Category: illness

challenge · cycling · fitness · Guest Post · illness

The Origins of My Surprising Fitness Journey

whsbike49a42cfbfd2 Comments

 In 1998, we were traveling in Australia. That was a lifelong dream of mine. As far back as 4th grade I read books about animals. I began dreaming about parts of the world where they were widespread and different. Now, at last, with Bruce (my husband), daughters, and friends, we were there. This day we were in Queensland. We had seen the Barrier Reef, the giant clams, the enormous cod and all sorts of colorful creatures. Then, off to dinner and a good night’s sleep.

I woke up to find one of our friends sitting next to me, chin on hand, staring thoughtfully. He’s a doctor. My husband & I shared a room with a good friend whose mobility is severely limited (we’ve been good friends since high school). She told me I’d had a grand mal seizure. She had recognized it and, from her experience as a special-ed speech therapist, had been able to talk Bruce through it. The others had called a local doctor. He arrived, checked a few things then asked, “Do you know where you are?” I looked around. The whole thing had, to me, a pretty Alice in Wonderland feeling. Dream-like. I hadn’t thought to question anything. But now, I realized I had no idea where I was. A trip planned for 30 years, and it was gone?

Fortunately, the memory of everything through the previous evening came back. And the doctor  said we could continue to travel (phew) but I’d need a cat scan if it happened again. He thought I’d had “a one-off fit.” So we finished the trip, but when I got back home, I went straight to my doctor, who sent me to a neurologist, who got an MRI, which showed the tumor. Surgery followed, then lots of MRIs & follow-up care. And, since my tumor was very low grade, a projected life expectancy of 10-15 years. In the brain cancer world, that is great. But for the 46-year-old hearing it, not so great.

Once I had grown somewhat accustomed to my new reality, it occurred to me that I’d better give up procrastination. I suppose we all think of that as a pretty good new year’s resolution, but this time, I meant it, and I followed up. And one of my top priorities had been to get back in shape. I had been running the family business and raising daughters, and there just wasn’t a ton of time out there. My daughters were, by now, away at college, so that excuse was no good any more. So I got a stationary bike – the old kind with nothing but a seat, handlebars and pedals. And I put in a half hour every day, and it began to make quite a difference.

After a few months, Bruce kept telling me how boring that was, and that I really needed to get out on a real bike. Eventually, I caved in, and got a hybrid bike and began to take cautious rides along local paths. I got up to 5 miles! Ten miles! He got me out to ride to a local reservoir, a ride that included some traffic and a final climb of 100 feet or so. I thought, 1) I might die from the effort, and 2) I must have climbed something roughly equivalent to Mount Everest.

And one more change, and then another: I joined a women’s bike club; I cured tendinitis caused by lugging the heavy hybrid bike onto the commute train by buying the road bike the shop guys recommended; I was so impressed by the lightness & easy riding – once I had overcome my fear of such a delicate vehicle – that I signed up for the following year’s AIDS ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles.

And so many things followed. More AIDS rides (there’s quite a story there, since when I finished the first one, I said to myself, well, I’ll never have to do that again!); lots of touring and leading local endurance training rides, some running, some strength training, some yoga, and lots and lots of tap dance. That was already a regular thing – my older daughter was in STOMP! for a couple of years & we went to tap festivals together.

Somewhere in the fitness journey, I stumbled across this blog, and loved it! I can go on with my stories, but first I want to thank all of you who write here for the inspiration and support you have given. And to apologize for the somewhat haphazard pace of my comments. I have comments in my head for almost every post I read, and only seem to get a few of them out to you. So thanks so much for all you have done to help this journey!

Quick Bio: I am a lifelong Californian. I have a husband, two daughters, and five grandchildren. I spent 40+ years in the family business, taking over when my father retired. I have served on a couple of school boards and worked with several non-profits and several individuals who needed help. My lucky life makes me very eager to pay it forward. My current fitness makes me very eager to see the world from a bike saddle.


