life is too short to live any other way.
Susan F
Susan M
Fortunate. I feel so, very, very fortunate. To have friends who share my love of cycling, and of learning through travel; to be able, at the age of 60+, to physically do all the things I want to do; and to have the financial wherewithal to get up and go when the opportunity presents itself. Our group may move differently now than we did 15 years ago but we are still moving, and moving makes life better, in the short term and the long term. Not only do I feel fortunate, I am grateful to my friends for moving with me!
Friends on bikes, without the bikes
Vicky R
“What to do, What to see, What to remember…’ This was the inscription on the notepad at our hotel in Amsterdam.
What to say about a group of 55+ women who have been cycling together for over 15 years in Europe and North America?
We have had some awesome adventures, eaten some amazing food and we continue to laugh out loud together! And yes…we also cycle in between the food, drinks and shopping. None of us can be considered an ‘athlete’ in any way, shape or form – but we make it work. Our most recent cycling trip was a Bike/Barge adventure from Bruges to Amsterdam. It was easily the least stressful of the many trips we have taken – long flat pathways along canals and quiet rivers, courteous car drivers who, at times, would stop to let all 19 of us cross the road, quirky mini ferry rides – some just passenger and bikes, lots of cheese, chocolate and beer. The luxury of staying on a barge without unpacking, having all your meals provided and a well informed guide to take us through the lovely villages and towns was an unexpected pleasure. In fact, it was relaxing and a wonderful way to reconnect with our little group of friends in a post Covid world. These trips have been an excellent break from our busy careers and lives and truly are therapy for all of us!
For the past two weeks, I’ve been teaching fallacies in my critical thinking class. You know, those bad argument forms with latin names like post hoc ergo propter hoc and tu quoque. Philosophers ’round the world teach them so students can see more clearly how much bad reasoning is swirling around them, why it’s bad, and how not to fall prey to it. Not bad work if you can get it.
On Tuesday, while discussing the appeal to authority fallacy, I pulled up a slide with examples of cases where someone endorses a claim who is portrayed as an authority, but who, in reality, isn’t one. Enter Oprah.
Oprah giving a speech about WW, the rebranded name of Weight Watchers, in which she was financially invested.
As I tell my students, Oprah isn’t a nutrition authority– she’s not a nutritionist or dietician. That’s sufficient to illustrate the fallacy. But what I don’t say (because I’m teaching logic, not feminism or socio-cultural analysis) is that Oprah kind of IS an authority on weight loss (and weight gain), inasmuch as she’s done it dozens of times, all in public view. We’ve written about her a few times on the blog. You might check them out.
And there’s my post from 2017 featuring fallacies, Oprah and the risks of celebrity meal plans and cookbooks. Take a look below and let us know what you think. Is WW on your radar screen? Is Oprah? What are you seeing and thinking? Let us know.
Disclaimer: some of these musings may seem controversial, but they are just my thoughts. Nothing more.
What else is there to do while going through a repetitive motion, such as running? It’s part of the point, to enjoy the active meditation. So what musings are in my mind these days?
In no particular order (and they are not all related to the same themes):
How do others function on less sleep?
Will my Mom be OK this time?
As a Jewish child, we were taught to Never Forget.
Am I selfish because I enjoy my routines?
My Mom has always been so strong.
As a Jewish child, we were taught there are reasons we fight back. Always. People want us dead just for being a Jew.
But, also, plant a tree for peace.
Cancer and its associated side effects make even the strongest people frail. Fuck Cancer.
I do not want anyone to die on my behalf. Ever. Under any circumstances.
Did you know some people want Palestinians dead because they see them as conduits of terror?
Did you know my Homeland is Toronto, Canada.
Did you know that some people don’t know it’s OK to use the word Jew? They have only heard it used in a disparaging way and they have been taught not to use it at all. Even as a way of describing cultural identity?
Did you know that not everything you believe (or I believe) is true?
