The proof is NOT in the pudding. It's in the putting. As in putting one foot in front of the other, putting your best foot forward and putting your body into motion.
At my senior water aerobics class yesterday morning, Jackie, a stately, slim, and glowing woman old enough to be my mother told me: "You just have to make yourself do it if you want to live long." She went on to say, "I'm in better shape now than I was when I was 41." She told me how she had slipped a disc in her back at 41, and that it felt like forever before she could lift anything again. She's pleased that she can now easily lift a shrub in her garden.
We were talking about the fact that I was sore from my workout the day before. My "workout" being that I single-handedly moved an enormous couch out of our tiny den, (while Steve was at work and knew nothing about my impulsive decision to rearrange the furniture and dispose of said couch) by pushing, pulling, and eventually lifting it up on end and stuffing it through the door. I felt so strong and powerful! It was like lifting weights and I totally forgot any limitation my right leg might have had. While I was moving the furniture around, I thought about how much I enjoyed renovating homes, and that it might be just about time to tackle another home renovation, if we could find a cheap fixer-upper. Coincidentally, (or maybe there are no coincidences) I got a call from a real estate investor right after class who told me about a CHEAP fixer-upper that Steve and I might be interested in buying. (Wow! I'm thinking, just look at what moving a couch can do...) For good measure I got on my exercise bike and rode it hard for 20 minutes.
I don't know the origin of the phrase, "The proof is in the pudding," but I think the only proof I'd get from pudding is weight gain.
Showing posts with label water aerobics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label water aerobics. Show all posts
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Cold, Hard Facts?
"I hate to burst your bubble, but you ain't never gonna be the way you was back then."
This was the jokingly friendly greeting I got upon my arrival to Senior Water Aerobics class on Friday. My classmate friend had just read my last blog post and watched my 20-Minute Workout video before coming to class. She laughed as she let me know that "gravity" had taken it's toll on all of us and we're destined to remain in the shape we're in now. I smiled and told her that "my bubble had been burst long ago," and I reminded her that I'd be happy just to get down a pant size!
The truth is, trying to lose weight has always been a struggle for me. Back before the 20-Minute workout days, before folks talked about anorexia/bulimia, I was a part-time bulimic for awhile. I knew there was something wrong with my closeted bingeing and purging, but when I read someone's letter to Ann Landers, I realized I had a potentially serious problem. I hadn't known there was a name for my condition, or that anyone else had discovered my secret method for weight management. It was 1979, I was 21 years old, a student in the dance program at Cal State Fullerton, and I believed that I was too heavy to be a dancer, but that didn't keep me from eating. I went through fast food drive-thrus on a regular basis, loaded up on junk food, got depressed and upset, and forced myself to throw up soon after. When I finished reading the letter to Ann Landers, and her supportive response, I walked straight to a local athletic store and bought myself a pair of bright yellow Nike running shoes and started jogging. My logic was that I could eat like a pig, if I exercised more.
But it wasn't until 1981, when I was introduced to Karen Voight's intense aerobic class by my long-time pal, Brian, that I completely kicked the bulimic habit. Aerobic classes were definitely a healthier obsession, and when I worked out strenuously, I could eat whatever I wanted (I'm sure my youth had something to do with this). Somehow along the way, I overcame my eating disorder without therapy by reciting the following mantra whenever the urge struck: "if you're gonna eat like a pig, you must suffer your consequences."
By the time I was cast in the 20-Minute Workout, I was working out five hours a day! Still, even at my smallest, I felt that I was bigger than the other girls on the show, and was self-conscious about my weight. At my lowest, I weighed 116, (and that only showed up on the scale one day during 1984). In general, my weight seemed to waver around 125, and I was a medium, not a small.
Now, I'm an extra large! And this crept up on me slowly over the course of several years. Maybe it is gravity! Or hormones. Or metabolism. But I suspect it's because I stopped working out the way I used to (hell, I stopped workout out entirely!), while continuing to eat the way I was used to.
Since 2009, I've tried several dietary approaches: I've been a vegan, then a vegetarian; I've avoided gluten, and limited my sugar, and yet I can't seem to get the weight off. I have women friends here in Nashville who are slim and fit, and they all have something in common: they exercise regularly and vigorously in addition to eating less.
So, no, I may never get back to where I once was, but I'm convinced: I won't get anywhere if I don't exercise--daily and diligently.
This was the jokingly friendly greeting I got upon my arrival to Senior Water Aerobics class on Friday. My classmate friend had just read my last blog post and watched my 20-Minute Workout video before coming to class. She laughed as she let me know that "gravity" had taken it's toll on all of us and we're destined to remain in the shape we're in now. I smiled and told her that "my bubble had been burst long ago," and I reminded her that I'd be happy just to get down a pant size!