Me at about age 10 with what I think was my second bike. 3 speeds, and we often had to wear dresses.
Me holding my bike overhead at the half way point on the AIDS ride from SF to LA.
The third is a picture of me and Bruce having ridden up Waimea Canyon on Kauai.
cycling · fitness · illness · injury · sailing · strength training

You never know when you’ll perform your last heavy deadlift

Sam B8 Comments
Snipe racing on Guelph Lake

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!

death · family · feminism · fitness · illness

The Heartbreaking Work of Parental Care

Diane Harper1 Comment

This winter has been hard. My dad was diagnosed with late stage cancer just before Christmas. Then my mom fell and broke two bones at opposite ends of her body. Until now, they have been each other’s primary caregiver (when one was needed), but now they are both struggling.

Mom and Dad still live on their own, in a house with stairs. Luckily it’s only a half-hour drive from my house. And luckily I channel my anxiety into cooking, so they have been well stocked with easy-to-reheat favourite foods. And care services have been great, with a nurse, personal support workers, physiotherapist, and even someone to clean the house.

Still, I have been very busy taking them things or helping them with computer issues, driving them to appointments (and managing their calendar), or just sitting and keeping them company. Thank goodness I retired last summer.

I’m not exactly part of a sandwich generation, as my own kids are grown, but the feeling of being pulled in multiple directions is very real. I love my parents and I’m glad to support them as much as I can, but it is physically and mentally exhausting sometimes. Despite my cheery post yesterday, I am struggling to fit in time to take care of myself.

The newness, the rawness, and the pain of caring for someone who will never get better has me breaking into tears far too often. My dad has been the best feminist ally a person could ask for. He has always been so supportive of mom, my sister and me, and is so proud of my daughter. He was a wonderful role model for my son, who has grown into a feminist husband and father.

I try to tell myself that this is the normal cycle of life, and that Mom played the same role for Grandma (Dad’s mom, who moved in with them for the last few years of her life and died at home). I’m deeply grateful that my parents ensured my sister and I are financially literate, and that they have all their affairs in order. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be dependent on someone all your life, and then suddenly left to deal with taxes, banks and bills, and maybe the loss of income.

Normally I would end a post with some sort of jokey anecdote or clever final words, but all I can think of right now is something a colleague said to me over 30 years ago. His father had just died and he said the death wasn’t the hardest part. His father had lived a long life. It was realizing you were no longer someone’s child, even if you were already in your 50s. I’m not ready to stop being a child.

My parents on their wedding day, in 1961.
body image · fitness · Guest Post · illness · weight lifting · yoga

Before and After: A personal reflection on exercising with chronic illness

Tracy I1 Comment

by Christine Junge

Image description: Outside shot of a woman (Christine) with dark medium long hair and wearing a short-sleeved shirt, holding a young boy while he climbs on a rope climber in a playground, with dappled light, a fence, and a tree in the background. She is looking up at the boy and the boy is looking up at the next rung of the rope. Photo credit: Viceth Vong.

“Why aren’t you doing another triathlon this year?” an acquaintance asked.

I gulped. “I’m having some, uh, health issues,” I said. I was keeping things vague out of necessity—I had no damn idea what was happening, only that I had a constant (and I mean 100% of the time) headache that reached an unbearable level by the time I left work for the day. I went to sleep pretty much as soon as I got home—not only because being in pain is exhausting, but because sleep was the only time I didn’t feel awful. My life goals had gone from: publish a book, rock my career in publishing, and finish a tri even though I can barely swim, to: get through the day.

In the year after the pain started, I had test after test. They all came back negative, which was a good thing on the one hand (who wants to have a brain tumor or Lyme disease), and utterly frustrating on the other. After each of my appointments at Boston’s various prestige medical clinics, I wanted to scream, Why can’t you just tell me what was wrong with me?

Eventually, through a process of elimination, they diagnosed me with occipital neuralgia (nerve pain in the upper neck) and idiopathic chronic migraines (idiopathic just means that they have no flipping idea why it’s happening.) I tried treatment after treatment (Botox injections, handfuls of pills, various psychologic therapies) but the headaches wouldn’t budge. I was in bed for the vast majority of most days. The body I toned through hours of training atrophied.