Should your cottage go back to the Huron-Wendat Nation?
Did you know that even though I do not believe in God, I will always be a Jew. I will always think of my Jewish grandmothers when I make certain foods or light certain candles.
Apparently, a group gathered in Toronto this week to chant “off with their heads”… (mine)
Have you ever read a book by a Palestinian? Rather than watch a video, of unknown origins, telling you a story about them?
Intellectualism is not always helpful.
Why do the Brits and the Americans and others not directly at fault, currently, get to wash their hands and blame the Israelis and Palestinians? How do they benefit from this deflection?
What is the point of peace if attained by violence. It will never last as peace.
When I was a teen, in the 80s, the stories of stonings (of Jews) in Toronto in the 40s seemed like ancient history.
What if the First Nations started taking their land back? Who decides when too much time has passed for that to be a viable option?
Have I done enough?
Ignorance and turning a blind eye is certainly not the answer.
Does anyone have a Birthright?
What is the Promised Land? For who (whom?)? What is a Promise based on suffering and violence? Will there be any milk and honey left?
Who wrote that history you are sharing?
Will I pass a test I signed up for next week that I’m not sure how to prepare for?
No matter how little money I have at any given time, I will always tip much more than the norm, so that you don’t think I’m cheap.
You can say the word Jew. Just be careful how you use it. Especially if you are not Jewish. Same as describing someone as Black, Chinese, blond-haired.
What is the point of all of these musings? Is it possible not to muse, while human?
Never Again, to me, has always meant, not to anyone. Anywhere. Not only to me.
What a good run! It’s nice out this morning. But for who (whom?)?
A few years ago, my friend Bess came to visit and I took her to my ballet class. She has zero interest in ballet but was fascinated to hear the feedback we were getting: it was just like what she uses when heavy weapons fighting.
Bess, on the right in a red surcoat and holding a sword and shield, has her feet ready to advance on her opponent, who is wearing a black surcoat.
Use your core muscles. Keep your spine aligned. Bend your knees so you can spring up and land without injury. Engage those quick twitch muscles so you can move around the floor. Pay attention to the angle of your wrists: it can mean the difference between a “killing” blow and a wasted hit with the flat of your sword. Or if you are dancing, it’s the difference between a graceful line and strong back muscles vs looking like you have chicken wings for arms.
A woman in a long flowing blue dress holds her arms above her head with her elbows bent. To the left is a pair of white chicken wings with the words “chicken wings” below the,. Image: Zarely.co
That experience has stuck with me, especially when I realized it applies to other sports.
When riding my horse, all those instructions about core, posture, and arm position also apply. Swimming is also all about core, alignment and precise use Of arms and wrists for maximum efficiency when moving through the water.
From watching other sports, especially things like martial arts, it appears these principles are pretty universal.
This discovery has allowed me to take feedback from one sport and apply it to another. Mental images that helped in ballet turned out to be really useful for correcting my riding. Figuring out how certain muscles feel when properly engaged helped me recognize when I was working my core in the pool.
Equally important was the recognition that those translatable skills can make it possible to try a new sport with less fear of the unknown. This is probably that magical knowledge (whether conscious or unconscious) that makes natural athletes “natural”.
I haven’t yet decided to take up anything new, but I like the idea that I could do so and not be starting at absolute zero. In my heart, I’m like the character in the children’s book Brianna Bright, Ballerina Knight, who isn’t very good at ballet but bumbles and stumbles her way through other sports until she discovers fencing,
Brianna Bright, a cartoon girl with long brown hair in a pony tail, eats dinner while images of her as a ballerina and a fencer float above her head. Image copyright Liana Hee, 2018, text copyright Pam Calvert, 2018. Courtesy of Two Lions.
There is a lot of discussion inactive transportation circles about who is responsible for safety. How many lights, how much reflective gear is enough for vehicles to see us? At what point is it the responsibility of people designing and driving vehicles with poor sight lines and all sorts of distracting gadgets to avoid vulnerable road (and bike lane and sidewalk) users?
