Tag: exercise

Musical Walk

thanks to you, Pandora
in the space of one brief walk
my life is infused
with sugar, and bad blood,
the beating heart of rock and roll,
happy! happy! happy!

adam levine lights me up
and my walk turns into a strut.
huey lewis holds my hand and
twirls me around.
imagine dragons and pharrel
got me singing along.

too happy not to dance
too old to care that
the neighbors all think
i’m crazy, crazy, crazy!
maybe i am, but life is
too short to waste on
pretending to be sane.

http://youtu.be/M7JVlpm0eRs
  
Peace, people!

Perspective

 
A young woman says, this is my body; this is who i am.

A middle aged woman says, this is my body; it’s a part of who i am.

An old woman says, who the hell am i, and where did this saggy old body come from?

I’m somewhere between middle aged and old. My thighs have become best friends, and even though they sometimes rub each other the wrong way I’m glad they still offer support.

peace, people!

Surviving a Fake Heart Attack

I could have sworn I’d written before about my near-fatal fake heart attack, but I could find no such post in my archives. Knowing me, I probably gave it some off-beat title like, “Only the Heart Knows” or “Deadbeat Heart” and now I’m unable to locate it. That shouldn’t be a problem with this post.

First, if one is going to have a heart attack a fake one is by far the best kind to experience. Chances are there will be a full recovery given enough time and plenty of TLC.

Studly Doright and I had recently moved into our temporary rental home on the northwest side of Tallahassee. Delighted by the pleasant February weather we decided to ride our bikes around our new neighborhood on that bright Sunday afternoon.

Having moved from Mahomet, Illinois, where February temperatures seldom climb into the 70’s, we pedaled about with abandon. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, the gentle hills of Tallahassee were beckoning.

We rode for thirty minutes or so. It certainly wasn’t a strenuous ride, or wouldn’t have been for someone used to the hills. Or to exercise.  But I was neither. 

When we returned to the house and I dismounted from my old green Schwinn, my heart was beating so hard I thought it would tear out of my chest. I wasn’t in pain, just embarrassed at being so out of shape. Finally it slowed its frantic bump-bump-bumping and we had a good laugh. I promised myself to begin doing some cardio so I could avoid this situation in the future.

I started dinner while Studly showered and that’s when the first Holy Cow pain hit my chest. I had to sit for a minute while the pain subsided. I knew it wasn’t good. Figured, in fact, that I was dying. When Studly found me sitting at a chair in the kitchen I told him just that. 

“I’m dying.”

“No you aren’t.”

I returned to cooking, which in itself often seems enough to kill me. We had dinner and I poured myself a glass of wine and had my second Holy Cow pain. This time Studly witnessed it and we decided to go to the emergency room.

Of course we weren’t sure exactly where that was. Neither of us thought to use the GPS, instead we headed down Thomasville Road to where we thought we’d seen a hospital. Holy Cow pain number three hit just as we located Tallahassee Memorial Hospital’s emergency facility. 

The facility was busy, but a suspected heart attack moved me to the front of the line, and I was in an exam room in under five minutes. Emergency staff began hooking me up to machines even as they took my information. 

They were efficient and thorough and were about to send me home with a pat on the head and an admonition to take it easy on the exercise until I acclimated to the Tallahassee terrain when another pain hit and the EKG spiked. The young doctor on duty determined that I should have a stress test, but that their facility didn’t do those. With great earnestness he suggested I go to their hospital, spend the night on a monitor and have the stress test the next morning.

“You’ll be home by noon,” he said. I was then transported by ambulance to TMH’s hospital across town.

Noon he said. Ha! Two long days and countless tests later, my deductible for the year completely satisfied, I was told most likely a chest wall muscle was spasming, but that my heart was quite healthy. 

Thank goodness for good health insurance. Apparently they pay for fake heart attacks just as well as for real ones. Studly makes a convincing argument that my hospital stay would have been considerably shorter had our insurance not been quite so good.

In case anyone wonders, I made a full recovery. The only lasting consequence is any time I have a pain of any intensity Studly is quick to remind me of the expense of a fake heart attack. 


On a serious note–never ignore chest pains. Had this been a real heart attack these guys would have saved my life. I received excellent care, and I’m glad I had everything checked out.

Serious note number two: everyone deserves affordable health care. 

Peace, people!

Greased Lightning Bug

I’m trying to lose some weight before I go to Guatemala in April. Even before I scheduled my trip I’d managed to lose 12 pounds, but I’d reached a plateau and needed a bit of motivational energy.

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The prospect of going to Central America fit the bill perfectly. And, there’s a wedding involved, so there’s twice as much motivational material.

I’m not much of an exerciser, even though it would be in my best interest to get involved in some type of physical activity. Like opening wine bottles, perhaps?

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Occasionally I’ll get off my butt and walk around our beautiful neighborhood. Today the weather was just about perfect, so I dug out my tennis shoes, left Doright Manor and set out at a brisk pace.