Eventually I went to the Cleveland Clinic for a three-week “headache camp,” as a friend called it. There they tweaked my medications but more importantly, they taught me more than I could’ve imagined about headaches and how to maneuver your lifestyle to live with—and hopefully eventually prevent—them.

One of their prescriptions was to get back to exercising. I had all but stopped as the pain consumed me. There were a few scientifically backed reasons for this recommendation: exercise has been shown to reduce the severity of pain in people with many chronic pain conditions; it also greatly helps with the anxiety and depression that often hits people with chronic illnesses of all stripes (and that certainly hit me).

For me, it also allowed me to get back in touch with that former triathaloning self. I started with walking—an exercise I still love. I added yoga and light weight training. Slowly but surely, I started to feel better physically and emotionally. Now, I walk for an hour a few times a week, do pilates at least once a week, and I’m currently attempting to reintroduce weight training after that fell out of my routine. On days I exercise, I feel less achey—and also like my body is my friend again, not something that revolted against me. I feel, too, that I am strong—I hadn’t realized how upsetting it was to my sense of self to think of myself as weak. Now, I am not just someone with a disabling condition, I am someone who can keep up with her son on the playground, who can squat down and lift his four-year-old body, who doesn’t have to fear the idea of trudging around a theme park all day. 

I have greater exercise ambitions, too: I plan to conquer a ten-mile hike in the next few months, and an even longer one by the end of the year, with the eventual goal of walking 100 miles or so on Europe’s El Camino Santiago. I have no thoughts of trying for another triathlon, but thanks in part to regular, light exercise, I’m doing much more than just getting through the day now. 

If you have a story about exercising during or after illness, we’d love to hear it!

Christine Junge is a writer living in San Jose, CA. She’s currently working on a novel, and blogs about parenting with a chronic illness/disability at ThanksForNothingBody.substack.com


fitness · illness

The Waiting List

Words & S’mores1 Comment

Someone very close to me was recently told that they’re next up for battling the Big C. I say “next up” because it seems as though Cancer rears its nasty head up to everyone eventually. I know that isn’t true, but my pessimism wins out in my psyche from time to time as more of those dear to me face the diagnosis.

Right now, my friend is in the waiting stage. You know, that dreadful countdown of some mysterious length towards an end that will finally give you some answers and a plan of action. I have experienced a waiting stage like that, but not of this length, and not of this severity.

How many strong people are waiting in silence every day? Whether it’s waiting on a diagnosis, healing, news from a loved one, or even news of a baby or job offer, imagine days that last forever. Imagine waking up every morning and being reminded of your altered perspective of time. And then there’s your phone. Which hour in this marathon of days will give you the mercy of more information, of next steps, of hope? Will it be today?

Now imagine that, while you wait, you cannot access your regular coping methods. You’ve had surgery—you cannot exercise yet. You need to be available for last-minute treatment—you cannot travel. It’s not your news to share so you are awaiting the go-ahead—you cannot speak freely with your close friends.

So what does one do? What can one do? I am not an expert on this topic, but, being inspired to offer suggestions to those struggling in the waiting period, I thought I’d compile a mini list of “try me” potentials to take the burden of thinking away a bit.

Time does funny things when you’re in a period of waiting.

A brass alarm clock sits on a surface. It’s black hands signify 12:25.

