NO PLACE FOR SISSIES

Well, don’t I feel silly. Several weeks ago, I wrote about my long morning walks and their many benefits. I encouraged you to do the same. I invested in good shoes and figured I’d be speed-walking into my nineties. Be like me, I implied.

I’d no sooner hit “publish” on that blog post than my legs began to hurt. So I stretched more often. Kept going. Then it occurred to me that since the pain was worse on one side, perhaps all I needed was one of my good chiropractor’s attitude adjustments. Dr. Narvey gladly obliged. Advised me to keep walking unless the pain grew worse while I walked or immediately after. So far, it hadn’t.

I’d no sooner received his adjustment and advice than I added another ten minutes to my route. (When exactly does “old enough to know better” kick in? Don’t be like me.)

That morning, the pain grew so bad I slowed to a stroll and then a crawl. I sat on my friend Barb’s doorstep to rest—too prideful to knock on the door and ask for a ride home. Called Hubby from my cell. While I waited for him, I limped on, slowly, toward home. By the time he caught up with me, only two blocks remained, but I gratefully climbed into his truck.

I didn’t go walking for a solid two weeks and for most of that time, could barely hobble around my house. How humiliating. They say you need to listen to what your body is telling you, but mine merely points and laughs.

I’m glad to say I’m gradually improving and have been out walking again—just not as far or as fast. Ultrasound and pressure treatments from Dr. Narvey help.

Then a Facebook memory from ten years ago popped up, reminding me I’ve been down this road before: “If I must give up clogging, I want it to be for some cool reason and not because I have a bum knee. And not because I’m too old. Both of which are becoming glaringly obvious. Phooey.”

I thought I’d be clog-dancing into my nineties.

Five years ago, I thought I’d be doing yoga into my nineties. Then a frozen shoulder made most of the poses in my routine impossible.

I’m sensing a pattern here. Old age is creeping up, yanking away the activities beneficial for heart, lungs, balance, flexibility, and strength—all keys to aging well. What will go next? Never mind, don’t answer that. And please don’t tell me to take up swimming because it ain’t happenin.’

My granny used to say, “Old age ain’t no place for sissies.”

I really don’t mind the idea of getting older. I just didn’t expect it this soon. But given the alternative, I guess I’ll take it. In II Corinthians 4, Paul tells us, “Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.” (NLB)

Forever is a whole lot longer than my nineties.

One of the walks I frequent.

 

Confessions of a Snoopy Pants

With these hot summer days, I’m taking my walks in the cooler early morning and have discovered unexpected benefits. I walk farther. I encounter less human traffic and more pets, bunnies, and squirrels. Plus, it’s a lot more satisfying to shower when I arrive home knowing the exercise portion of my day is over and I can get on with life.

On most of these treks, I haul my carcass over the Tupper Street bridge for the added calorie-burn, then straight on until I come to Crescent Road. I usually then take the sidewalk on the north side rather than the walking path along the lake. I tell myself there’s more shade and less goose poop, but really it’s because I am snoopy. I love a close-up view of the homes and yards. I’m mind-boggled by the gorgeous landscaping, vibrant flowers, shrubs trimmed to perfection, rocks arranged just so with nary a weed. How do they do it? I could do yard work full time and my yard would still be mediocre. Not that I’d want to. And therein lies the secret, I suppose.

This adorable "Hobbit door" can be found in my home town.

I enjoy walking around Portage and seeing the variety of homes all jumbled in the same neighborhood. I love sizing up old houses and imagining what they originally looked like and who lived in them. It’s delightful when a hundred-year old house looks well kept but depressing when it’s not. Sometimes I’ll see an overgrown yard with perennials that might have been planted half a century ago fighting through weeds. Crumbling brick flower beds attached to the front of the house. Once gorgeous porches in shambles. My heart breaks a little whenever I see boarded and broken windows, knowing someone once loved and cared for that home.

My place would neither break your heart nor wow you with its beauty. I need to find other ways to bless my community and when I’m out walking, I can think of three. The first is simply that by keeping my body healthier, I’m bringing a better self to the world around me.

Secondly, I make a point of picking up at least one piece of litter every time. Sadly, I can always count on lots of options. Lately I’ve seen more face masks littering the ground than I see on faces. Seriously? I know my readers aren’t litterbugs, but I don’t know for sure whether they are litter picker-uppers.

Thirdly, I try to remember to pray for my community as I walk. You don’t need to know the people you’re praying for. Someone hasn’t found time to mow their grass? Pray for them, they’re probably under stress. These folks are renovating? Pray for peace in the household, because you know they’re going to need it. This house has a wheelchair ramp? Pray about all the challenges attached to living with a disability, both for the disabled person and their family or caregivers. See toys or a swing set? Pray for those children. That business. This school. That church. Every step you take can bring a blessing to your community, whether you see it or not.

 Happy snooping! I mean, walking.

 

Ripped in Peace

Our long stretch of ruthlessly cold weather had me wimping out of my walk to work more often than not, which wouldn’t be so bad except I’d been simultaneously reneging on my workouts at home. Add to that the extra holiday treats, and I felt like a slimy slug sitting on a platter of poutine left too long on the counter, growing fuzzy around the edges. 

“I’ve gotten bored with my routine,” I told the girls at coffee break one morning. “Maybe I should buy myself a new workout DVD.”

That’s when Brandy made the brilliant suggestion of trading DVDs, thereby giving us both a fresh workout without spending a dime. I gave her my Jillian Michael’s “Yoga Meltdown” and she gave me Jillian’s “Ripped in 30.”

Five days later, I finally popped in the disk, ready to give it a whirl. The title isn’t lying when it calls the workout “Ripped in 30.”  It took me about 30 seconds to rip something.

But I soldiered on. The DVD gives you four completely different workouts, each more challenging than the next. As I sweated and panted through the first, I wondered what the 30 actually stood for. Years? Because that will make me a heck of a fit 85-year-old one day. 

Upper body strength is not my forte. I do the girlie push-ups, on my knees, and it still requires Herculean effort to push past four. But at least Jillian shows the decency to place them early in the routine when you still possess enough energy to fake your way through it before moving on. 

The aerobic and abdominal bits are killers, but they’re mercifully short. You can handle any amount of pain if you know it’s only for one minute, or even two. Right?

Afterwards, I felt certain I’d never make it back upstairs on my jelly legs, which wouldn’t have been such a bad outcome. There’s a bed and bathroom downstairs. If I could simply recruit my husband to bring me food and books, I’d have all I require for a happy life. 

My little fantasy ended abruptly when I discovered I’d somehow made it to the top of the stairs after all. Bummer.

The idea is to do the first workout five or six times the first week, then progress to the second. By the end of the fourth week/workout, you’ve become what’s known in fitness circles as “ripped.” For me, it will prove enough of a challenge to stay on the first level for a month before attempting the next. That method may not sell more DVDs for Jillian, but I sincerely doubt she is hurting.

And you know what? I could spread this thing out over four years and feel at peace about that. Because, as Jillian says, “it’s not about perfection. Transformation is not a future event. It’s a present activity.”

So, that’s my new year’s challenge to you. Start the transformation! Heave your sorry carcass off the couch and drag it around the block. Dust off your old exercise video. But don’t wait. And if you miss a workout, don’t allow it to paralyze you. Just start again the next day.

If I can suffer, so can you.