The Christmas merchandise is already out in the shops. Perhaps you've noticed. This time of year, I always feel the urge to stock up on Christmas candy.
Every year at my parent's house, we fill each others stockings. My speciality is usually chocolate truffles or other special candy. And of course, it's pricey candy, or becoming pricier. I remember when Lindt truffles ran about 25 cents each. I remember when they went up to 30, then 35 cents. Somewhere in there, they got up to nearly 50 cents, then over. So now they are reeeeally pricey, considering I buy several per person, often tracking down rare or seasonal flavors. Spending thirty or forty dollars on truffles alone is not uncommon. And that's not even including other specialty chocolates.
I've had to cut back a little. There are some delicious imported "Mozart" chocolates I had to stop buying because they were getting upwards of eighty cents each. If I'm going to spend about a dollar per piece, I want to actually wrap it up for under the tree, not stuff it into a stocking! Or such is my thought. These are special treats that everyone loves to find in their stocking, not gold. I don't have to break the bank.
However, I'm having to moderate my truffle spending for other reasons as well.
I noticed my usual urge to stock up on truffles. Yes, maybe I can get some of them on sale. Maybe I can buy them before the season really heats up, and so avoid going to that crazy retailer after Thanksgiving. Maybe I can stash them in the back of the cabinet or in the closet. You know, to save them. So I don't have to inconveniently buy more later. Uh-huh.
I found myself feeling reluctant to stock up. I was remembering what really happened to that stash of chocolate the last couple of years. I had a pile of chocolate in the house, and no matter how well it's "hidden" or wedged into inconvenient corners, I always know it's there. And of course, we have to sample some every so often. The longer the stash is in the house, the more we eat. And the more we eat, the more stressed our bodies and minds are from the extra sugar and fat. And of course, that does nothing good for our overall diet. Yuk.
There is such a thing as overload, and we have hit it.
It seems clear that the more we have in the house, and the earlier it comes into the house, the more we eat. And if it's in the house, it'll get eaten. You can see where this is going. We're going to have to stop bringing candy into the house.
Horrors!!! Is that even possible? I do enjoy seasonal candy - in moderation. I only eat good chocolate, but that does not matter when I am faced with a large quantity of good chocolate. How many calories, I mean, bars of peppermint bark do I really want to find myself eating this year? Not that many.
So I am resisting the truffles' siren call. When I see the aisles of seasonal candy, I avert my eyes. If I pick it up, I put it back. When I see the tubs of specialty chocolates at the bulk buying store, I tell myself, "You don't want to eat that all by yourself, do you? No!" I will wait to buy exactly what I need for stocking candy when I need it. Like the week before the holiday. Or a couple days previously. Or maybe less of it overall.
A part of me is whining about not eating as much peppermint bark as I want. I'm telling myself gently but firmly that it's more fun to anticipate eating than have had eaten it.
So this year, I'll make my own peppermint bark again, and eat that instead. And bake fewer cookies but more varieties. Fewer cookies, fewer temptations. People might get fewer truffles, but I will too. It's a win-win! I keep telling myself that and eating more greens. Yum!
Not only do I not have to do it all, but I don't have to eat it all, either. Ha.
--
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Monday, November 21, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
This Movement and Sweat
I slap my alarm off and sit up with a sigh. It's not even a matter of debate. I pull on my workout clothes and flex my neck and spine in an attempt to limber up my creaking body. The cats try to sit near and underneath me in hopes of morning snuggles. I give them quick strokes, but I won't linger. I grab my water bottle and go.
I rouse the little girl, hand her a cup of milk, diaper and dress her. I coax tangles out of her hair and hair clips, in, stuff some breakfast into her and myself, and off we go into the admittedly late morning.
I walk into the fitness center just a little late. I have little more than an hour before the nursery closes for break. I wave my membership card at the scanner and wait for the beep before crossing the rest of the lobby with the little girl running along side. She runs as lightly and smoothly as I would wish to. But she is merely two and has loads of energy, while I am *mumble-mumble* and need to heave myself forward in the mornings.
The little girl scampers into the nursery and smiles at a young woman with long dark curly hair, her favorite caretaker. She warily notes other children, then starts forward again to investigate a new toy. I sign her in, plop down her bag, and slide back out the door. "Bye, Sweetie! I'll see you later! Have fun!" On a good day, she doesn't even notice I am leaving.
I pause in the hallway to shed outer layers, clip on my ipod with music cued up, and apply a generous layer of lip balm (to my lips) before heading up to the mezzanine, taking the stairs two at a time.
A wave of white noise hits me as I heft open the heavy door. It's the rattle and hiss of piped-in dance music, the thump of feet on treadmills, and the squeal, beep and clank of machines in action, with the occasional ringing of loose weights being dropped at the far end of the hall. I pause to top off my water bottle, scan the rows of exercise machines and quickly locate one of my two favorite machines. I hop on, place water bottle and towel conveniently, and press a few pad keys to select the preprogrammed workout and time for the day. Sometimes it asks for my age or weight. I don't bother too closely with specifics. I key in the basics with good humor, and I am off and running. Or at least moving, since I don't really run.
Some days I like to do a long program on the treadmill, much of it uphill as if I were carrying a backpack up a steep grade. Lots of good sweat trance there. My mind drifts to epic hikes I've done. Some days I do twenty minutes working up a sweat on the treadmill, then shift to an elliptical machine for some "sport intervals" for a while. Figure skaters practice leaps and glides below, or it's hockey time and young men (or little boys) race and putter around the ice. Some days all I stare at is the advertising on the opposite wall - Even the refs can see this is a good meal deal! - or the lights of the readout telling me beep! It's the next ninety seconds at incline 7.5 !