With the understanding that these options are not universal and therefore cannot be assumed relative to everyone’s journey, here is a short list of things you can try that may make the waiting game less treacherous:

  • Join a book club. Reading is a standard option for passing the time, but why not put some intention behind your readings? Websites like bookclubs.com allow people from all over the world to engage in book clubs online. There are many book clubs to choose from that can cater to your needs in this season. You can also try searching Facebook or contacting your local library to see if there are any online or casual book clubs available.
  • Volunteer. “A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed” (Proverbs 11:25 [NIV]). Giving your time and energy to the causes of others is not meant to discredit your own experience. Rather, serving others allows for the special opportunity to engage with others’ struggles in a human-to-human way. Volunteer to relate. Volunteer to connect. Volunteer to engage with the world in a way that is outside the societal message of you, you, you. Then, when you’re there and giving of yourself, embrace the gift that it offers in return. Embrace refreshment. Soak it in and acknowledge that your life means more to the world than you may have thought. You are a unique person who has a lot to offer. Let yourself experience the pleasure of offering yourself to others (and yes, animals count).
  • Sit and cry in peace. Sometimes you just need to sit and wait and feel the heaviness of your current situation. This is not a place to be stuck in, but your body and mind may need the permission and freedom to be authentic and access release. This season is a difficult one and your body knows it. Tears release oxytocin and endorphins—two hormones that are credited with producing good feelings and aiding in pain management, respectively.[1] Invite someone to hold you while you cry, or make space to have a moment by yourself for yourself.

There’s my list. It’s small, but maybe there’s something sparked a bit of life into you. If not, I hope it inspired you to think about what an option for you could be. What would you put on your waiting list? All I know is that, for those of you who find yourselves trapped in an hourglass, there is hope out there. It will look different for each person, but I encourage you to find out what that hope is and lean into it. Let it comfort and strengthen you. Blessings to you all.

[1] Dariush Dfarhud, Maryam Malmir, Mohammad Khanahmadi, “Happiness & Health: The Biological Factors- Systematic Review Article,” Iranian Journal of Public Health 43, 11 (2014): 1468–1477, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4449495/.

Stephanie Morris is a transcriptionist and writer based in Alberta, Canada. She is a wife, a mom of two, and a newcomer to the career-writing world. As a fancier of history and literature, she aspires to blend the two in fiction and nonfiction pieces. To follow Stephanie’s writing adventures, find her at @words.and.smores on Instagram.

Notes from the Healing Rollercoaster
health · illness

Notes from the Healing Rollercoaster

Mina4 Comments

I am on a healing journey (as many of you already know from my posts here and here). Or, if I can describe my current experience with more accuracy—I’m on a healing rollercoaster. Less than a year ago, I was diagnosed with Addison’s Disease. The short of that diagnosis is that I’m on 3x a day medication and I have to eat a low potassium diet, aka a pleasure deprivation regime. To keep hope alive, I have engaged with a functional medicine program to explore alternative options to healing my disease, which my endocrinologist says cannot be healed. Ever.

Right now. I need to believe otherwise.  

There are a number of challenging questions that pop up as I embark on this alternative (functional) medicine undertaking:

  1. How do I define healing?
  2. Does being healed equal being off my medication?
  3. What about supplements? Do they count as medication?  
  4. Is being healed coming to a place of acceptance around taking my medication? After all, my energy is good and I am able to do all the activities I want with my enthusiastic effort levels of old. The one thing I can’t do—eat high potassium foods.
  5. Is being healed eating avocado toast and chocolate whenever and in whatever quantities I want? Even if I’m still on medication?  
  6. What is the measure or metric of being healed? What is the function in functional medicine?
  7. Or (the big or) is being healed a state of mind?

As you can no doubt discern from these contemplations, I have not yet accepted that Addison’s Disease is going to be a lifetime companion. Nor do I have the capacity yet to see this disease as a golden opportunity to explore my patience and acceptance. Addison’s has afflicted me, it is not a cascade of liquid sunshine, showering my life with unexpected gifts. While I am no longer fighting the disease, the way I did at the beginning, not wanting to believe I even needed the medication and being uncooperative on that front, I still can’t find solid ground. Which brings me hard up against that last question.

Is being healed a state of mind?

This question is particularly nagging. One of the elements of my alternative (functional) healing program is a brain rewiring technique, by which I work through negative thought loops on a daily basis, cultivating neuroplasticity with a series of movements paired with scripted acknowledgments of my current condition and visualizations of my future. The promise is that as I rewire my brain, my body will follow.