I still remember the boating rules I learned many years ago: the bigger and faster the boat, the more the onus is on them to avoid smaller watercraft. Ships must avoid motor boats, which must avoid canoes, which must avoid swimmers. Obviously, if you are a swimmer (or even a boater) it is also really wise to stay out of major shipping lanes.
I think the same principles should apply on land, too. People driving cars and trucks have primary responsibility for avoiding collisions with cyclists and pedestrians, just as people on bikes need to avoid runners and walkers. In the workplace, this is known as the hierarchy of controls.
Unfortunately, these principles don’t always work perfectly, which is why I advocate for infrastructure that minimizes the opportunities for interactions. Things like separate bike lanes, smooth sidewalks, narrow streets and intersections with separate lights for each kind of user and no beg buttons.
My friend Florence and I are on opposite ends of the spectrum with regard to the solution most often offered in so-called public safety campaigns: make yourself more visible.
New Zealand cyclist Sandy Turner rides her bike past a row of construction pylons while wearing a bright pink jacket and a crocheted orange pylon hat. Photo by IAIN MCGREGOR/FAIRFAX NZ
Florence comes from a very different cycling background than me. She grew up in France and uses her bicycle all year round. She doesn’t even own a car. She has good front and back lights, but that’s it.
In contrast, I learned to bike in small Ontario towns where the car (and pickup truck) was king. I have commuted by bike for 20 years, but last year was the first time I was brave enough to ride through the winter. My winter bike is lit up like a landing strip. I wear a reflective orange construction vest. And this week I bought a silver reflective jacket that is almost blinding when the light hits it.
Two views of my new jacket, worn by a model with long dark hair. The one on the left is under normal light. On the right, it shows how brightly the fabric reflects light.
I acknowledge that the things within my direct control are the ones least likely to keep me safe. And that the ability to buy lights, reflective gear and bright clothing just for riding reflect my financial privilege. Wearing everyday clothes normalizes cycling (and walking or rolling) as a way of moving around the city. Promoting and normalizing active transit is a vital part of addressing climate change.
And yet… I see so much victim blaming: What was she wearing? Was she paying attention to her surroundings or was she listening to music? Why was she put there in the dark? It sounds so much like the victim blaming that happens after an assault.
I will rage against the blame, take reluctant advantage of my privilege, and dress like a pylon, if only so that when I get hit, no-one can reasonably claim that they didn’t see me.
Imagine my surprise when I heard from a fellow blogger that today, October 18, was World Menopause Day! Also imagine my confusion–exactly what is the nature of this special occasion, commemorating menopause (with a side shout-out to perimenopause)? How am I supposed to feel about this holiday?
Here are a bunch of options for emotional responses, in case you’re also at a loss.
it might help if we knew what exactly World Menopause Day is all about. According to this site, it’s “a day dedicated to raising awareness of the symptoms and effects of menopause.” Okay, I can get behind that. Of course, there are loads of symptoms and loads of effects, so we might need more than one day to cover all of them.
Never fear, the World Menopause Day (let’s now call it WMD, for fun) organizers have anticipated this issue, so they pick a different set of symptoms or medical theme each year. This year’s theme is: Cardiovascular Disease!
The flyer for the 2023 WMD celebration on cardiovascular disease in women before, during and after menopause.
Here’s a list of themes from recent yearly WMD celebrations:
All of these themes refer to ways women’s health heads south before, during and after menopause.
You may wonder, is there any good news or important health advice to share with women during the WMD celebration? Um, well, the flyer does suggest “making positive lifestyle choices”, managing medical risk factors (e.g. high blood pressure) and communicating with your doctor about your medical history. Hmmm. That’s pretty generic. Is there anything more specific to menopause, like new drug treatments or other research results?