My Pandora radio station was set on the Grease soundtrack, so I twirled my walking stick, bopped, danced, and sang along to the music playing through my earbuds as I walked. I’m sure any neighbors watching believed me to be possessed by some unseen presence as I danced my way around the block. I’d occasionally grow self-conscious and stop, but soon I’d forget I was in public and start dancing again.

Turning down the home stretch, I was singing to “Greased Lightning” when a large insect flew into my mouth and down my throat. I saw him coming, but couldn’t react in time to avoid contact. One second it was, “Go greased light…” the next second it was “ack ack ack!”

I couldn’t get the darned thing out and I could feel it scrambling around. “Ack!” I gagged, but I could still feel it in there. Tenacious little devil. My eyes were stinging and I stopped to cough and gag every few feet. When I got home I grabbed a banana. I don’t know why, but it seemed like maybe the banana would help the bug find its way to a better place. Like a raft of sorts. It didn’t.

Then I thought back to what my mom used to say about catching more flies with honey than with bananas, or something like that. Sure enough, honey did the trick. I’m not sure if this counts as a life hack or not, but my readers might want to bookmark this post just in case.

Peace, people!

Rower’s Remorse

My husband, Studly Doright, and I recently purchased a home, Doright Manor, on a small lake near Tallahassee, Florida. We are not lake people. We are Texas panhandle people, born and raised in the dry, dusty plains and ill-prepared to handle any body of water larger than the occasional rain puddle.

When we bought our lake home we both envisioned rowing hither and yon around our lake for hours on end, working those muscles that spend too many hours typing on a keyboard and too few doing actual labor. We were going to get in shape! To that end, Studly bought us a two-person kayak. Thank goodness he had the foresight to purchase a fishing kayak–broad on the bottom and damned near impossible to tip over.

Our first venture into the world of kayaking was tense. I yelled. He cried. Or maybe it was the other way around. At any rate, that was just the part where we tried to get into the vessel without getting wet. After several borderline pornographic physical manipulations, Studly and I found ourselves seated in the appropriate slots. To us it made sense that he take the front seat and I take the back. Him: Strong. Me: Weak. We: Wrong.

The back person does all the hard work. All of it. The front person is just there to look pretty and occasionally help steer. We discovered this at the halfway point. There was no way we could switch places without one of us getting drenched. I had to shoulder the load–the big load where the pretty one should be.

Slowly I rowed. Inch by painful inch I paddled and an hour later we found ourselves at our dock confronted with a final challenge. How the heck do we get out of this infernal thing? My arms were shot and Studly couldn’t get enough leverage to pull himself up onto the dock. You see, boats don’t stay still when you pull them into the dock. No. They continue to move in all sorts of ways. Back. Forth. Sideways. They rock and roll. They Zumba.

But, we are not quitters. Nossirree. Neither of us wanted to die out on that lake mere yards from our own back door. “Let’s back the boat away from the dock,” said Studly. “We’ll aim for that grassy area beside the dock, get a running start and shoot onto dry land.”

“Huh?”

“Yea,” he said. “Just help get us out into the inlet and I’ll power us onto the grass.”

“Sure.” Wearily, I pushed against the dock, and then stroke, stroke, stroked
out into our little inlet, giving my man plenty of room to make his final stand.

He instructed me to lift my paddle and be ready to spring out of the boat as soon as we hit the shore. Spring. Yep, he said that. I’ve never seen arms work so powerfully. Boom, boom, boom and we hit paydirt. My spring was sprung and I fell onto damp grass, almost, but not quite, touching my lips to the solid ground.

“Quick! Grab the boat!” Studly yelled. Just in time, I caught hold to prevent him from floating away. I steadied the vessel as he rolled out, sprawling in lake mud. I’d have laughed at the sight, but I couldn’t summon the energy.

We both recovered. Slowly. And we’ve been out in our kayak many times since that first one. Every time we learn something new, but getting out never gets easier. I keep intending to google the topic. “How do I get out of my kayak without inflicting mortal wounds on my partner?” The good news? I think I’m developing an arm muscle. But it might be a mosquito bite. Time will tell.

Peace, People.

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Above is glimpse of our lake.

A Walk in the Park

The weather this week in Tallahassee has been just beautiful. Temperatures have been in the low 70s with no wind, so I’ve been walking every day, which happens to be real exercise, or so I’ve been told.

Most days I just stroll around the neighborhood, but yesterday afternoon I left the crockpot on low to cook Studly’s much-anticipated dinner and drove into town so I could walk around Lake Ella.

Just about a mile from the Florida capital building sits this scenic little lake surrounded by gigantic oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. Lake Ella is a popular destination for walkers and bird watchers.

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Above is pictured my favorite feature of Lake Ella, a huge oak tree that spreads its generous branches near the ground for children to climb on and around. Such a sweet tree!

Little parks like Lake Ella are just a part of what makes Tallahassee so appealing to a girl from the arid southwest plains of The Texas panhandle. When I die, don’t bury my heart on the lone prairie, just spread my ashes somewhere near a lake. The little fish will love feasting on me!

Peace, people!