Recently, I've been doing faux runs on the elliptical. I key in ten minutes of rolling hills at a medium-high resistance and start moving. My heart rate gradually climbs to the target zone and stays there. I love the hand grips that gives me a HR reading in progress. A cool 135 is nice, something in the mid-140s feels good too. Then I switch to twenty minutes of running up and down a tall mountain. My HR climbs and my pace gradually slows, but I'm grooving steadily with another song in my ears. Every so often, I squat as I run for 15 seconds of quad killers. Straightening my legs after a quad killer is a sweet relief to the muscles. Other times, I'll lift my whole foot on the uphills to give my toes a break. I check in with my heart rate every few minutes, sometimes dropping or adding resistance to keep me within sight of an efficient range. Then without pause, I'll add another ten minutes of rolling hills at whatever level of resistance I'm in the mood for, then cool down for a couple, letting my heart rate slow as sweat drips off my hair.
It feels good to get my body moving, to go into an endorphin trance. I'm glad for the tunes in my ears that keep me awake and on pace, although if I haven't gotten much sleep, it's more of a sleep-jog.
I used to feel a little self conscious about going to work out, until my husband reminded me that most people are caught up in their own world and can't be bothered to observe me. I choose to believe that's true, but still, I often go to the front row of machines so I can see the ice skaters instead of being distracted by other people or the silent bank of TVs overhead.
I let the workout summary run as I mop off and pull on the water bottle. I get a kick out of racking up the numbers. 1.6 miles and approximately 192 calories burned. x minutes in my target heart range, and a maximum HR of 210. What?! Well, sometimes the monitor gives me unreasonably high or low readings. I know those are outliers.
I step off, stretch briefly, and retrieve a sani-wipe to wipe down the machine. I could have kept going, but time is a-wasting and the weight machines are calling me.
I was doing long sets of low weight for several months, then I got bored of that, and moved toward shorter sets of higher weights to maximize my time before I'm due to pick up my daughter.
"3" for seat length, "3" for shin cushion angle, and something near "1" for the starting angle. I clank into gear. Two sets of 8 reps at twenty pounds for the quads! Okay! Then the hamstrings! Then go for the squats - better throw in an extra set, there, then my new fav, the abductors and inductors. When I get a chance, I'll hop over to the abdominals and upper body weights. Some guy is tearing through his sets with great grunting and wheezing. A couple of elderly women are being given coaching by a personal trainer, and another couple of people are trading the machines back and forth with me.
I've got a little more time, so now over for some chest presses and killer flys. I throw in a couple sets of incline/decline presses which gets my core muscles involved. Wheee! I rarely have time to do chin ups or the leg press, but it's a nice variation. A small pack of men are making much ado about their workout. But today I am running short, so I skip the lats and go to the upright rower. The seat is still slightly damp from the previous users wipe-down. I take over a mat for a couple of sun salutations, enjoying the feeling of my body doing its thing.
Annnd now it's five til, and I grab my bag and walk the length of the hall in a pleasantly weary forward-motion, past the people still running, walking or cycling. The retired gentleman who I often see there waves as I pass him on the treadmill.
I'm grateful that I am able to enjoy this movement and sweat. And then I go down to hear Mommy! Mommy! I had fun! I had fun too. And now it's time for hand washing. The little girl runs lap after lap around the broad changing room bench, and then dances through the lobby and out through the doors into the day.
--
I rouse the little girl, hand her a cup of milk, diaper and dress her. I coax tangles out of her hair and hair clips, in, stuff some breakfast into her and myself, and off we go into the admittedly late morning.
I walk into the fitness center just a little late. I have little more than an hour before the nursery closes for break. I wave my membership card at the scanner and wait for the beep before crossing the rest of the lobby with the little girl running along side. She runs as lightly and smoothly as I would wish to. But she is merely two and has loads of energy, while I am *mumble-mumble* and need to heave myself forward in the mornings.
The little girl scampers into the nursery and smiles at a young woman with long dark curly hair, her favorite caretaker. She warily notes other children, then starts forward again to investigate a new toy. I sign her in, plop down her bag, and slide back out the door. "Bye, Sweetie! I'll see you later! Have fun!" On a good day, she doesn't even notice I am leaving.
I pause in the hallway to shed outer layers, clip on my ipod with music cued up, and apply a generous layer of lip balm (to my lips) before heading up to the mezzanine, taking the stairs two at a time.
A wave of white noise hits me as I heft open the heavy door. It's the rattle and hiss of piped-in dance music, the thump of feet on treadmills, and the squeal, beep and clank of machines in action, with the occasional ringing of loose weights being dropped at the far end of the hall. I pause to top off my water bottle, scan the rows of exercise machines and quickly locate one of my two favorite machines. I hop on, place water bottle and towel conveniently, and press a few pad keys to select the preprogrammed workout and time for the day. Sometimes it asks for my age or weight. I don't bother too closely with specifics. I key in the basics with good humor, and I am off and running. Or at least moving, since I don't really run.
Some days I like to do a long program on the treadmill, much of it uphill as if I were carrying a backpack up a steep grade. Lots of good sweat trance there. My mind drifts to epic hikes I've done. Some days I do twenty minutes working up a sweat on the treadmill, then shift to an elliptical machine for some "sport intervals" for a while. Figure skaters practice leaps and glides below, or it's hockey time and young men (or little boys) race and putter around the ice. Some days all I stare at is the advertising on the opposite wall - Even the refs can see this is a good meal deal! - or the lights of the readout telling me beep! It's the next ninety seconds at incline 7.5 !