Glad you asked. It turns out that there is a new non-hormonal drug that was approved in May 2023 for treating hot flashes, a common and distressing symptom of menopause. The medicine, fezolinetant, marketed under trade name Veozah, significantly reduced the severity of hot flashes compared with placebo. You can look at the phase 3 study results paper here. It’s not known if Veozah is more effective than standard hormone replacement therapy, as those studies haven’t been done (yet? ever? fingers crossed…)
Oh, and it costs $550 USD for a 30-day supply, and (according to an expert quoted here in the New York Times) it’s unclear whether insurance will cover it.
Yeah, my head’s exploding, too.
However, it’s early days, so let’s hope both that the cost goes down and access increases. Hot flashes are a serious health and functionality issue, as 75–80% of menopausal women suffer from them, reporting difficulties sleeping at night and managing at work.
Maybe we should start planning for next year’s WMD celebration now. Clearly, women’s health has not been the highest priority for the medical industrial complex or Big Pharma. Perhaps a little more participation and communication are in order. Here’s an idea:
A lovely photo of pitchfork plus fire, by our friends at Unsplash. A fitting accessory for next year’s WMD, don’t you think?
Hey readers, what are you plans for this year’s WMD? Pitchfork parade? Bring your fan to work day? Display unfettered rage because it’s a special occasion? Let us know, and happy menopausal holiday!
Personally, before I was diagnosed with ADHD, I thought I had a recurring situational depression. I was never medicated for it because it “wasn’t that kind of bad”* but I had some really low and difficult times.
Once I was diagnosed with ADHD (but not yet medicated) and did my research, I started to see how the issues I faced might have more to do with ADHD than with depression. (I mean, I was experiencing the same symptoms but ADHD made more sense as the root cause.)
Once I was medicated for ADHD, it was CLEAR that it had been the root cause. My underlying mental message of ‘you just aren’t trying hard enough’ practically went away and it got a lot easier to start working with my brain instead of against it. And I spent less and less time feeling depressed.
Medication didn’t/doesn’t cure my ADHD but it makes it a lot easier for me to live with it. It gives me a little space between my impulse and my actions more often. It helps me to follow through on plans more often. It helps me to observe my own processes more often.
A photo of the cover of a mini-Zine I wrote called ‘How my ADHD messes with the space time continuum* *as I understand it’. There’s a line with a star in the middle at the top of the cover and a line with a drawing of a digital clock reading 12:01.
It helps me to understand that my brain works differently but it isn’t broken.
I’m not one of those people who sees ADHD as a superpower overall but it does come with some useful features – I’m an excellent brainstormer, I’m able to see things from all kinds of different perspectives, I can make huge tangential leaps and connect very different ideas, I can find patterns in all kinds of unexpected things.
Sure, it also means that I struggle with life admin and with getting started on things and with breaking projects into tasks and with all kinds of other stuff but my medication can help with a lot of those things. And the fact that I have been diagnosed and medicated takes away a lot of the self-blame and shame that comes from struggling with things that other people find easy.
My diagnosis means that instead of feeling stupid for not being able to process information in some contexts, I can, for example, ask a trusted friend, “My brain just won’t process this, can you help me figure out what I am missing?”
Recently, I was trying to describe how ADHD feels and I came up with an analogy that seemed to click for a lot of people.
Have you ever tried to get something off a shelf that was a little bit too high for you to reach?
As in, you could *almost* reach the thing, perhaps even brush your fingers against it but you couldn’t actually take it down?
And perhaps, on a day when you were particularly limber or maybe felt athletic, you could stretch a little further or jump a little and fluke into reaching the thing but you can’t do it every time.
You might end up telling yourself that you *should* be able to reach it every time but that wouldn’t be true. Sometimes the conditions are perfect and you can reach it but mostly you are limited by your height and the length of your arm.
That’s what it’s like trying to do a lot of ordinary things while running the ADHD operating system in your brain.