(As you can see, I need to get down at least a pant size)
The truth is, trying to lose weight has always been a struggle for me. Back before the 20-Minute workout days, before folks talked about anorexia/bulimia, I was a part-time bulimic for awhile. I knew there was something wrong with my closeted bingeing and purging, but when I read someone's letter to Ann Landers, I realized I had a potentially serious problem. I hadn't known there was a name for my condition, or that anyone else had discovered my secret method for weight management. It was 1979, I was 21 years old, a student in the dance program at Cal State Fullerton, and I believed that I was too heavy to be a dancer, but that didn't keep me from eating. I went through fast food drive-thrus on a regular basis, loaded up on junk food, got depressed and upset, and forced myself to throw up soon after. When I finished reading the letter to Ann Landers, and her supportive response, I walked straight to a local athletic store and bought myself a pair of bright yellow Nike running shoes and started jogging. My logic was that I could eat like a pig, if I exercised more.
But it wasn't until 1981, when I was introduced to Karen Voight's intense aerobic class by my long-time pal, Brian, that I completely kicked the bulimic habit. Aerobic classes were definitely a healthier obsession, and when I worked out strenuously, I could eat whatever I wanted (I'm sure my youth had something to do with this). Somehow along the way, I overcame my eating disorder without therapy by reciting the following mantra whenever the urge struck: "if you're gonna eat like a pig, you must suffer your consequences."
By the time I was cast in the 20-Minute Workout, I was working out five hours a day! Still, even at my smallest, I felt that I was bigger than the other girls on the show, and was self-conscious about my weight. At my lowest, I weighed 116, (and that only showed up on the scale one day during 1984). In general, my weight seemed to waver around 125, and I was a medium, not a small.
Now, I'm an extra large! And this crept up on me slowly over the course of several years. Maybe it is gravity! Or hormones. Or metabolism. But I suspect it's because I stopped working out the way I used to (hell, I stopped workout out entirely!), while continuing to eat the way I was used to.
Since 2009, I've tried several dietary approaches: I've been a vegan, then a vegetarian; I've avoided gluten, and limited my sugar, and yet I can't seem to get the weight off. I have women friends here in Nashville who are slim and fit, and they all have something in common: they exercise regularly and vigorously in addition to eating less.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
(Oh, how I long to be) Fit and Fabulous After 50!
With every new year, comes the promise of a new beginning, and this year, 2012, I'm grateful that I have a leg to stand on, and I'm ready to start really using it! While I was laid up last year with my broken femur, I had time to read a few books, and one of the books I read, "Younger Next Year, (For Women)" stresses the importance of exercise after the age of 50. The fact that exercise is good for you is something I've known for decades--I got into aerobics back in it's heyday, 1981, where I was trained by fitness guru Karen Voight herself. I was one of the instructors on the original 20-Minute Workout T.V. Show, and was a personal trainer in Los Angeles for many years after that. But exercise was never really my passion, just a means to an end. I wanted to be taken seriously as a Hollywood actress, so I actually turned down the second season of the 20-Minute Workout because I didn't think it would further my career!
When I finally cast aside my dreams of stardom in 1998 to move to Nashville to pursue a new career as a country songwriter, I became further and further removed from exercise. The food in the south, the lifestyle of drinking wine at every songwriter round, and the relaxed environment all contributed. I've allowed myself to get out of shape and overweight (Karen Voight would be so ashamed). Being laid up last year with a broken femur didn't help matters any. But the book, "Younger Next Year," makes it ultra clear that I need to get myself moving, and not just a little bit. This book makes a strong claim that if I want to live a long, full, life, I need to exercise strenuously for a minimum of 6 days a week--not just to lose weight, but to avoid bone loss and osteoporosis. I've already broken one major bone, I sure don't wanna break any more!
So this year, I'm going to follow the advice of "Younger Next Year." I have possibly 40 pounds to lose in order to be as small as I was back in 1983 (when the 20-Minute Workout show aired) but I don't think I need to get that small again! Right now, I'm simply going to focus on getting out of my "big girl pants" and comfortably back into my pants from 2010! (Notice that I don't disclose the size of my pants).
I'm now on day three of an experiment:
1) I'm committed to working out to the 20-Minute Workout dvds I have in my possession EVERY DAY to see how it works for women past 50. I can already confess that I must modify the work-out to a low impact version. I still can't jump on my recovering leg, besides, I recall that somewhere back in the late '80's while I was still an aerobic instructor at the Voight Fitness Center, high impact aerobics were beginning to be considered "dangerous" and low impact aerobics became the norm.