Recently, I've been doing faux runs on the elliptical. I key in ten minutes of rolling hills at a medium-high resistance and start moving. My heart rate gradually climbs to the target zone and stays there. I love the hand grips that gives me a HR reading in progress. A cool 135 is nice, something in the mid-140s feels good too. Then I switch to twenty minutes of running up and down a tall mountain. My HR climbs and my pace gradually slows, but I'm grooving steadily with another song in my ears. Every so often, I squat as I run for 15 seconds of quad killers. Straightening my legs after a quad killer is a sweet relief to the muscles. Other times, I'll lift my whole foot on the uphills to give my toes a break. I check in with my heart rate every few minutes, sometimes dropping or adding resistance to keep me within sight of an efficient range. Then without pause, I'll add another ten minutes of rolling hills at whatever level of resistance I'm in the mood for, then cool down for a couple, letting my heart rate slow as sweat drips off my hair.
It feels good to get my body moving, to go into an endorphin trance. I'm glad for the tunes in my ears that keep me awake and on pace, although if I haven't gotten much sleep, it's more of a sleep-jog.
I used to feel a little self conscious about going to work out, until my husband reminded me that most people are caught up in their own world and can't be bothered to observe me. I choose to believe that's true, but still, I often go to the front row of machines so I can see the ice skaters instead of being distracted by other people or the silent bank of TVs overhead.
I let the workout summary run as I mop off and pull on the water bottle. I get a kick out of racking up the numbers. 1.6 miles and approximately 192 calories burned. x minutes in my target heart range, and a maximum HR of 210. What?! Well, sometimes the monitor gives me unreasonably high or low readings. I know those are outliers.
I step off, stretch briefly, and retrieve a sani-wipe to wipe down the machine. I could have kept going, but time is a-wasting and the weight machines are calling me.
I was doing long sets of low weight for several months, then I got bored of that, and moved toward shorter sets of higher weights to maximize my time before I'm due to pick up my daughter.
"3" for seat length, "3" for shin cushion angle, and something near "1" for the starting angle. I clank into gear. Two sets of 8 reps at twenty pounds for the quads! Okay! Then the hamstrings! Then go for the squats - better throw in an extra set, there, then my new fav, the abductors and inductors. When I get a chance, I'll hop over to the abdominals and upper body weights. Some guy is tearing through his sets with great grunting and wheezing. A couple of elderly women are being given coaching by a personal trainer, and another couple of people are trading the machines back and forth with me.
I've got a little more time, so now over for some chest presses and killer flys. I throw in a couple sets of incline/decline presses which gets my core muscles involved. Wheee! I rarely have time to do chin ups or the leg press, but it's a nice variation. A small pack of men are making much ado about their workout. But today I am running short, so I skip the lats and go to the upright rower. The seat is still slightly damp from the previous users wipe-down. I take over a mat for a couple of sun salutations, enjoying the feeling of my body doing its thing.
Annnd now it's five til, and I grab my bag and walk the length of the hall in a pleasantly weary forward-motion, past the people still running, walking or cycling. The retired gentleman who I often see there waves as I pass him on the treadmill.
I'm grateful that I am able to enjoy this movement and sweat. And then I go down to hear Mommy! Mommy! I had fun! I had fun too. And now it's time for hand washing. The little girl runs lap after lap around the broad changing room bench, and then dances through the lobby and out through the doors into the day.
--
Monday, October 19, 2009
No-Edit Feel-Good Living
Another no-edit post except to fix my inevitable spelling and typing errors.
Among all the projects and strategies I use in my life, I'm finding some especially satisfying ones recently. Or rather, I've been more conscious of them recently. I know they are significant when they find their way onto my daily lists. In amongst the "make doctor's appointment" and "change kitty litter" I include such mundane items as "eat good food," "go for a walk," "prep veggies for dinner." I also include some tasks that are more acknowledgement than prompt: "breast feed" and "drink water." If I only do those things, I have nevertheless had a successful day.
I don't know why it's so powerful, though, to list some of those basics. Maybe because I get so caught up in the baby-feeding cycle that I *forget* to eat good food. I eat snacks all day and forget that what I *really* want to do is eat good food.
Over the past couple months, I've been re-nurturing some of these good habits I took for granted when I had more free time than I really knew what to do with productively. Now, it feels incredibly refreshing to not just worry about things I am doing badly (ie eating too much sugar or letting my muscles get too tight from lack of stretching), but to name the things I want to do well. Thus, a list:
1. Eat good food. This can be anything from a full cooked meal to healthy snacks.
2. Cut up or pre-prepare food for snacking. Instead of grabbing the chocolate or junk because it's close, I keep really yummy food near by and ready to eat. Some recent eats: Carrots and celery cut into sticks for dipping into hummus. Green seedless grapes washed and snipped into small servings in a box in the fridge. Dried apricots or raisins with raw almonds or walnuts.
3. Keeping my portion sizes modest. Instead of eating a huge sandwich, I'll eat a modest one. Or instead of two huge pieces of cheese for my breakfast sandwich, I'll stick with one. Or when making a huge stir fry, I'll portion out the remains for another lunch or dinner instead of eating until I'm stuffed.
4. Eat regularly. On the other side of the coin, sometimes I forget to eat at all. Eat! Eat! Just eat well.
5. Balance the carbohydrates with protein and fats. This seems to help me keep my blood sugar, not to mention my mood, on a more even keel. So even when having a bit of chocolate or sweets, I make sure I start with a bit of protein to even it out. Nuts in moderation are a good stand by.
6. Avoid sugar and chocolate when I am feeling stressed or more hyper than usual. I've been especially conscious of this one recently. I hear from some of my friends with more serious health issues that it's very hard on the body when the adrenal system is induced to stay in a fight-or-flight holding pattern. Adrenaline is great for keeping us going for the short term or longer term as needed, but it can lead to chronic illness.
