Getting Stronger

Or the one where she tries to exercise on Valentine's Day

For over a year, now, I have let my health take a backseat to pretty much everything else in my life. If you count the pandemic, and post-pandemic (which I guess we are still in), it’s really been more like four years of letting my body be a casualty, but the last year in particular has been Sedentary 101. Not really. Mostly it was driving and packing and moving (twice) and mowing lawns and working a bunch of weird jobs, sort of like Poker Face without the murder, and a lot of continual stress and lack of sleep. Cancer does a number on both the patient and the partner. And so, now we are both working toward healthier versions of ourselves.

So when I met with a personal trainer today, on Valentine’s Day, for the first time in my forty-eight years, I was shocked that my resting heart rate was a cool 67 and the highest it got was 108. By that measure, I thought, at least I’m not going to have a heart attack or stroke in this nice woman’s home gym. But what would she say when she continued with my assessment, pinched and measured and asked me to perform for her, just to come to the realization that: I can’t do a single pushup, situp or a plank to save my life?

She handed me three pound weights and we got to work.

a visual representation of my strength

Forty-five minutes later, I felt really good. I started. It might have been ground zero, hell I think it was sub-zero, like several feet below ground level, but it was a start and honestly just taking that first step was the hardest. Similar to looking at a blank screen and thinking, just write something, you lazy writer! Even if what you write is: I suck at writing, I have no idea what this story is about, why will anyone on planet earth care. You have to start. Because maybe someone on Mars will care.

Six weeks ago, my husband and I started Yoga together as well. It’s only once a week, so not quite enough to get the full mental and physical advantages, and definitely not enough to make either of us to be self-disciplined enough to incorporate it into our daily lives yet, but it’s a beginning. I’ve always found it strange that I’m incredibly disciplined as a writer, employee, freelancer and more, but try to get me to do jumping jacks every day. Forget it.

Fortunately, I know I’m not alone. This is evidenced hilariously so in our yoga class. Most of us are like a bunch of misfit toys who bend like gnarly trees and have the balance of pandas. Some talk too much. Some nervously laugh too much. (ahem) One night a shout from the back of the room: “These socks are bullshit!”

We’re all working on our mindfulness.

this duck is broken

I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stick to my two new endeavors because we may have some changes coming up that once more disrupts my schedule, but for as many weeks as I can, I’m going to stick to this plan of reclaiming my physical health. On this Valentine’s Day I chose to love my body, something I never do. Why is it so hard for some of us to do that, I wonder?

I won’t lie, I’m still going to have a gin at night. And I have had a pretty healthy diet my entire life for the most part, so there’s no way in hell I’m going on some restrictive regimen that takes all the fun out of everything. Someday I might. Health changes rapidly, especially as we age, needs have to be reassessed. I’m keenly aware of that. But that day is not today. I’m having mushroom and sausage flatbreads with a side salad tonight. And did I mention that gin?

Might as well leave more room for growth, right?

Happy Valentine’s, friends.

I hope you love yourself today.