Losing Weight

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Weigh in scheduled for
11:30 a.m.
Jenny Craig awaits.
Still in bed at 9:05 trying to
Decide if I will weigh less
By doing nothing productive
Before my appointment, or
If I should arise and run
Frantically around exercising
Enough to make up for the
Non-exercise I did all week.
Questions arise:
Which non-activity
Burns more calories?
Not riding a stationary bike or
Not walking for two miles?
Opting for option #2 I slip back
Beneath the covers and
Dream of key lime pound cake.

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Peace, People!

Naked Bathroom Jogging

Several days ago I suggested in a Facebook post jogging naked in front of the bathroom mirror as an instant mood lifter. My friends seemed to think I was joking or speaking metaphorically, but I was dead serious. Hey, if Prancercise can be a thing, then so can Naked Bathroom Jogging. Granted, it needs a better name before I shoot the video and start marketing it. It might need a less jiggly, younger model, as well.

Naked Bathroom Jogging, or NBJ, is easy to do, requires no equipment, and serves both the physical and emotional needs of the practitioner.

Do make sure that the bathroom floor is dry, or plan on jogging on a rubber-backed rug. Strip completely. Maximum effectiveness is only achieved if one is totally naked. I find it best to practice NBJ just before showering. Stand facing the bathroom mirror. Laugh as needed. Then admire all the good stuff, and trust me, no matter what you weigh or how that weight is distributed there is some good stuff.

Now jog in place. Start out slowly to determine which body parts need corralling. The last thing you want is to give yourself a black eye or whiplash. Be prepared to support these body parts. Gradually increase the speed of your jog. The best benefits seem to occur when I’m going full speed.

The first time I did my NBJ it was just a goof, but I laughed so hard and so long that I knew it had to be a good thing. So now I’m into a daily routine. If I could just find a videographer I could start filming. Volunteers? Anyone? Bueller?

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Waking Up Is Hard To Do

I got two hours of sleep last night. Maybe two and a quarter. My husband, Studly Doright, who by the way doesn’t have sleep apnea (we had him tested) snored all night long. And when I say he snored I mean he:

Snorted
Roared
Snuffled
Gurgled
Rattled
Plorked
And mmmphhed
Loudly

All night long.

There was never any pattern to the cacophony. He usually maintains some sort of almost hypnotic, metronomic rhythm that allows me to slip into sleep. But not last night. Just as a tango was established he’d switch to a rumba, then to a cha cha. There might have been a salsa thrown in, too. I would have loved a minuet, but that never happened.

I moved to another bedroom around 3:40 a.m. The cats found that amusing and wanted to play. I must have fallen asleep at some point, only to have Studly wake me up to kiss me goodbye when he left for work at 6. How very considerate of him. Thank you sir, may I have another?

Normally I’d have had the luxury of snuggling under my covers after Studly left for work, but I’d promised to meet an acquaintance at a fitness center for an early morning aerobics class. I went, and held on through most of the class, but I might have fallen asleep during the cool down. There was a trickle of drool on my yoga mat. I just hope I didn’t snore.

Peace, People

A Thigh Slapping Good Time

Whoever said that endorphins released during exercise can give you a high must’ve been smoking something. All I get from exercising is tired.

I’ve put on a number of pounds over the years. At least 10 for each of our many moves. Granted, I go through periods of weight loss, otherwise I’d have added 170 lbs. over the last 38 years of wedded bliss.

After our most recent move to Tallahassee, I weigh more than I ever have. It’s a loneliness thing. I know no one, therefore, I eat. Great excuse, eh? Unfortunately my clothes are not fitting anymore and no one wants to see me naked. Trust me. Even my cats have expressed their disgust. Where others might see hair balls, I see only revulsion.

It was time for a lifestyle change. So, in addition to trying to eat healthier foods–lots of fresh vegetables, fruits, salmon, etc., I decided to get more active. But that means exercise. Damn. My eldest sister-in-law, we’ll call her “The Pretty One” or TPO, for short, suggested a water aerobics class.

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I searched the websites in Tallahassee and found that several city parks offered water aerobics. On Wednesday I made my first visit. I knew I was in trouble when the instructor, Madame de Sade, told me, “First time? Don’t worry, it’s a work at your own pace kind of class.”

What she meant was, “I’m going to run, run, run in the water and you are going to wear a blister in your left big toe trying to keep up with me.” All we did was run. Forward, backward, sideways, we ran with her screaming, “Run, ladies! Run like your lives depend on it!”

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I didn’t want to go back, but I figured Wednesdays must be leg days, so I returned on Thursday. Same. Damn. Thing. Now the blister on my big toe is bigger than my big toe. It’s formed an alliance with my ankle and they both scream for relief every time I take a step.

I looked at the lady on my right. “I’m blowing this joint tomorrow.”

She nods. “I’m in,” she says.

So today, we went to a different park. There was music playing when we arrived. The instructor gave us a smile and a hug and welcomed us to the group. We only ran once before launching into a series of routines that left me panting and smiling and, well, high! My endorphins and I can’t wait to return to class on Monday.

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Peace, People!