In my own mind, I have connected the dots between high levels of cortisol from living with high levels of stress (from being "Type A" personality or living with harassment, racism, any kind of physical-mental-sexual-emotional abuse), and high levels of heart disease and other illnesses impacted by a stressed adrenal system. Sleep disorders, metabolism issues, high blood pressure, chronic fatigue syndrome anyone? I don't have ALL the science or ALL the answers, but I can certainly draw some conclusions and speculate. The upshot of all this is that I try to AVOID sugar and chocolate when I am stressed or fighting off something. Simply reminding myself to be gentle with my adrenal system helps me treat myself better.
7. Avoid stress and stewing. Well, I try! Certain people and situations can be very stressful for me. Sometimes I need to vacate myself or to practice healthy distraction to avoid *stewing* in the stress or letting things run endlessly through my mind. Sometimes I deliberately find a new target for my attention just to help me jump out of the mental-emotional rut. Sometimes I have to declare my intent out loud, as in: I am not going to let that person ruin my body through stress. Sometimes I practice some deep breathing to help lower my blood pressure. Sometimes I walk away and decline to engage. Sometimes I have to choose between "politeness" and my health (but not often).
8. Eat less salt. This is right up there with sugar and caffeine. I don't eat much additional salt to begin with, but again, being more conscious of it helps me make better choices than high-sodium ones.
9. Stretch. Move. I used to do yoga with my husband. We hardly have time for that at home, much less taking a class. But incorporating some stretches in my day helps. Every little bit helps, dontcha know?! :) I get up, I stretch my arms over my head and turn my head from side to side. I tilt my head, sit up straight, then run through a few pelvic tilts to wake up my spine. When I take a bath, I do a few sets of long leg stretches and lifts in the water. I wash my hair while letting my legs float up and down and engaging the abdominals. I do wrist and ankle rotations while I'm sitting nursing. I dance around to music to wake up my aerobic system and entertain the baby at the same time. I lift her over my head. If I go out to get the paper, I try to make a longer loop through the yard. I park farther away from the door of the grocery store so I get a longer walk. I prefer to go for longer walks, but again, every little bit helps.
I know all this stuff, but I get distracted by other things going on. I'm going to keep on adding these, in different incarnations, to my everyday lists.
I'm pleased with the huge difference a small amount of attention (and reminders to pay attention) can make. The big payoff is not just that I can check something off my list but by how good I feel. I can feel the results.
And one more.
10. Actually go to bed at a reasonable hour so I can get more sleep! Oh, I guess I need to add this to the list, eh? Okay, I can make that happen. Off I go. :)
Epilogue: I started this post thinking about being overdosed on adrenaline, and worked my way around to it from a direction I thought might get me there. I might be able to say all this more succinctly if I could edit it down, but no time to fuss with it! Such is the frustrations and beauty of the no-edit exercise.
--
Among all the projects and strategies I use in my life, I'm finding some especially satisfying ones recently. Or rather, I've been more conscious of them recently. I know they are significant when they find their way onto my daily lists. In amongst the "make doctor's appointment" and "change kitty litter" I include such mundane items as "eat good food," "go for a walk," "prep veggies for dinner." I also include some tasks that are more acknowledgement than prompt: "breast feed" and "drink water." If I only do those things, I have nevertheless had a successful day.
I don't know why it's so powerful, though, to list some of those basics. Maybe because I get so caught up in the baby-feeding cycle that I *forget* to eat good food. I eat snacks all day and forget that what I *really* want to do is eat good food.
Over the past couple months, I've been re-nurturing some of these good habits I took for granted when I had more free time than I really knew what to do with productively. Now, it feels incredibly refreshing to not just worry about things I am doing badly (ie eating too much sugar or letting my muscles get too tight from lack of stretching), but to name the things I want to do well. Thus, a list:
1. Eat good food. This can be anything from a full cooked meal to healthy snacks.
2. Cut up or pre-prepare food for snacking. Instead of grabbing the chocolate or junk because it's close, I keep really yummy food near by and ready to eat. Some recent eats: Carrots and celery cut into sticks for dipping into hummus. Green seedless grapes washed and snipped into small servings in a box in the fridge. Dried apricots or raisins with raw almonds or walnuts.
3. Keeping my portion sizes modest. Instead of eating a huge sandwich, I'll eat a modest one. Or instead of two huge pieces of cheese for my breakfast sandwich, I'll stick with one. Or when making a huge stir fry, I'll portion out the remains for another lunch or dinner instead of eating until I'm stuffed.
4. Eat regularly. On the other side of the coin, sometimes I forget to eat at all. Eat! Eat! Just eat well.
5. Balance the carbohydrates with protein and fats. This seems to help me keep my blood sugar, not to mention my mood, on a more even keel. So even when having a bit of chocolate or sweets, I make sure I start with a bit of protein to even it out. Nuts in moderation are a good stand by.
6. Avoid sugar and chocolate when I am feeling stressed or more hyper than usual. I've been especially conscious of this one recently. I hear from some of my friends with more serious health issues that it's very hard on the body when the adrenal system is induced to stay in a fight-or-flight holding pattern. Adrenaline is great for keeping us going for the short term or longer term as needed, but it can lead to chronic illness.
In my own mind, I have connected the dots between high levels of cortisol from living with high levels of stress (from being "Type A" personality or living with harassment, racism, any kind of physical-mental-sexual-emotional abuse), and high levels of heart disease and other illnesses impacted by a stressed adrenal system. Sleep disorders, metabolism issues, high blood pressure, chronic fatigue syndrome anyone? I don't have ALL the science or ALL the answers, but I can certainly draw some conclusions and speculate. The upshot of all this is that I try to AVOID sugar and chocolate when I am stressed or fighting off something. Simply reminding myself to be gentle with my adrenal system helps me treat myself better.