A photo of the back cover of my Zine feature text that reads ‘ADHD makes it hard to choose where to focus my attention. And that means that my perception of time + space is linked to where my attention is at that exact moment (which is:) NOT MUCH FUN!’ At the top of the page is a line with an hour glass in the middle at the bottom is a line with a star in the middle.
Sometimes, under perfect conditions, you can do the thing. Mostly though, you have something preventing you from doing it and you don’t know what it is. You assume the problem is in your level of effort or in your lack of determination or that you are just not bright enough to figure out how to do it.
This is compounded by the fact that almost everyone else can easily reach that item. People who seem to be the same height as you, people with similar arm lengths, they can pluck that thing off the shelf and they are puzzled about why you *won’t.*
Learning that I have ADHD was like someone confirming that except under extraordinary circumstances, I actually could not reach that shelf. That there was a difference between me and the other people who were reaching for those items and that that difference had nothing to do with my efforts (or theirs!)
They weren’t working harder than me. In fact, with all my metaphorical jumping around and stretching, I might have been putting in way more effort without getting the proportional results.
Getting medicated for ADHD is like being given a stool that lets me reach the shelf more often. I still have to remember to bring the stool and I have to make sure other factors (like sleep, stress, etc) don’t affect my balance on the stool, but at least I have a way of improving my odds of reaching that item.
Some people still imply that people with ADHD weren’t trying hard enough in the first place, that we are somehow cheating or taking the ‘easy’ way by using a stool.**
They also complain that ADHD is overdiagnosed, or to continue my analogy ‘Everyone is asking for a stool these days!’ (Doesn’t it sound ridiculous when you think of it that way? Everyone is asking for the help they need! Oh no! We might end up supporting someone who needs it slightly less!)
I’ve also heard complaints that people with ADHD use it as an excuse for not doing things they are capable of…or to use the analogy, they use it as an excuse for not retrieving things on lower shelves, too. And, I’m sure some people do that but it’s probably in the same proportion as neurotypical people who make excuses not to do the things they are able to do.
Most of us just want to reach what we can and to use the stool to reach the next level of shelves without making a big fuss about it.
And, many of us are hoping that society can move away from the idea that the only way to succeed in life is to be able to reach the stuff on the top shelves with ease.
Even before I was medicated, before I could count on reaching that top shelf on a semi-regular basis, I was still felt (and was) successful in a variety of ways. Now that my meds give me a step-stool, I’m not using all my energy to reach the shelf. Instead, I can pour that energy into my tasks, which is a lot more satisfying.
I’ve written a fair bit about how having ADHD affects my work toward my fitness goals and how it affects my overall wellness and I will definitely be writing more about that in the future. The short version though, is that having ADHD is a thread that runs through all of my experiences. It affects how I see the world and how I experience it. I have to take my ADHD brain into account, in positive and negative ways, in everything I do.
And, let me tell ya, having to think about your thinking all the time is pretty damn tiring.
See you back here next week when I’ll be writing about the challenge of getting my ADHD brain to relax.
If you want to find out more about ADHD, here are few resources that I like:
*I don’t know now if that was my Doctor’s opinion or my opinion. I do know, however, that my internalized ADHD chorus of ‘You just aren’t trying hard enough.’ contributed to my acceptance of that opinion. I thought that if I just tried harder I would feel better. Sigh. **To them, I say, if sheer force of will could have overcome ADHD, I would have left it behind me long ago. Well, I would say that AFTER I say, “Don’t even START with me about that.”
Nearly fourteen months after my first knee replacement, and six months after my second knee replacement, I’m back to being a regular walker. I walk pretty much everyday, whether it’s walking around campus, around Toronto, or taking Cheddar around the neighbourhood. I make my ever increasing step count most days.
A few weeks ago we visited my son Miles who is working in Whitney, on the edge of Algonquin, and went on some more serious hikes. These were walks on trails through the woods, over rocks and stumps, up and down hills. Surprisingly (to me) I did ok! All of this has made me start thinking about some more serious hiking and longer trails. The photos below are from one those hikes, The Lookout Trail. That’s Miles and Cheddar at the top (on the left) and Sarah and me at the top (on the right).