I’m torn between the part of me that thinks the practice is kooky, possibly even hokum and the part of me that knows that the practice can only work if I throw myself into it wholeheartedly. That part also knows (and research shows that) our bodymind does not necessarily know the difference between a role we play and reality. So much so that playing the role of believing in the practice may be enough for the practice to work, if I play the role of engaging with wholeheartedness. As I do the movements and speak the script with the conviction of the role I’m playing, the change will begin to happen. This will lead me to believe in the practice, amping up my wholeheartedness. More change will happen, deepening my belief and engagement and so on.

A virtuous cycle. Which risks sounding as loopy to some of you, as it does to that part of me, who I mentioned a moment ago, who is on the lookout for snake oil sales people.

I started less than a week ago on the brain rewiring practice. And two weeks ago, I embarked on the supplement regime and using a device that emits far infrared to boost stem cell production and reduce inflammation.  

Here’s how everything is going so far … during the first two weeks of supplements and far infrared therapy, I swung between the conviction that I am on the road to healing, which was boosted by the fact that my tweaky hamstring healed in record time (for which I give credit to the far infrared) and the conviction that I’m a fool who just wasted money on a functional medicine guide to cure a hamstring injury that would have healed in a few months anyway. In other words, I was high and then I was low and then I was high and then … After two days of the brain training, I felt a full body thrill of optimism. That was last Thursday.

Last Friday, as I was setting out for a hike, I got the results of a blood test I’d taken the day before (so, for perspective, less than two weeks into my new supplement and far infrared regime and two days into brain training). The results were, at first glance, not what I’d hoped. My potassium was back up to the highest end of normal, despite medication, diet, supplements, far infrared, and brain training. All the everything. Yes, I know, I’ve barely started the new regime, what did I expect? Still, I expected.

I was devastated and cried sporadically while hiking, when I wasn’t furious with the world and myself. Overcome by hopelessness and self-pity. Why does nothing ever go right for me? Which then plunged me into the steeper drop of, why am I never the right person? And so on. All of which was a nauseatingly precipitous drop from my I’ve-started-brain-training-and-I’m-going-to-heal-myself-with-my-mind optimism from the day before.  

Later, looking more closely at the results with my endocrinologist and my FM guide, there was actually more good news than bad. My cortisol has gone up to “very normal, even high,” as my endocrinologist said. My ACTH, the hormone which stimulates the release of cortisol into our system, was down into normal mid-range, the lowest it’s been in at least a year. A year ago, my ACTH was at 15x the current level. My body was screaming at the top of its lungs for more cortisol production. To no avail. This normalization of my cortisol production, according to my FM guide, is, at least partly, thanks to the licorice root I’ve started taking. Plus, both DHEA and Vitamin D, which were concerns for my FM guide and are part of my new regime, are now in healthy ranges.

I took the weekend off to put myself back together after my vertiginous mood plunge, followed by the upswing of the closer look. Optimism returns. Cautiously. And then yesterday and today with more vigor, as I renew my commitment to my brain training.

Photo of rollercoaster by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

The questions I listed earlier continue to rattle around. I have no idea of the answers. And I know (really, I do) that it’s too early to have any idea if anything is working. When I signed on with the FM guide, I strapped myself into a rollercoaster. I don’t know how long the ride will last. I can’t see the full extent of its climbs and plunges. I could get off, but then I’d probably just be on a different rollercoaster and this one comes with a dose of hope. I’m choosing to keep my seat belt on.

In the meantime, out for a ride this morning, I indulged in the enormous pleasure of setting my gear at a harder level than usual for the uphills and feeling into the power of my legs and the joy of movement.  

Is My Fitness Fake if I’m Taking Medication?
health · illness · running

Is My Fitness Fake if I’m Taking Medication?

Mina4 Comments

I ran three days in a row for the first time in I-don’t-know-how-many-years. Not even three short runs. The first two alone, 7 miles, then 8 miles, felt solid and shocking. One day. Two days. And … I felt good. I rinsed and repeated because I couldn’t believe it was true. The third day was giving into the temptation to see how far this feeling good could really go. Another 8 miles, it turned out.