7. Avoid stress and stewing. Well, I try! Certain people and situations can be very stressful for me. Sometimes I need to vacate myself or to practice healthy distraction to avoid *stewing* in the stress or letting things run endlessly through my mind. Sometimes I deliberately find a new target for my attention just to help me jump out of the mental-emotional rut. Sometimes I have to declare my intent out loud, as in: I am not going to let that person ruin my body through stress. Sometimes I practice some deep breathing to help lower my blood pressure. Sometimes I walk away and decline to engage. Sometimes I have to choose between "politeness" and my health (but not often).
8. Eat less salt. This is right up there with sugar and caffeine. I don't eat much additional salt to begin with, but again, being more conscious of it helps me make better choices than high-sodium ones.
9. Stretch. Move. I used to do yoga with my husband. We hardly have time for that at home, much less taking a class. But incorporating some stretches in my day helps. Every little bit helps, dontcha know?! :) I get up, I stretch my arms over my head and turn my head from side to side. I tilt my head, sit up straight, then run through a few pelvic tilts to wake up my spine. When I take a bath, I do a few sets of long leg stretches and lifts in the water. I wash my hair while letting my legs float up and down and engaging the abdominals. I do wrist and ankle rotations while I'm sitting nursing. I dance around to music to wake up my aerobic system and entertain the baby at the same time. I lift her over my head. If I go out to get the paper, I try to make a longer loop through the yard. I park farther away from the door of the grocery store so I get a longer walk. I prefer to go for longer walks, but again, every little bit helps.
I know all this stuff, but I get distracted by other things going on. I'm going to keep on adding these, in different incarnations, to my everyday lists.
I'm pleased with the huge difference a small amount of attention (and reminders to pay attention) can make. The big payoff is not just that I can check something off my list but by how good I feel. I can feel the results.
And one more.
10. Actually go to bed at a reasonable hour so I can get more sleep! Oh, I guess I need to add this to the list, eh? Okay, I can make that happen. Off I go. :)
Epilogue: I started this post thinking about being overdosed on adrenaline, and worked my way around to it from a direction I thought might get me there. I might be able to say all this more succinctly if I could edit it down, but no time to fuss with it! Such is the frustrations and beauty of the no-edit exercise.
--
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
I remember - I learn
This week I started attending a new yoga class for women. I haven't been going to a yoga class for about 3 years, preferring to save gas money and continue a home practice. However, the home practice has been a little spotty and my body is feeling the need for more focused self-care, so off to class I go!
It was the very first session of the class. Most of us didn't know each other. We gave each other friendly little glances, but mostly kept to ourselves, still sneaking peeks at each other--how is she doing that? am I supposed to lean over more? how on earth can I do that?--yet mostly self-absorbed, which is actually ideal in this case. We are not trying to compete with each other, just trying to figure out what our bodies feel like in this yoga practice.
I liked the teacher. Very kind and nurturing, yet clear about what is ideal and safe. She's just getting to know us, too.
My favorite part of the class was doing some of the standing poses and feeling the muscle memory returning. Some balances are precarious, yet my body remembers to lean backwards just enough to keep me aligned. It was a good feeling. A powerful feeling!
How does my body remember?
For instance, how does it remember to stand up straight so my back is happy? To turn and acknowledge someone? To roll out pie crust? To thread new salt into the narrow neck of the shaker? To play ping pong or throw a frisbee? How it feels when grief moves through the body? Or how a dance connects and progresses? How to draw a fine ruled inkline without a blob at beginning or end? To tighten a bolt just so? To balance on one leg and a block?
I think the body just remembers. I know that's not an answer. Think of it more as a philosophical musing.
The brain keeps any neural pathway that's had active use, maybe letting it fade with disuse ("use it or lose it" some people say), but eager to open it up again when we have occasion to strengthen it. So some of those little-used pathways may have died back, choked with weeds, or more likely, overgrown with the everyday actions of our lives, but traces still remain.
It's reassuring in some ways. Yes, we can get caught in old responses, we can neglect old skills. Yet there is something still there to call back when we need it. And the body rejoices--I remember!
I remember what it's like to feel my body balanced and dynamic.
My favorite new part of the class was playing with what yoga people often call "flow," moving poses in synch with ones breath, in and out. I've never taken a "flow" class, preferring to solidify my physical understanding of each pose in Iyingar yoga, using props to support each pose and settling in to experience each one at length.
Here the flow seemed to make sense for the first time. We did eagle pose with flow, slightly raising our heads and entwined arms with each breath in, lowering them with each breath out. Moving with our breath was also a welcome change for several other poses.
Using flow seems to enjoy and encourage the ebb and flow in our bodies and our lives. Nothing stands stock still. Everything is constantly changing or flexing in cycles. Even something that seems rock solid may be changing slightly on a cosmic scale.
And our lives and bodies change too... constantly flexing and moving, cycling through different phases.
A new phase in life - exciting, scary, invigorating, wearying.
We see our old life, our old ways, while we are pulled towards our new ways. Or maybe the new ways are variations on the old. And so we flow through our cycles and explore new pathways. My brain is certainly being stretched, and my body too. We are all part of the same animal.
I think I'm ready for new experiences! Just trying to stay in the flow.
It was the very first session of the class. Most of us didn't know each other. We gave each other friendly little glances, but mostly kept to ourselves, still sneaking peeks at each other--how is she doing that? am I supposed to lean over more? how on earth can I do that?--yet mostly self-absorbed, which is actually ideal in this case. We are not trying to compete with each other, just trying to figure out what our bodies feel like in this yoga practice.
I liked the teacher. Very kind and nurturing, yet clear about what is ideal and safe. She's just getting to know us, too.
My favorite part of the class was doing some of the standing poses and feeling the muscle memory returning. Some balances are precarious, yet my body remembers to lean backwards just enough to keep me aligned. It was a good feeling. A powerful feeling!
