Feminist reflections on fitness, sport, and health
Sam’s house
It’s that time of year again. It’s November, the clocks just fell back, and it feels very dark out there.
I’ve written lots about adding light to my life. This year we even bought new outside lights to brighten the entranceway to the house.
Here’s an older post about conquering the darkness.
My right big toe is in pretty much constant pain, varying from low level to limp level. High heels are out of the question now. Back in May, I gave away all my highest heels, preserving only a few less vertiginous favourites. Still, I can’t actually wear any of those shoes or boots that I held in reserve, because I can’t bear the agony. I can run though, without excessive pain. Which is brilliant. Also, the reason I haven’t done anything more than a couple of cortisone shots and orthotics to alleviate my toe situation. Until now.
Because I’ve started to notice other small, and troublesome, tweaky pains and imbalances, which I’m guessing are related to all the micro adjustments I make all the time to evade the pain in my toe. Tightness in my left lower back. A weird discomfort in my right thigh muscle. Strange weakness in my psoas when I take first steps into a run. You get the picture. As hard as I try not to adjust my gait, I know that’s impossible. I remember my mother being wildly insulted when an acupuncturist commented on her limp (the result of a fall that shattered her pelvis and shoulder). Meanwhile, I was surprised that she wasn’t aware of her limp. All to say, I know that my gait is not right, even if I think I’m walking “normally.” And then I imagine how much that gait distortion is magnified over the miles of running I still do.
Yes, I could stop running completely. That would go a long way to alleviate the pain. But I’d also have to cut out long walks, hiking, cross country skiing and snowshoeing. I’m not ready. I am resisting the urge to elaborate on the hundred ways giving up these outdoor communions with nature and my body are essential. I’ll just say this: These activities and ways of being are intrinsic to my wellbeing. Especially (!) as I navigate my aloneness, which I’ve been exploring of late (here, here and here).
My foot doctor has offered me a solution. Not the one I expected. He has recently developed a new bunion surgery. I hoped it would be for me. I was ruled out immediately, because I also have arthritis in the same toe. And he told me that neither the bunion, nor the arthritis were likely the source of my pain. I apparently have some protruding bone on my toe joint, some of which has broken off and is floating, which obstructs my ability to bend my toe. Causing pain, and, of course, inflammation, causing further pain. A vicious cycle. You get the picture. Because, yes, I am constantly bending my toe. It is one of those movements intrinsic to much of human movement.
Minimally Invasive Cheilectomy. That’s the name of the surgery. It’s not covered by my insurance. Because in the United States, pain is not considered a good enough reason for a procedure. Alleviating pain is only for those who can afford it. Which I can. With some significant sacrifice. And it’s worth it, because, well, intrinsic to my wellbeing and human movement and all that. I recognize that I am lucky to be able to make a choice to prioritize the surgery.
I’m scared, too. What if it doesn’t work? What if I spent the money for nothing? The pain persists and I can’t do the activities that support my wellbeing and elevate my solitude. Even if the surgery works, complications could arise related to my auto-immune condition, Addison’s Disease. I need to work out the correct stress dosing of hydrocortisone between my endocrinologist and foot doctor. That feels daunting.
Undertaking this procedure alone is scary. The little girl who still lives inside me wants someone to hold her hand on the way there and on the way home. The last time I had foot surgery, I came out the other side of the anesthesia to my partner picking me up and hanging out with me during my recovery. Of course, I can get home in an uber on my own and order in food. Plus, no one will have to endure my worried freak outs about the surgery. Or my restless homebound agitation. I can meltdown to exhaustion, without bothering anyone. Except me. Still, this all taps into a latent fear of dying alone in my apartment and no one finding me for weeks.
Oof. That’s a lot. Thank you for allowing me to share that.
Now that I’ve put all these fears into words, on this page, it all feels more manageable. One step at a time (even if some of those steps are in a surgical boot).
I know, I know! The tension is almost unbearable!
On October 7, I made a plan for 10 activities for the 10th month and even though October included a storytelling festival, a week of rain, a week of being sick, and quite a bit of volunteer work, I still managed to do 8 out of 10 activities.