On that third day, I was so surprised to be running, that I started playing. I ran short stretches backwards, because I once heard that helps to balance the muscles and stretch the legs and I figured my legs, which might be in as much shock as my mind, could use the variation. Each time I turned forward again, my legs felt momentarily tired and disoriented. Then I’d catch my groove again. I threw in a few sections of running faster. Not exactly speedwork, more just seeing what the engine could take. Most of the run was on a long causeway that juts out into Lake Champlain. The dirt path was flat and gently curved. So, it was easy to designate far ahead trees as my destination for each of these backwards and forwards interludes.   

When I finished that third run, I felt good. Like there was still a little gas in the tank.

For the last many years (at least 5, possibly 10), there’s always been some objection from my body to running even two days in a row. A tweaky toe. A hampered hamstring. A pesky plantar. And then last year, it was the increasingly extreme fatigue of what was eventually diagnosed as Addison’s Disease. I’m now on daily (multiple times a day) medication, which, along with a low potassium diet, has returned me to health.

And I wonder …

When I got back from that third run, the friend I was staying with commented on my level of fitness, expressing her frustration that she couldn’t run those distances days in a row anymore. A good and healthy response might have been to just say, Thank you. Instead, I started by attributing the runs to luck (maybe it was total eclipse energy) and to the incredibly restorative Normatec leg massage device she has, that I used after each of the runs.

Then I got to the heart of my hesitation to receive her compliment. Maybe I could run three days in a row only because of my medication. I’m not talking about the fact that without my medication I would not be here, because my potassium would have spiked to a fatal level, as it almost did last year when I spent 3 days in an emergency room. Certainly, the fact that my medication keeps me alive allows me to run and do pretty much everything else that’s involved in this business of living. Still, that’s not the heart of my hesitation. It’s that one of my medications is hydrocortisone, which is used to treat adrenocortical deficiency (that’s me), and swelling and inflammation and/or replaces the cortisol hormone that helps your body respond to stress. In other words, maybe if I weren’t taking this steroid, I would not have the energy to do those runs (because my body couldn’t handle the stress), not to mention the anti-inflammatory benefits.

Pill bottle spilling out multi-colour pills, by towfiqu barbhuiya on unsplash

In other, other words, maybe my fitness level is fake. My ability to recover from the runs is rigged, because I’m taking a performance enhancing medication. I’m a Running Ripley (I just started watching Andrew Scott’s formidable performance in this role). I can’t take any credit for the myriad ways in which I work to maintain my fitness level (my foray into Chi running), because none of my effort has real impact, it’s just the drugs. I should just feel lucky and leave it at that. (Recently, a friend pointed out that we need to stop shoulding on others … and ourselves). So, to re-frame, I want to just feel lucky and I’m not quite there.

I am indeed ultra-grateful for all my body does for me. And, I notice there’s a part of me that wants to take credit, to point to this or that training, or eating, or sleep habit. I want my fitness to be the appropriate reward for the Protestant work ethic I grew up with (in a Jewish household). I want to be grateful and feel like I have some control over what my body can do. The conundrum is that the Addison’s took away that feeling of control and the medication gave me back a feeling of control, which I now question.   

This is the psychological wrestling match going on between different parts of myself.

At the moment, there’s nothing to change. I can’t stop taking my medication.

The bottom line is likely the same as it always is: Be grateful. Every day.   

fitness · illness · monthly check in

Sam made it through November

Sam B1 Comment

I mean, of course I did? But it always feels like a struggle and a bit of accomplishment once I get to the other side.

It’s the grey and the dark of November that gets me. It’s short days and not yet winter.

But look here we are, December, and it’s starting to look like the holidays. We have a little snow, just enough to be decorative and I love all the Christmas lights on the houses.