2) I'm still continuing my Senior(yikes!!)Water Aerobics class three days a week, where I do get to jump in the water without hurting myself.
3) I'm committed to hiking 2.5 miles around Radnor Lake twice a week.
So this is the plan, until I come up with a better one (or some lame excuse). 'Til then, my younger self is inspiring me with a four more, three more, two more...
When I finally cast aside my dreams of stardom in 1998 to move to Nashville to pursue a new career as a country songwriter, I became further and further removed from exercise. The food in the south, the lifestyle of drinking wine at every songwriter round, and the relaxed environment all contributed. I've allowed myself to get out of shape and overweight (Karen Voight would be so ashamed). Being laid up last year with a broken femur didn't help matters any. But the book, "Younger Next Year," makes it ultra clear that I need to get myself moving, and not just a little bit. This book makes a strong claim that if I want to live a long, full, life, I need to exercise strenuously for a minimum of 6 days a week--not just to lose weight, but to avoid bone loss and osteoporosis. I've already broken one major bone, I sure don't wanna break any more!
So this year, I'm going to follow the advice of "Younger Next Year." I have possibly 40 pounds to lose in order to be as small as I was back in 1983 (when the 20-Minute Workout show aired) but I don't think I need to get that small again! Right now, I'm simply going to focus on getting out of my "big girl pants" and comfortably back into my pants from 2010! (Notice that I don't disclose the size of my pants).
I'm now on day three of an experiment:
1) I'm committed to working out to the 20-Minute Workout dvds I have in my possession EVERY DAY to see how it works for women past 50. I can already confess that I must modify the work-out to a low impact version. I still can't jump on my recovering leg, besides, I recall that somewhere back in the late '80's while I was still an aerobic instructor at the Voight Fitness Center, high impact aerobics were beginning to be considered "dangerous" and low impact aerobics became the norm.
2) I'm still continuing my Senior(yikes!!)Water Aerobics class three days a week, where I do get to jump in the water without hurting myself.
3) I'm committed to hiking 2.5 miles around Radnor Lake twice a week.
So this is the plan, until I come up with a better one (or some lame excuse). 'Til then, my younger self is inspiring me with a four more, three more, two more...
Friday, September 30, 2011
Old News
"I broke my femur," is old news.
I had my six month check-up on September 9th. When the orthopedic surgeon came into the exam room, I was missing. I had gone to the bathroom, and was returning down the hall, when he came out of the room looking for his patient. When he saw me, it was apparent that he didn't recognize me. He stared, and then said, "If I didn't have this chart to refer to, I wouldn't know which leg I operated on! You are walking really well!" (And I paid $400 for this appointment??)
I told the doctor that I was still having persistent pain when bending my knee and walking down stairs. I mentioned that he had told me previously that I'd be back to normal at six months-walking normally, doing all of my normal activities, even dancing. "Did I say that?" He chuckled. Then he said with a grin, "You'll never be back to normal."
What????
I sat there, aghast. I think he was making a light hearted joke, but I didn't appreciate it. He went on to say that I was always going to be aware of my injury. I told him my hip hurt when I walked. He said, "well maybe you have some arthritis, I haven't checked your hip." WHAT??? I said, "don't tell me that! I haven't had any hip problems prior to this accident, I think it's related to my injury." He said, "maybe." MAYBE??
The irony is that I had almost cancelled this appointment. I knew it was going to be expensive (they take $300 worth of
x-rays every time I go in), I already owe over $30,000, and I figured I wouldn't learn anything new. The doctor would just say I was healing well.
What a surprise to learn that I would "never be back to normal."
Note to self: a) Doctors don't know everything. b) Who wants to be normal, anyway?
I had my six month check-up on September 9th. When the orthopedic surgeon came into the exam room, I was missing. I had gone to the bathroom, and was returning down the hall, when he came out of the room looking for his patient. When he saw me, it was apparent that he didn't recognize me. He stared, and then said, "If I didn't have this chart to refer to, I wouldn't know which leg I operated on! You are walking really well!" (And I paid $400 for this appointment??)
I told the doctor that I was still having persistent pain when bending my knee and walking down stairs. I mentioned that he had told me previously that I'd be back to normal at six months-walking normally, doing all of my normal activities, even dancing. "Did I say that?" He chuckled. Then he said with a grin, "You'll never be back to normal."
What????