How does my body remember?
For instance, how does it remember to stand up straight so my back is happy? To turn and acknowledge someone? To roll out pie crust? To thread new salt into the narrow neck of the shaker? To play ping pong or throw a frisbee? How it feels when grief moves through the body? Or how a dance connects and progresses? How to draw a fine ruled inkline without a blob at beginning or end? To tighten a bolt just so? To balance on one leg and a block?
I think the body just remembers. I know that's not an answer. Think of it more as a philosophical musing.
The brain keeps any neural pathway that's had active use, maybe letting it fade with disuse ("use it or lose it" some people say), but eager to open it up again when we have occasion to strengthen it. So some of those little-used pathways may have died back, choked with weeds, or more likely, overgrown with the everyday actions of our lives, but traces still remain.
It's reassuring in some ways. Yes, we can get caught in old responses, we can neglect old skills. Yet there is something still there to call back when we need it. And the body rejoices--I remember!
I remember what it's like to feel my body balanced and dynamic.
My favorite new part of the class was playing with what yoga people often call "flow," moving poses in synch with ones breath, in and out. I've never taken a "flow" class, preferring to solidify my physical understanding of each pose in Iyingar yoga, using props to support each pose and settling in to experience each one at length.
Here the flow seemed to make sense for the first time. We did eagle pose with flow, slightly raising our heads and entwined arms with each breath in, lowering them with each breath out. Moving with our breath was also a welcome change for several other poses.
Using flow seems to enjoy and encourage the ebb and flow in our bodies and our lives. Nothing stands stock still. Everything is constantly changing or flexing in cycles. Even something that seems rock solid may be changing slightly on a cosmic scale.
And our lives and bodies change too... constantly flexing and moving, cycling through different phases.
A new phase in life - exciting, scary, invigorating, wearying.
We see our old life, our old ways, while we are pulled towards our new ways. Or maybe the new ways are variations on the old. And so we flow through our cycles and explore new pathways. My brain is certainly being stretched, and my body too. We are all part of the same animal.
I think I'm ready for new experiences! Just trying to stay in the flow.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Good Thing I'm Not a Horse
I'm barely into my 40s*, and already I'm falling apart!
(*Give or take a couple. Let's not quibble about the exact number, okay?)
My knees were the first to pipe up and scream--hellooo? No more blitheful knee-twisting for youuu! That was about 8 years ago, still in my Yout.
When I discovered that I could not walk down an incline without crying, I was bereft. I thought to myself that my dancing-hiking-lunging-walking downhill days were over.
But then I learned to strengthen the front of my legs to balance all the muscle on the backs of my legs. I learned to not run around on wet rocks, twisting my knees. I learned to avoid the deep lunges and the over-extensions that my legs do so, so well. I learned to do more yoga stretches. I learned to keep a little bend in my knees on rough downhills. I stopped stomping the floor quite so hard on the balances. I wore tendon straps, which even got me all the way to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Hey, I guess my knees are doing pretty well, if I pay attention and treat them well.
Then my thigh tendons (those things that my husband knows the exact name of) got into the act. Ow, stop that. And my feet. Have I mentioned my feet?
I have friends who dance all weekend and show off their blisters. I'd be happy to dance for hours (and I have), but I just can't do that any more. I don't even want to any more. It's too painful. Let's not even mention all the kids who stomp as hard as they possibly can. (Are they crazy?! No, young.)
I used to have to dance 8 hours a day, hard, to make my feel hurt. At a long weekend on a hard floor, I'd feel it even more, and traded dancing hours for having to nurse my feet back to health over the following week. I'd have all my moleskin and band-aid supplies, my strategies for getting my feet through the whole weekend of fun. Wouldn't want to miss anything, nooo. I got to be a pro at adding padding or second skin to any burgeoning blisters, taking what dancers call "Vitamin I" -- Ibupr0fin-- to reduce inflammation, and leaving my feet sticking out of the sleeping bag to cool overnight. If I'm lucky, I can get Joe to massage my feet, but that's not a permanent solution.
Last year, I had to hold back on Saturday to have enough foot energy left for the coveted Sunday dances.
This year I wasn't even getting many blisters. At first I was happy that I wasn't coming home with as many blisters, but then, the reality started to sink in... It was because I hardly danced enough to raise a blister except on rare occasion.
Why is that, you ask? It's not that I had lost my wind. The rest of my body could keep going for hours. It's my feet that were holding me back.
Now, after I dance vigorously for a mere couple of hours in an evening, my tootsies hurt. Not just a little achiness, but pain as if I have been dancing for days. Those darn metatarsals blare out painfully.
It's the nub ends of my feet-bones, getting sore, you know. I feel it every time I raise up on the ball of my foot during a dance, which I do roughly a thousand times per dance, or conservatively, more than 7500 times in the course of an evening of dancing.
They said it might be arthritis. This made me glum, because I wasn't sure it would be possible for me to give up dancing.
I saw a foot doctor this week, and was hoping he would have some doable advice for me. Something to manage the situation that won't force me to cut back on my life. I'm already cutting back on my dancing... sitting out some dances and resting my feet. It's frustrating because the rest of me feels great. My cardio can take it; it's my feet that are pooping out.
Oh, have I mentioned my hips and my hands? All of my joints are complaining.
There I was pulling weeds last week, yanking wire grass and vines out of my garden for about an hour, and for several days afterwards, I could not curl my fingers without aching. They were painfully tight. And awkward, when I had to hold or carry something. And a week later? I can still feel it! Damn. How did this happen?
It's another reminder that my body is not as spry and resilient as it used to be.