I feel like I slept through November this year. I was sick for most of it, so sick and it just went on and on. I got sick at the end of October and didn’t get better until November was just about over. I emerged from the flu and some sort of bronchial infection only to get covid. Thanks to paxlovid I was back at work at the end of the month but still sleeping lots. Don’t worry. I rest when I need to.

Here’s proof from my Garmin:

Things I succeeded in doing in November despite being sick and sleeping a lot. I did, as I set out to do, try some new things at the gym. I went to Zumba and Sarah, and I gave bedtime hot yin yoga a go. I’m still on track to make my 400 workouts in 2023 goal thanks mostly to physio, personal training, and dog walks. I’m at 370, so if I move every day in December, and I will, so I’m good. I also read a lot.

Things I didn’t do in November? Ride my bike. I got a few virtual rides in, but that kind of exertion is still bringing on coughing fits, so no. I feel bad about not meeting my 150 km in November to raise money for the Canadian Cancer Society, but as a few friends pointed out, these goals are arbitrary. Sick me just wasn’t up to it, and that’s okay.

Plans for December? We’ve got family visiting from Australia and I’m excited about that. I’m really hoping there’s snow for them. I want to slowly start riding again. In fact, I’m on the trainer this morning for the Herd’s 45 minute Monday Morning Coffee ride.

Sarah and I are going to keep up the bedtime hot yoga. That just feels too good to miss.

There’s lots of dog walks in the snow to look forward to. Depending on snow, we might even get the fat bikes out.

Add in some Zumba and some weightlifting at the gym and December could be a pretty fun, active month.

I’m also cooking this year for twelve people. My mum will make a turkey but I’m in charge of the vegetarians. I’m up for trying something new.

What’s your fave vegetarian main at Christmas time?

Goodbye November
dogs · fitness · illness · walking

Sam is learning to move, but move gently, when sick

Sam B2 Comments

I’ve been sick for awhile now. I worked from home October 16th, and went to the doctor’s for the first time October 20th. I wrote about emerging from the lurgy on the 23rd but clearly that was premature.

Since then I’ve been back to the doctor’s office twice. I’ve had two sets of chest x-rays.

It’s a bronchial thing, post-viral, and best as they can tell, not pneumonia, but I have antibiotics and inhalers. I’ve been working from home at about 60% of my usual pace to allow for naps.

The last time I was sick with the persistent cough thing was 2017. I even blogged about it. Before that it was 2012 in New Zealand where Mallory and I shared a nasty cough for a month.

I’m good at being sick-sick like I actually rest, and I don’t try to work, but it’s more challenging when you’re getting better but not there yet. I’ve been thinking about this in the context of physical activity. With two newish knees, I don’t have the option of just working and resting; I also need to keep moving. I can’t really miss physio.

I’ve been trying to move, but slowly and gently. I’ve got the support of a terrific physiotherapist and personal trainer, who understand that I need to keep moving but preferably in a way that doesn’t bring on coughing fits.

Here’s what my workouts for last week (as recorded in the 223 workouts in 2023 group look like:

➡Physio at clinic

➡Dog walk

➡Home from work still recovering from this post viral, bronchial infection, but forgot to cancel personal training. Went and we did a gentle hour of mobility work and lighter weights and lots of stretching. I will nap this afternoon but it did feel good to move.

➡At home physio

➡Dog walk

➡Zwift, gentle 20 km

I’m sleeping more than usual. And walking less. Here’s my Garmin report on the last seven days.

You might wonder what the stress level number means. Here’s the breakdown: 0–25: Resting state ; 26–50: Low stress ; 51–75: Medium stress ; 76–100: High stress.

So, an average of 26 is a pretty low stress. Thanks to the College’s two associate deans for helping with the stressful stuff.

Today I finally started to feel more like myself. I’m coughing less and the sun was shining.

Cheddar was happy to have a long walk.

A sunny day dog walk

I’m back in the office this week. Wish me luck!