I sat there, aghast. I think he was making a light hearted joke, but I didn't appreciate it. He went on to say that I was always going to be aware of my injury. I told him my hip hurt when I walked. He said, "well maybe you have some arthritis, I haven't checked your hip." WHAT??? I said, "don't tell me that! I haven't had any hip problems prior to this accident, I think it's related to my injury." He said, "maybe." MAYBE??
The irony is that I had almost cancelled this appointment. I knew it was going to be expensive (they take $300 worth of
x-rays every time I go in), I already owe over $30,000, and I figured I wouldn't learn anything new. The doctor would just say I was healing well.
What a surprise to learn that I would "never be back to normal."
Note to self: a) Doctors don't know everything. b) Who wants to be normal, anyway?
Saturday, August 27, 2011
A Poolside Lesson in Humility
This past Tuesday, my friend Carolyn's husband asked me, "So, why did you break your leg?"
I was taken aback for a moment by the audacity of the question. Usually, when one suffers a tragedy, or has an accident of some kind, one will wrack their brain trying to figure out why it happened. "Why me?," has always been a popular question. But what he wanted to know was, "why did you create the accident?"
I believe in the spiritual philosophy that I create my own reality, but I told him that I'd not been able to come up with a reason that made any sense.
Still, he got me looking at some questions that I hadn't bothered to think about lately. In addition to "Why did I break my leg?" Questions like: What have I learned over the past six months? What benefit did I get out of the accident? Why am I still using the broken leg as an excuse to be a victim, to get sympathy, to be liked, to be lazy, to take it easy. Whaaaa? What was that last part? To take it easy? What's wrong with taking it easy, I wonder? And why am I still using the broken leg to beat myself up? Why am I not letting go and moving on with a new story about the broken leg, and what new story can I tell?....
After living with these questions all day Tuesday, I went to Senior Water Aerobics class on Wednesday with a renewed sense of acceptance. (Although I hadn't come up with an answer to "why" I broke my leg, I know I wouldn't have joined a "Seniors" class had I not needed gentle water therapy).
After the class, I stayed in the pool to do extra leg exercises. An elder woman from the class whom I'd often smiled at, but never talked with before, made a casual comment: "You haven't had enough, huh?" I answered with, "well, I just need to strengthen my leg." She asked me if I was recovering from a surgery. And I said, "yeah, I broke my femur in March." I saw the sadness in her eyes as she said, "my son did that." She paused. Then she said, "he got a blood clot." I paused. "Did he make it?" I asked. "No."
She went on to tell me that her 37 year old son fell in a hole, much the same way that I did, and landed wrong, just like I did. He had surgery, just like I did, was recovering well, went home, and two weeks later developed a blood clot that traveled to his lung and killed him. She said she didn't understand why the doctor hadn't prescribed a blood thinner, why her son had only been prescribed aspirin. (Blood thinners are usually prescribed after femur surgery, because the risk of developing a blood clot is so high). She said she didn't understand why her son, who was a good Christian, happily married with two children, was taken so soon. But, she said, she had to accept that "the Lord must've needed him for some reason."
As I quietly listened, I thought about the fact that I chose not to take the blood thinners that were prescribed to me after surgery. And I wondered why I escaped a blood clot. Why was I so blessed? Why was I given the opportunity to survive, live, grow, change?
Today, I'm still pondering all of the questions and I am filled with humbleness and gratitude.
I was taken aback for a moment by the audacity of the question. Usually, when one suffers a tragedy, or has an accident of some kind, one will wrack their brain trying to figure out why it happened. "Why me?," has always been a popular question. But what he wanted to know was, "why did you create the accident?"
I believe in the spiritual philosophy that I create my own reality, but I told him that I'd not been able to come up with a reason that made any sense.
Still, he got me looking at some questions that I hadn't bothered to think about lately. In addition to "Why did I break my leg?" Questions like: What have I learned over the past six months? What benefit did I get out of the accident? Why am I still using the broken leg as an excuse to be a victim, to get sympathy, to be liked, to be lazy, to take it easy. Whaaaa? What was that last part? To take it easy? What's wrong with taking it easy, I wonder? And why am I still using the broken leg to beat myself up? Why am I not letting go and moving on with a new story about the broken leg, and what new story can I tell?....
After living with these questions all day Tuesday, I went to Senior Water Aerobics class on Wednesday with a renewed sense of acceptance. (Although I hadn't come up with an answer to "why" I broke my leg, I know I wouldn't have joined a "Seniors" class had I not needed gentle water therapy).