I can't figure it out, though--are other people my age feeling this kind of stiffness and aches and pains? I never hear about it. Okay, a little more yoga would be good, but I never think of myself as quite old enough to be suffering this.
When I told one of my older friends this, she reminded me that "old age is not for sissies." I nodded and said, "true, dat." And then I thanked her for not telling me I was too young to be feeling any pain, because there's nothing more annoying than having someone minimize your situation through active denial.
Another friend of an even older vintage told me that I might want to strengthen my core from an athlete's perspective. She's a runner, so she knows the wisdom to compare notes with other athletes and what it's like to be unwilling to just quit. Okay, so I'm already working on that.
I am a little scared, though, that this is only the beginning of a long decline. Where does it continue from here? What happens next? Do I get a chance to get used to this before the next restriction? Aaiigh! Not for sissies, indeed.
Okay, so I see the podiatrist, and he gives me a list of *seven* different things that are wrong with my feet. Most of them are congenital, most of them, the kind of thing that one often outgrows, although he says my doctor could have corrected it easily with (he says, minor) surgery in my 20s. Apparently, one of my feet has outgrown something, and the other hasn't. Therefor, I am still pigeon-toed, knock-kneed, adducted, twisted, sheered, over-pronated, under-whatevered... the list goes on.
I know there are at least seven things, because after I while, I asked him to write them all down for me. I certainly can't keep track of every last one of the medical terms, but you can bet I will be asking Dr. Google for further clarification because I can barely remember what means what.
He was kinda laughing as he enumerated all my issues, but when I chided him to not make fun of my feet because after all, I had to deal with the body I inherited, he softened and told me it was not his intent to make fun of me but to soften the bad news. Oh, FABulous. It's THAt bad, huh? But I appreciated that he acquired a little more sensitivity after that and spent a lot of time explaining things to me.
Part of me is happy that most of it appears to be congenital. This means it's not my fault to be born wonky. It's not like the rest of me is particularly symmetrical. Hur, hur, hur.
But boo to my wonky genes! It means that I can't afford to be a sissy at all. If I were a horse, they'd shake their heads and say, well, she's cute, but the gait is all out of whack--we can't use her. At least I don't have a sway back. Oh wait... I probably do.
I'm sure my husband will be happy to be vindicated by the need for more stretching. "More yoga!" he will tell me. Yeah, yeah. But not just that.
There will be stretching and orthopedics and all that. Looks like I will be spending big bucks to have my everyday and dance shoes outfitted, even with my major insurance. But yea for less pain and more dancing!
I am not up for surgery at this time, although supposedly it'd be a relatively simple matter to straighten the darn leg already. I am almost certain that none of my childhood doctors ever said anything about this to my mother. When I look back, I can tell that most of this stuff was obvious 25-30 years ago, but who paid attention to that? The big thing in the 70's was the sclerosis twisted-spine that would necessitate a back brace to straighten. (I'm sorry, my brain fails to remember the exact term, but I'm getting flashbacks to elementary school when we all had to undergo screening, and one of my friends needed to wear a spine brace for three years.) My spine was straight enough to pass that test. Apparently legs and gait do not get the same scrutiny. Well, apparently, legs also usually grow out of it.
If I tried, I could probably construct a unified theory for every weird physical thing in my life. Oh, so this is why my legs feel slightly unbalanced in my downward dog? My feet are throwing off my hips, too? Is this why my torso gets thrown forward and my toes want to curl under? Did that throw this other thing out of whack? Why one eye is tilted higher? Why my neck suffered and I overreact to insect bites? ? Why I hiccuped in utero? Oy! Save me from hypochondria! Yoga has been very good to me for alignment, but now I gotta... I don't know what. Relearn how to walk? Do the Alexander thing? It'll be ortho shoe inserts for starters. That explains why my feet cry in disappointment when I take off my Danskos--they are good for me, just not good enough.
It could be much worse, I know. Chalk it up to one more wonky thing in my physical self, and the vagaries of aging. This body of mine shimmies to the beat of a different drummer.
"I will not be a sissy. I will not be a sissy. I will not be a sissy..."
(*Give or take a couple. Let's not quibble about the exact number, okay?)
My knees were the first to pipe up and scream--hellooo? No more blitheful knee-twisting for youuu! That was about 8 years ago, still in my Yout.
When I discovered that I could not walk down an incline without crying, I was bereft. I thought to myself that my dancing-hiking-lunging-walking downhill days were over.
But then I learned to strengthen the front of my legs to balance all the muscle on the backs of my legs. I learned to not run around on wet rocks, twisting my knees. I learned to avoid the deep lunges and the over-extensions that my legs do so, so well. I learned to do more yoga stretches. I learned to keep a little bend in my knees on rough downhills. I stopped stomping the floor quite so hard on the balances. I wore tendon straps, which even got me all the way to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Hey, I guess my knees are doing pretty well, if I pay attention and treat them well.
Then my thigh tendons (those things that my husband knows the exact name of) got into the act. Ow, stop that. And my feet. Have I mentioned my feet?
I have friends who dance all weekend and show off their blisters. I'd be happy to dance for hours (and I have), but I just can't do that any more. I don't even want to any more. It's too painful. Let's not even mention all the kids who stomp as hard as they possibly can. (Are they crazy?! No, young.)
I used to have to dance 8 hours a day, hard, to make my feel hurt. At a long weekend on a hard floor, I'd feel it even more, and traded dancing hours for having to nurse my feet back to health over the following week. I'd have all my moleskin and band-aid supplies, my strategies for getting my feet through the whole weekend of fun. Wouldn't want to miss anything, nooo. I got to be a pro at adding padding or second skin to any burgeoning blisters, taking what dancers call "Vitamin I" -- Ibupr0fin-- to reduce inflammation, and leaving my feet sticking out of the sleeping bag to cool overnight. If I'm lucky, I can get Joe to massage my feet, but that's not a permanent solution.