Green fern leaf against a backdrop of black earth. Five lessons Catherine (re)learned about recovering from sickness
fitness · health · illness

Five lessons Catherine (re)learned about recovering from sickness

catherine w2 Comments

One would think, 3.5 years after the COVID pandemic hit it big on planet Earth, we would have figured out how to live in the world while a) being sick; and b) recovering from being sick. But we haven’t. We really haven’t.

About a week after Sam came down with “the dreaded lurgy” I got it, too. Nothing novel, just an awful conglomeration of coughing, congestion, fever, queasiness, lower GI symptoms, body ache, wheezing. I was in bed, unable to do anything for several days. This gets me to lesson one I learned this week:

Just cancel work. All the work. Don’t try to Zoom or email your way through it. Cancel. Call in/out sick. Because you are sick.

I learned this the hard way. Monday I tried teaching a 2.5 hour in-person freshman class over Zoom. This is not easy under optimal conditions, and my conditions were far from optimal. I played a TED talk, did some small group discussion, coughed a lot, and called it a day an hour and a half in.

Monday night, still having not learned, I planned to teach logic over Zoom Tuesday afternoon and emailed my class. By 4:30 Tuesday morning, my tune had changed– a mash-up of Chopin’s Funeral March and Johnny Paycheck’s Take this job and shove it. So I called in/out and canceled class.

By the way, I looked up calling in vs calling out sick. Here’s the latest:

A US poll showing 48% of the surveyed used “calling in” vs. 22% using “calling out”, with 19% using either and 11% not having any idea what you’re talking about.

Incorporating all the information gleaned from not following lesson one takes us to lesson two:

Being sick and getting better are going to take longer than you expect, even if you already know that and have factored in extra time.

This lesson is a variation on what’s called Hofstadter’s Law, which says a project always takes longer to complete than expected, even when the law is taken into account. No matter what we do, the complexities of real-life living throw spanners into the works of our finely tuned plans. So we (meaning me, this week) would do well to remember that sickness and recovery timetables are not really under our control.

Wednesday brought a bit of an upswing and the glimmer of recovery. I did some work at home and it went well. By Thursday, I really expected that I woulda/shoulda be well enough to get in my car, drive to school and teach my afternoon classes. I mean, I felt sort-of-less-bad on Wednesday. Doesn’t that dictate that I be sort-of-okay by Thursday? Uh, lesson three has news for me:

Sickness and recovery are not linear. They’re going to go up and down and all around.

If you google “recovery is not linear” you’ll get a huge number of hits and graphics, all trying to convey how unpredictable all of our patterns of change and adjustment are, in mental health and physical health and all their permutations. It’s crucial to our well-being that we recognize that the short and the long processes, the less taxing and the life-changing, all of them proceed in ways that aren’t about steady improvement, day after day. Nope. Many of you have seen graphs like the one below, but it bears demonstrating again.

A graph showing the road to recovery– a diagonal line is what we think it looks like, but what it really looks like is loopy loops going every which way.

Maybe this is particular to me, but just in case it’s meaningful for you, here’s lesson four:

Always have extra tissues and cough drops on hand. Don’t run out. Ever.

Two 10-packs of kleenex brand tissue boxes. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Lesson five isn’t really something I’ve learned this week, but rather something I keep relearning through my meditation practice. But, it applies here (as everything in meditation applies to everything else in the world):

Whatever you’re going through is going to change. It won’t be the same tomorrow, the next day, and so on.

This is neither good nor bad; it’s just the way things are. It’s infuriating sometimes– this unpredictability. I mean, I oughta be able to know what’s coming and when. Well:

Elizabeth Warren says, Boo Hoo!
Elizabeth Warren says, Boo Hoo!
Too bad, so sad.
Too bad, so sad.

Why, you may wonder, did I take all the trouble to write up these no-news lessons about getting better from being sick while I’m sick and getting better? Because however many times I remember them, I seem to forget them again. So, in case you’re feeling a little tickle in your throat, I can save you some valuable time and extra emails. Oh, and don’t forget to buy kleenex.

How’s everybody feeling out there? Lemme know. I’m thinking about you.