After the class, I stayed in the pool to do extra leg exercises. An elder woman from the class whom I'd often smiled at, but never talked with before, made a casual comment: "You haven't had enough, huh?" I answered with, "well, I just need to strengthen my leg." She asked me if I was recovering from a surgery. And I said, "yeah, I broke my femur in March." I saw the sadness in her eyes as she said, "my son did that." She paused. Then she said, "he got a blood clot." I paused. "Did he make it?" I asked. "No."
She went on to tell me that her 37 year old son fell in a hole, much the same way that I did, and landed wrong, just like I did. He had surgery, just like I did, was recovering well, went home, and two weeks later developed a blood clot that traveled to his lung and killed him. She said she didn't understand why the doctor hadn't prescribed a blood thinner, why her son had only been prescribed aspirin. (Blood thinners are usually prescribed after femur surgery, because the risk of developing a blood clot is so high). She said she didn't understand why her son, who was a good Christian, happily married with two children, was taken so soon. But, she said, she had to accept that "the Lord must've needed him for some reason."
As I quietly listened, I thought about the fact that I chose not to take the blood thinners that were prescribed to me after surgery. And I wondered why I escaped a blood clot. Why was I so blessed? Why was I given the opportunity to survive, live, grow, change?
Today, I'm still pondering all of the questions and I am filled with humbleness and gratitude.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Independence is Bliss!
This past week, I spent hours and hours at Fido, my favorite coffee shop, working on the computer. Fido was my office on the road. Why is this so exciting? Because I drove there myself.
At 18 weeks (and still counting) into my broken femur recovery, I'm no longer at the mercy of being driven around by my friend Brian, or my spousal equivalent, Steve. I can go where I want, when I want, in my own car and I'm in the driver's seat. That's not to say it wasn't fun being chaffeured around and having Brian at my beck and call to take me places. We went to so many fun places, but just being able to get in the car and take off feels so liberating.
Over these past couple of weeks, Brian has torn down the wheelchair ramp at our front doorway, and thrown it in a pile for the dump. My shower chair was delegated to the basement. The wheelchair, walker, and crutches, are waiting to be returned to their lenders or donated to Goodwill. And I am driving!
Life is getting back to normal. But it's a new normal. One where I have to stretch before I can even get out of bed in the morning if I want to walk. And one where I have to exercise every single day in order to keep my knee joint lubricated and my leg functional. Water has become my best friend. The wonders of water aerobics and the healing powers of the pool are amazing, and more than ever before in my life, exercise MUST take priority over everything else. So, over an extended 4th of July weekend, while Steve was out of town, I drove myself to Senior Water Aerobics, and another water exercise class almost everyday, and Brian and I went to Percy Priest Lake, where I exercised my leg as well. I drove myself to Radnor lake, where I took two hikes (2.5 miles each), and I actually danced on two occasions.
But I digress...
I drove myself and a friend to the Nashville Sounds baseball game for the 4th of July fireworks, drove myself to the Bluebird to see songwriting friends perform, and I drove Brian back from Arrington Winery, (because I had less to drink).
On the road to recovery, driving equals independence, and independence is bliss!
At 18 weeks (and still counting) into my broken femur recovery, I'm no longer at the mercy of being driven around by my friend Brian, or my spousal equivalent, Steve. I can go where I want, when I want, in my own car and I'm in the driver's seat. That's not to say it wasn't fun being chaffeured around and having Brian at my beck and call to take me places. We went to so many fun places, but just being able to get in the car and take off feels so liberating.
Over these past couple of weeks, Brian has torn down the wheelchair ramp at our front doorway, and thrown it in a pile for the dump. My shower chair was delegated to the basement. The wheelchair, walker, and crutches, are waiting to be returned to their lenders or donated to Goodwill. And I am driving!
Life is getting back to normal. But it's a new normal. One where I have to stretch before I can even get out of bed in the morning if I want to walk. And one where I have to exercise every single day in order to keep my knee joint lubricated and my leg functional. Water has become my best friend. The wonders of water aerobics and the healing powers of the pool are amazing, and more than ever before in my life, exercise MUST take priority over everything else. So, over an extended 4th of July weekend, while Steve was out of town, I drove myself to Senior Water Aerobics, and another water exercise class almost everyday, and Brian and I went to Percy Priest Lake, where I exercised my leg as well. I drove myself to Radnor lake, where I took two hikes (2.5 miles each), and I actually danced on two occasions.
But I digress...
I drove myself and a friend to the Nashville Sounds baseball game for the 4th of July fireworks, drove myself to the Bluebird to see songwriting friends perform, and I drove Brian back from Arrington Winery, (because I had less to drink).
On the road to recovery, driving equals independence, and independence is bliss!
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