Here’s what got done:
I enjoyed all of these activities and I was really glad I chose them.
I was also really glad that I had the slight pressure of having publicly committed to them. Without that commitment, I might have let a few of them slide and that would have been a shame.
I really feel that pushing myself a little bit to get these things done added to my fun this month.
I actually did many of the exercise-related ones more than once and I have gotten back into leaving my yoga mat unfurled on the living room floor so I can stretch whenever I watch TV – a beneficial habit, for sure.
As for the ones I didn’t get done?
I’m happy to report that I don’t feel badly about those at all.
I may not have been able to…
But that was because of circumstances, weather, and timing, it had nothing to do with my interest, willingness, or motivation. None of my meetings happened to be within walking distance and I ended up having to cancel my plans to meet for a walk instead of for tea because I was sick.
So with a satisfying success rate for 10 things for the 10th month, I’m now considering 11 things for the 11th month (a.k.a. My BIRTHDAY MONTH!)
There are some repeats in here but I’m cool with that.
Have you got any extra activities planned for November?
Right now we’re in the weather season I like the least.
You know–dark, rainy, and cold, but not cold enough for snow.
This week it looks like this.
Last year I missed real winter entirely. I didn’t even swap out my winter clothes. They’ve been in storage for more than a year. That’s because last winter, Sarah and I took off for New Zealand just as the cold and snow hit in January. We stayed there for two months for my research leave, enjoying Aotearoa’s temperate summer months.
So we missed snow almost entirely. We also missed the cold, snow, and bright sun that I associate with the best of winter. Good days for fat biking and snowshoeing. I’m feeling kind of excited about the real winter ahead. My favorite is playing in the snow at the farm, reading books, having a fire in the fireplace, and soaking in the hot tub at night.
So here’s to snow shoeing, fat biking, and dog hiking during our bright winter months.
Winter, I think I might have actually missed you! 😀❤️🌈❄️☃️
How are you feeling about the winter months ahead?
I was going to title this post “You’ll never know when you’ll lift your last sailboat” when I realized that it’s the functional impact of my recent health news that will hit much harder.
What’s the health news? I’ve been diagnosed with a hiatus hernia–see here for what that means. It’s also called hiatal hernia. They’re the same condition.
I’m trying not to be dramatic about this, given that in the scheme of things the health news could have been much worse. I’m aware of that since some of the diagnosis involved ruling out the much worse things that could have been causing my symptoms.
What the diagnosis means for me, among other things, most immediately, is no more heavy lifting or intense efforts on my bike.
I think of myself–and this matters to me, perhaps more than it should–as a strong person. I know that’s connected to feeling good about my size. I’m large but I’m large and very strong.
I am all about lifting heavy things and intense efforts on the bike. Power and speed are my go-to fitness places. Rawr!
But no more. No more heavy lifting and no more racing. I feel like my entire fitness personality will need a rethink!
The pamphlets on living with a hiatus hernia all talk about the importance of exercise for weight loss and emphasize that low-intensity activities are just fine. You can still do lots of gentle movement, they say reassuringly.
Gentle movement!?
That is not at all reassuring.
Readers may know how much low-intensity exercise bores me. And you know for sure what I think about exercising for weight loss.
I’m giving myself some time to pout and mourn, but it’s very clear my life will need to change.
I won’t miss planks and crunches. They’re on the no-go list along with heavy weights and intense efforts. There’s also to be no more pull-ups, and lots of yoga poses aren’t recommended either. No cobra or camel but chair pose is okay. Fine then.
I don’t know yet how bad it is and if surgery is called for (most likely not), but I’m not really writing today to talk about the medical issues. I have an excellent family doctor. I feel very well cared for by the Canadian health care system. I’m lucky. And to be clear, I’m not looking for medical advice. I’m writing mostly to share the fitness impacts and the way I’ll need to adapt my fitness story.
