Move It People

I am so sore this morning. I’m in an exercise program three times a week for people with pulmonary problems. I spent last winter wheezing and gurgling and not moving. I wasn’t able to get the groceries into the house except one bag at a time and then I had to sit down between bags. All my muscles deteriorated, including of course my chest and the diaphragm muscles that keep us breathing. And I hurt all over and not in a good way like today.

This March, after a breathing spell literally, we found our cat a new loving home and I asked my doc what we could do for me besides cortisone again or more drugs. Cortisone in my mind is a miracle drug and the road to hell at the same time. A steady diet of it makes my muscles and joints ache, makes me really crabby, exacerbates osteoporosis and kicks your blood sugar up, and can give you cataracts. Did I mention the extra hairs on your chin, thin skin, and bloated tummy? It also can save your life and helps you breathe. He put me in pulmonary rehab.

My mother died one June at 74 of emphysema after a lifetime of asthma and smoking. After 35 she was the picture of sedentary. When things went wrong it was her nature to go to bed and pull the covers over her head. We four sisters helped care for her at the end. While she was still mobile I used to try to drag her out for little walks when I visited, she wouldn’t go. After she died I was stricken with guilt for not coming over more, for not insisting she get up and move much earlier in her disease. Hindsight of course tells me we did what we could, we could have done a little better but we couldn’t have changed much. And it was about this time of year she got markedly worse and died within two months. At this distance I’m grateful the time she circled through nursing home, hospital, and home was brief. I can still see Dad sitting by her bed in the nursing home reading poetry to her.

It also scared me to think I could die that way, I could I suppose but I intend to be a moving target. I was very active up until I moved to Eastern Washington. I was a dedicated white water rafter, I hiked, gardened, and I walked every day sometimes twice a day. So off to the rehab gym I go. Mondays seem to be the hardest and because I’m doing well they keep upping the ante on me. I think I need to find something to do on the weekends too so Monday doesn’t leave me with what I’ve come to think of as an exercise hangover on Tuesday. When I first started the program all I wanted to do was nap the day after but then that’s what got me into this shape or lack of shape in the first place. Walking outside is out for me much of the spring. The pollen and dust here just fires off my asthma. So I got out my seldom-used stationary bike, put new batteries in it, and ordered and installed a thick gel seat. The crotch numbing, hard seat that came with it is the reason I quit riding it. It’s small though and fits into our limited space. And I have an assortment of bands and weights; you can do a lot for yourself and never leave home.

I’m optimistic too. I bought a great backpack from REI with a hydration system, much nicer than hanging onto bottles in the woods. I always wanted to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, that’s out because of the altitude, ha, ha, that’s not the only reason. But a it is possible for me to do a little day hike on it and maybe even an overnighter. That’s my goal. I still have all my backpacker stuff stored away. Oh, the possibilities. It’s the carrot to my donkey.