Last year, I had to hold back on Saturday to have enough foot energy left for the coveted Sunday dances.
This year I wasn't even getting many blisters. At first I was happy that I wasn't coming home with as many blisters, but then, the reality started to sink in... It was because I hardly danced enough to raise a blister except on rare occasion.
Why is that, you ask? It's not that I had lost my wind. The rest of my body could keep going for hours. It's my feet that were holding me back.
Now, after I dance vigorously for a mere couple of hours in an evening, my tootsies hurt. Not just a little achiness, but pain as if I have been dancing for days. Those darn metatarsals blare out painfully.
It's the nub ends of my feet-bones, getting sore, you know. I feel it every time I raise up on the ball of my foot during a dance, which I do roughly a thousand times per dance, or conservatively, more than 7500 times in the course of an evening of dancing.
They said it might be arthritis. This made me glum, because I wasn't sure it would be possible for me to give up dancing.
I saw a foot doctor this week, and was hoping he would have some doable advice for me. Something to manage the situation that won't force me to cut back on my life. I'm already cutting back on my dancing... sitting out some dances and resting my feet. It's frustrating because the rest of me feels great. My cardio can take it; it's my feet that are pooping out.
Oh, have I mentioned my hips and my hands? All of my joints are complaining.
There I was pulling weeds last week, yanking wire grass and vines out of my garden for about an hour, and for several days afterwards, I could not curl my fingers without aching. They were painfully tight. And awkward, when I had to hold or carry something. And a week later? I can still feel it! Damn. How did this happen?
It's another reminder that my body is not as spry and resilient as it used to be.
I can't figure it out, though--are other people my age feeling this kind of stiffness and aches and pains? I never hear about it. Okay, a little more yoga would be good, but I never think of myself as quite old enough to be suffering this.
When I told one of my older friends this, she reminded me that "old age is not for sissies." I nodded and said, "true, dat." And then I thanked her for not telling me I was too young to be feeling any pain, because there's nothing more annoying than having someone minimize your situation through active denial.
Another friend of an even older vintage told me that I might want to strengthen my core from an athlete's perspective. She's a runner, so she knows the wisdom to compare notes with other athletes and what it's like to be unwilling to just quit. Okay, so I'm already working on that.
I am a little scared, though, that this is only the beginning of a long decline. Where does it continue from here? What happens next? Do I get a chance to get used to this before the next restriction? Aaiigh! Not for sissies, indeed.
Okay, so I see the podiatrist, and he gives me a list of *seven* different things that are wrong with my feet. Most of them are congenital, most of them, the kind of thing that one often outgrows, although he says my doctor could have corrected it easily with (he says, minor) surgery in my 20s. Apparently, one of my feet has outgrown something, and the other hasn't. Therefor, I am still pigeon-toed, knock-kneed, adducted, twisted, sheered, over-pronated, under-whatevered... the list goes on.
I know there are at least seven things, because after I while, I asked him to write them all down for me. I certainly can't keep track of every last one of the medical terms, but you can bet I will be asking Dr. Google for further clarification because I can barely remember what means what.
He was kinda laughing as he enumerated all my issues, but when I chided him to not make fun of my feet because after all, I had to deal with the body I inherited, he softened and told me it was not his intent to make fun of me but to soften the bad news. Oh, FABulous. It's THAt bad, huh? But I appreciated that he acquired a little more sensitivity after that and spent a lot of time explaining things to me.
Part of me is happy that most of it appears to be congenital. This means it's not my fault to be born wonky. It's not like the rest of me is particularly symmetrical. Hur, hur, hur.
But boo to my wonky genes! It means that I can't afford to be a sissy at all. If I were a horse, they'd shake their heads and say, well, she's cute, but the gait is all out of whack--we can't use her. At least I don't have a sway back. Oh wait... I probably do.
I'm sure my husband will be happy to be vindicated by the need for more stretching. "More yoga!" he will tell me. Yeah, yeah. But not just that.
There will be stretching and orthopedics and all that. Looks like I will be spending big bucks to have my everyday and dance shoes outfitted, even with my major insurance. But yea for less pain and more dancing!
I am not up for surgery at this time, although supposedly it'd be a relatively simple matter to straighten the darn leg already. I am almost certain that none of my childhood doctors ever said anything about this to my mother. When I look back, I can tell that most of this stuff was obvious 25-30 years ago, but who paid attention to that? The big thing in the 70's was the sclerosis twisted-spine that would necessitate a back brace to straighten. (I'm sorry, my brain fails to remember the exact term, but I'm getting flashbacks to elementary school when we all had to undergo screening, and one of my friends needed to wear a spine brace for three years.) My spine was straight enough to pass that test. Apparently legs and gait do not get the same scrutiny. Well, apparently, legs also usually grow out of it.
If I tried, I could probably construct a unified theory for every weird physical thing in my life. Oh, so this is why my legs feel slightly unbalanced in my downward dog? My feet are throwing off my hips, too? Is this why my torso gets thrown forward and my toes want to curl under? Did that throw this other thing out of whack? Why one eye is tilted higher? Why my neck suffered and I overreact to insect bites? ? Why I hiccuped in utero? Oy! Save me from hypochondria! Yoga has been very good to me for alignment, but now I gotta... I don't know what. Relearn how to walk? Do the Alexander thing? It'll be ortho shoe inserts for starters. That explains why my feet cry in disappointment when I take off my Danskos--they are good for me, just not good enough.
It could be much worse, I know. Chalk it up to one more wonky thing in my physical self, and the vagaries of aging. This body of mine shimmies to the beat of a different drummer.
"I will not be a sissy. I will not be a sissy. I will not be a sissy..."
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