Cheddar loves walking on trails with us and that’s got me thinking about some longer hikes.
I also love the idea of inn to inn hikes in England, Scotland, and Ireland, and day hikes in Iceland. It feels incredibly liberating to be able to walk again and I’m going to appreciate the heck out of my new knees. I am spending (still) a lot of time on physio but it all feels worthwhile when I’m out in nature, with my feet on the ground, and moving myself from place to place.
I still love my bicycle (don’t get wrong) but it’s been years since I’ve been able to do this and I’m feeling pretty excited about the possibilities.
About a week ago, I had my last physical therapy (PT) session for the sciatica that had been troubling me since late July. They started me out with deep tissue massage, two sets of 10 bridges, two sets of 10 clamshells, and a number of gentle hamstring and other stretches to do on my yoga mat at home.
We progressed to several sets of 10 bridges, some with my thighs strapped and some with a ball between my legs. I began doing three sets of four weight training exercises with a machine, increasing the weight as my strength improved. Also core exercises, from lateral pulls with cable weights to heel touches from an on-my-back chair position (those were in pretty gut busting). And knee bends from steps, touching my heels to the next level down.
This machine was awesome for all kinds of hip-strengthening exercises. You can buy one for $2.545, FYI.
After seven weeks of working with trainers twice a week and at home (just about) every day, I’m better. By “better”, I mean no longer having hip, glute or lower back pain, able to drive without pain, not being woken up during the night by pain—generally not in pain anymore. Yay!
There ain’t no party like a pineapple-with-sunglasses/party hat/balloon party.
On Wednesday October 4, I decided it was time to end PT. My excellent physical therapist Julien and I talked over why I was making my decision, and he concurred. We talked about how I could and should continue exercises at home to maintain the strength and flexibility I had gotten back, what to do when, how often, and so on. He praised me for the work I’d done and the progress I’d made (aww, shucks—thanks, Julien!). And he ended by saying, “We’re here when and if you need us again.”
Honestly, I can’t imagine a nicer and warmer handoff from PT to at-home maintenance. And yet. Endings are difficult for me. They’re difficult in as much as I fear and loathe them.
What’s that about, you might ask? For me:
Endings can mean an immediate change, and change is often hard
Endings often feel like loss—loss of familiar patterns, activities, people
Ending of PT feels like a particular kind of loss—having to go it alone after regular support and company in my recovery, fitness building and maintenance
Making the transition from physical therapy or working with a trainer or coach to self-initiated maintenance and exercise regimens is very familiar to just about everyone who reads this blog. There’s nothing like being accountable to a professional one is paying, or a coach for one’s team to kick one’s keister into gear to do prescribed exercises and training activities. I’ve had experience with both, and also benefited from the company of teammates and also other PT patients doing their own workouts, wherever they were in their healing trajectory.
But afterwards, I often feel alone and on my own, without that support and company in maintaining my fitness and strength.
Yes, I am lucky to have friends who do all the physical activity things like yoga, cycling, going to the gym, walking, etc. And they’re really happy when I join them, which I do from time to time. I can do that more often.
But still there’s this feeling– a mixture of vulnerability, uncertainty and doubt. It’s the “what’s next? How can I get to the next thing?” worry. Another bridge to cross. But maybe there’s a way to reframe this.
Scary bridge across a deep gorge.Bright red-painted friendly wooden bridge over a calm pond.
Can I choose to think about change in the friendly way rather than the scary way? Maybe. With some help from friends, scheduling and of course not forgetting to breathe, maybe I can shift from adult-supervised strength and fitness training to self-instigated strength and fitness training.
I’ll report back in a month or so with an update. So readers, what has it been like for you when you’ve moved from very structured training or recovery to regular-life maintenance or training? I’d so love to hear your stories.