Tracy has blogged about entering her 60s and changing her thinking about fitness. For Tracy, it’s now more about walking and yoga, less about racing, and more about sustainable fitness that will see her through the decades ahead. I confess that hasn’t been my plan. With my big knee surgeries behind me, I wanted to get back to fast cycling, heavy lifting, and intense efforts. Now that won’t be happening, and I am trying to come to terms with it.
Swimming seems to be fine according to most things I read. All my swimming is slow swimming. Maybe this is the thing that finally gets me into the pool. I have a month free membership at the Y that starts today.
There’s always aquafit. I did aqua yoga Saturday morning. And there’s seated bicep curls. (Yawn. ) Long slow bike rides are still good. We’ll know more as I track what does and doesn’t aggravate my condition. There’s also physio to help with a hiatus hernia. I might try that too. See the video below.
In addition to all the movement advice, there are some serious food impacts. I have already given up afternoon coffee (all coffee in fact except for one in the morning), carbonated beverages, and chocolate for dessert. I’m moving on to eating smaller meals and not eating late in the evening. The medication I’m taking requires 3-4 hours between meals. It’s also recommended I eat a few hours before exercising. (And I know the fussy eating regimens are familiar to many of you. Not me. I’ve always been able to eat a normal sized meal and hop on my bike. But no longer.)
Anything else to worry about? There’s also some worry about tightly fitting sports bras and any clothing that fits snugly around the waist. I guess I’ll be switching to bib shorts for the bike.
Sorry if this sounds a bit dramatic. I know slowing down with age is normal. I’ve been siding with team “it’s normal but not necessary, you don’t have to slow down” and yet here I am, now deliberating slowing down.
It feels like a lot right now.
I’m giving myself time to get used to this news.
By the way, my family doctor was surprised I even went to the website the specialist recommended and read the exercise section. Most people, he said, just ignore that and keep doing what they’re doing. Just take it easy, he did, but keep moving.
He makes it sound so simple. But he also seems like not an over-thinker.
Wish me luck!
“Nicole, it’s just as important to exercise your body as it is to exercise your brain.”
This was the teacher in Grade 9 who was both my math teacher and my gym teacher. At the time, I seemed like a serious academic student. I did well in math (and dropped it the next year, go figure) but I may as well have worn a sign that said, “How soon can I get out of gym class?”
Those words from that gym teacher have replayed in my brain many times over the years.
Along the way, I have become more aligned with the gym junkies than the math mavens. I don’t need convincing about the benefits of fitness.
When I was at a recent gerontologist visit with my Dad, the Dr. was impressing on my Dad the importance of going to the exercise classes offered at his seniors’ home. He often doesn’t feel like going and opts for a nap. The Dr. was explaining to him how clear the research is on the importance of exercise on brain health. I’m not sure how long it will motivate my Dad in going to his class, more often, but I have been reminded more than once, while with my ailing Mom, before she died and with my Dad in his seniors’ home, how important basic fitness is throughout one’s life. It doesn’t go away.
What simple wisdom did you hear when you were young that still resonates?
Well, it’s happened again– we are falling back (as opposed to springing forward) in North America. For me, falling back is great, as I love the feeling of having another hour to sleep, loll, and in this case, think about what to write for the blog.
Sometimes, however, a picture (or in this case, a video) is worth more than words. If any of you, dear readers, are having trouble with falling back today, I’ve found the perfect assistance, courtesy of Facebook:
Happy seasonal fallback day!
I snapped a selfie and thought I looked cute. I got home and put my glasses on.
I am in St Croix, New Brunswick for a family emergency. I had been crying. I quickly removed the picture from my Strava feed.
The next day, another brisk walk up the road, along the dyke to the beach then down the road to the river boat launch.
My lower back appreciated the 30 minute walk. I’ve not got one in every day this week but I tried.
Walking didn’t solve all my problems but it helped my body and my mental health.
It reminded me of the image of an eagle popular during the pandemic about taking stupid walks for our stupid mental health.
I was thankful that walking is something I can do anywhere and it definitely helped me feel better. More resilient.
I decided each day I’d look for beautiful moments. Tamaracks turning gold then orange. The rare flowers still blooming.
The emergency was managed and we are plotting paths back to a new normal. I’m sure it will involve walking.
