Don't Fall on Me
Well, I'm back, and in relatively decent shape, considering that I fell down the stairs Saturday night, as previously mentioned in THIS HERE BLOG! My left knee, after much icing, feels a lot better, though it's still sore (as is the right knee and the right knee, unrelated to the fall), and I'm still not able to work out (it's been two days...mercy), so I'm becoming cranky. I don't like not being able to work out. It's very good for my body AND mind, and what I do when I can't eat is fee sorry for myself AND start eating more. Damn you, taco chips at work (so I brought them in--it was for Fabulous Friday and there were some left, and you can't just throw them out, can you?!). I decided to take a walk at lunchtime, despite the 35 degree weather (no snow or rain, however), and get 5 lb weights at City Sport to use at home, and that cheered me up a bit, along with the fact that I could walk without hobbling. Stairs are becoming a bit easier to navigate, and if I can't work out tomorrow, I should be able to do so by Wednesday, and hopefully can handle yoga on Friday.
Friday's yoga class with Jess is wonderful. She is a very calming presence, and she pushes you yet not too much and is very inspiring. She is also not skinny--she looks like a real person!--and that is encouraging to those of us who are also not skinny, although far from fat. I loved Dave's class--he taught Thursday nights at 5:30pm and Fridays at noon for a couple of years--but Jess's class is a nice way to start the weekend. At the end of the hour, you are tired but refreshed. This is the best way to feel after any kind of workout. I don't want to be bored, but feeling winded isn't such a great thing, either (though it's often the case after I've chugged away on the bike, level 10, hills, for 45 minutes, followed by floor and weight work). I really hate having any kind of routine interrupted, and I so look forward to my daily workout. When I can't, I begin to feel extremely sorry for myself, believe I will never be well (yes, I *am* a bit of a hypochondriac), and develop invalid tendencies. Whatever that means. I just know I am going to be an awful old person, what with my moaning about what I can't do anymore, my fear of memory loss (I'm already experiencing some word loss--or I think I can, and of course I can't even think of the proper name for it, so there you go!--Oh, wait--it's word retrieval issues--but still...), and my lack of use for gin, mah jong, poker, canasta, and all other card/tile games. If I end up trapped in my body, please do not torture me the way poor Terry Schiavo is, thanks to the U.S. government in part, as she continues being forced to live in a vegetative stage. Just end it. I hope it's fast and painless (but never happens, of course, as I have a morbid fear of mortality).
Some of this clearly comes from my years of extreme depression and suicidal feelings. What, you say? How does this connect? Well, if you spend your first 30 plus years feeling miserable and trapped (emotionally), and then finally begin to appreciate life, you also mourn for those 30 plus years you can't have back, and the relationships you have not yet had with men and may never, and you want the time back, and you dread middle age and the onset of illness and senility (which could, granted, be 50 or more years away, but STILL, it encroaches). And in doing so, you try to live in the moment, as any good improviser will tell you to do, and yet wish for more time, knowing it's not yours to have. Do I sound like a spoiled brat? I really don't mean to. I am grateful for my family, friends, health (KNOCK ON WOOD), job (MORE KNOCKING), and so on, but I have not yet reconciled all the years of discomfort and worse (the tears, the vulnerability, the feelings of self-doubt and self-loathing), and until I do, I may always fear death. When I have finally come to terms with the past, I will probably accept the inevitability of mortality...but they may never happen. It's something I'm working on, particularly when I'm *not* working out.
Meanwhile, if you're a nice, artistic guy between 35-45, I'm still looking for you...
Friday's yoga class with Jess is wonderful. She is a very calming presence, and she pushes you yet not too much and is very inspiring. She is also not skinny--she looks like a real person!--and that is encouraging to those of us who are also not skinny, although far from fat. I loved Dave's class--he taught Thursday nights at 5:30pm and Fridays at noon for a couple of years--but Jess's class is a nice way to start the weekend. At the end of the hour, you are tired but refreshed. This is the best way to feel after any kind of workout. I don't want to be bored, but feeling winded isn't such a great thing, either (though it's often the case after I've chugged away on the bike, level 10, hills, for 45 minutes, followed by floor and weight work). I really hate having any kind of routine interrupted, and I so look forward to my daily workout. When I can't, I begin to feel extremely sorry for myself, believe I will never be well (yes, I *am* a bit of a hypochondriac), and develop invalid tendencies. Whatever that means. I just know I am going to be an awful old person, what with my moaning about what I can't do anymore, my fear of memory loss (I'm already experiencing some word loss--or I think I can, and of course I can't even think of the proper name for it, so there you go!--Oh, wait--it's word retrieval issues--but still...), and my lack of use for gin, mah jong, poker, canasta, and all other card/tile games. If I end up trapped in my body, please do not torture me the way poor Terry Schiavo is, thanks to the U.S. government in part, as she continues being forced to live in a vegetative stage. Just end it. I hope it's fast and painless (but never happens, of course, as I have a morbid fear of mortality).
Some of this clearly comes from my years of extreme depression and suicidal feelings. What, you say? How does this connect? Well, if you spend your first 30 plus years feeling miserable and trapped (emotionally), and then finally begin to appreciate life, you also mourn for those 30 plus years you can't have back, and the relationships you have not yet had with men and may never, and you want the time back, and you dread middle age and the onset of illness and senility (which could, granted, be 50 or more years away, but STILL, it encroaches). And in doing so, you try to live in the moment, as any good improviser will tell you to do, and yet wish for more time, knowing it's not yours to have. Do I sound like a spoiled brat? I really don't mean to. I am grateful for my family, friends, health (KNOCK ON WOOD), job (MORE KNOCKING), and so on, but I have not yet reconciled all the years of discomfort and worse (the tears, the vulnerability, the feelings of self-doubt and self-loathing), and until I do, I may always fear death. When I have finally come to terms with the past, I will probably accept the inevitability of mortality...but they may never happen. It's something I'm working on, particularly when I'm *not* working out.
Meanwhile, if you're a nice, artistic guy between 35-45, I'm still looking for you...
posted by Sue B at 7:45 PM
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