Having a hot flash near a burning wood stove is like experiencing electrocution with the equator up your ass.
All the step, fit-bit and workout conversations during the holidays is a drain on my psyche. I am not a regular fitness participant, can’t commit to a daily routine and even dole out punishment to myself for lack of motivation. Just yesterday I was kicking myself, instead of the punching bag, because I still make excuses for not exercising.
Today is a new day though.My outlook is more positive. I haven’t given myself enough credit. While I don’t have a gym membership or workout partner, I exercise plenty, especially during the holidays:
Weights – who carried up all the Christmas stocking holders from the basement? Those things aren’t light x the whole family x 2. That’s a set.
Speaking of which, add to that:
Stairs – cellar stairs are the original homemade elliptical. I AM a stair climber. I went up and down the stairs for eight buckets of tree limbs, ornaments and decorations. If you count the roasting pans, extra paper towels and added chairs I’ve also brought upstairs during the holidays, I may as well start training to climb Everest.
and climb I do:
Plank – the hot topic buzz word of the fitness world. No, I don’t lie on the floor and hold myself up with my elbows. What I did do was walk the planks of our second story, holding onto beam work, to wrap garland in all the right places.
Someone put out all the greenery, lights and presents. It wasn’t an elf.
Laps – I enjoy running and love to swim but don’t typically count laps. I need to participate in team sports where laps are just part of the process, not the actual goal. Given that, I’d say I completed a lot of laps shopping at the mall and walking parking lots in December.
…and I did it in high fashion:
Push-ups – I do not have the proper form for push-ups. Coaches have always told me to put my ass down and modified push-ups seem like cheating. The push-up bras I wore over the holidays allowed for a solution and whether you consider it cheating or not, those underwires gave me the proper form on a daily basis.
Add to that the form and beauty I adorn to all my packaging:
Curling – I took time to curl several times a week. Curling ribbon is one of my favorite holiday exercises. I only wish I knew how many miles I’d logged wrapping pretty gifts.
The last few exercises were when I really dug in:
Leg lifts – After every wrapping session, shopping excursion or meal planning event, I finished off with leg lifts. In a sitting position under a lit tree, I put a pillow on the coffee table and lifted my legs up to enjoy a hot beverage.
Holiday fitness includes the ultimate cool down as well:
Sit-ups – I did. I sat up at multiple tables to enjoy some delicious snacks, meals and desserts. Repetitions are key to the best sit-up results. Sometimes the sessions were so long, I was even sore afterwards.
Now I can add to the holiday fitness conversations. I am ready to give myself credit for all my hard work. To anyone that disagrees, I say,
I am a bit fit and
it works out for me.”
Menopausal hot flashes equate to being a human candle. Without warning, a match is applied to the tip of your inner core. The intense heat melts you from the inside out. The internal campfire lasts moments or hours.
When the flame is extinguished, approach with caution, the embers may still be hot.
A heart at peace gives life to the body.
Is anyone else offended by this impersonal care and new process flow being implemented at the doctor’s office?
Please add your comments
It’s the middle of the night in New England but I am at the Daytona 500. My menopausal self awakens and discovers my body in our overheated bed. It’s no longer warm from our laps around the track. Instead I am flush red, and there’s a pit crew in my head, taking the blankets on and off as fast as they can. The flurry of activity finally helps me cool down and get back on track to sleep.
I am dreaming of the finish line although there are hundreds of laps ahead. I want this race to end, so I can earn the trophy back.
I awake feeling both exhausted and restless. Regardless, I feel the need to work but have such low energy, even getting the mail seems like a bad idea. The mailbox seems too
My body is so tired, it feels like I walked from New England to Mississippi today. Actually, I think I was dragged there on my back because it is sore as hell.
When I arrived on the Mississippi plantation, the devil filled me with a sack full of cotton bolls. I swear even my belly button is sore and dehydrated. My insides are so dry I wonder how my nose can drip. Any mucus that finally develops must be coming from my lungs. My chest is tight, like a barge pushing against the tide, trying to pull every part of my body out of misery and into a better place. I try to put on a brave face but it is under pressure too.
My body is imploding.
My reaction is to counterattack and explode onto the page.
I soak up the sunshine
and enjoy the breeze.
My mind cannot rest
And my body hurts,
so I work on my soul.
I’m finally wide awake and am content and grateful. I feel the need to send my body rest because ignoring that letter of the law seems like a bad idea. My spirit is alive and He is
NOT IF YOU’RE LACTOSE INTOLERANT!
In college I wrote a childhood story about a station wagon game appropriately named “smoosh your sister”. While Marsha Brady was taking her drivers test in the Bunch wagon, I was taking my sisters to task in the wagon crusher. It was a simple and competitive game to pass time. We invented it while our parents shopped for groceries.
That Saturday, that event, has stayed with me for 40 years. I suppose all near death experiences do. I stretched across the back seat and waited for my sister’s to put the collapsible back on top of me. They walked around the wagon, climbed in the back and sat on top of the folded-down seat. I remember telling them to keep adding weight. I wanted to be smooshed the most. I wanted to win.
Sometimes you get what you ask for…I remained smooshed until my Dad was found in the store to come rescue me. I felt my lungs being crushed at the same time I realized my yelling father couldn’t even see me.
He finally gasped, released me and pulled me out and into the open air.
We were all together, yet I was all alone.
I remembered the ordeal after a more recent smooshing. While my colleagues were still at the office, I was on my way back from the doctor’s office. It was the story of a lovely lady, that had just received her mammography. It’s a simple and recommended procedure – so you can hopefully pass more time in this life.
Yesterday, that scan, created another memory as I enter my 50th year. I slipped off my robe so I could hug the machine and waited for my technician. She walked around me, lifted up my boob and tightened it into a vice. I remember counting out the seconds. I wanted to be done in four pictures. I wanted out.
Sometimes your wishes don’t come true…my girls remained in their trap until she could take a fifth scan. I heard my boobs crying at the same time the technician told me to relax and “not move”. Trust me, you can’t.
I finally gasped, when she released me, and I took in some air.
I was soon all alone (removing stickers) but knew we were all in this together.
Continue reading Smooshed!