Slouching through life

     In the seminal sports comedy "Caddyshack," Chevy Chase's Ty Webb says to Ted Knight's Judge Smails:

"Don't sell yourself short, Judge. ... You're a tremendous slouch."

     So am I. Just in an entirely different manner.
     My posture stinks on an epic scale. I've been made most painfully aware of this lately, because for the past few weeks, I've been locked in a varying-shades-of-painful duel with my aching back. Fun, it is not.
     I have been a serious sufferer for about eight years, thanks to degenerative disc disease at L5/S1 in my lower back. That much-compressed site has been the source of the lion's share of my woes. After a 2004 bout that left me flat on my back and drugged out of my mind for a full week, I've gone through the intervening years armed with heating pad and dandy muscle relaxant Flexeril at the ready. On a semi-regular basis, my wonky disc bulges, the muscles around it go into spasm to try and support it and I can't bend at the waist and have teeth-grinding, blood-sweating pain for a couple days at a crack.
     I reiterate ... fun, it is not.
     This episode was a bit different, however. Different location. Different initial muscle seizure. Different pain track. I agreed to visit my health care provider, Rachel (she who must be obeyed!) rather quickly, and was alarmed when she voiced concern that I may have popped a second disc, this time in the lumbar (mid-back) region.
     I was immediately dispatched for an X-ray.
     Luckily, it came back negative. It doesn't explain why a different muscle decided to act up, but I'm satisfied to know I still only have one "official" problem child in my nearly 42-year-old spine. Oh, and about that one ... not to be outdone, once the lumbar strain began to subside, L5/S1 decided to voice its displeasure at being temporarily overshadowed.
     You guessed it; it started acting up. Cheeky little bugger.
     But this time, I've been actively combating it with something other than heating pad and drugs. On Rachel's orders, a mighty pair of physical therapists have been given orders to whip me into shape, kicking and screaming if necessary.
     In eight years as a back patient, I don't think I've ever given PT a go.
     I like it. And it's helping.
     Besides the physical stretching that PT mavens Michelle and Becky have me doing, they've given me a good bit of mental insight as well.
     This posture business is a killer. Decades of god-awful office chairs have left me slouching toward oblivion. In trying to find a comfortable position -- where there is none -- I invariably end up listing toward one side or another, curled up in a ball, sliding halfway under my desk or some such nonsense. What's worse, I'm no longer aware I'm doing it.
     In the last week and a half or so, I've been catching myself sliding into a state of unmindfulness about my posture and/or abdominal muscles with alarming regularity. They say that admitting you have a problem is the first step on the road to correcting a bad behavior, but I have a mountain of habit to break.
     Besides the PT, I have one other thing helping me. Although I was told in no uncertain terms that cardio and the weight room at the gym were off limits until further notice, my lovely PT people cleared me to hit the pool. More specifically, I was given the green light to join in the new season of Hempfield Rec Water Pilates, which began last Monday.
     For a variety of reasons, I hadn't participated in that activity in about two years.
     I had forgotten how much I loved it. (I had also forgotten how freaky it is to be "weightless" in the pool for an hour, then exit and feel like you're zipping on a fat suit.)
     Very likely, I will not get buff in these classes. I will not lose weight with them alone. However, they provide several benefits critical to my war on weight. This form of exercise will, without a doubt, improve my balance, flexibility and core strength.
     Key, key and key. I also remain highly amused by the fact that in the water, my range of motion is that of a fit person.
     In the last couple days, the back has been getting more and more stable. I have a follow-up appointment with Rachel this Thursday, at which point I hope to be cleared for cardio and weight machines. Honestly, I've missed them.
     Until then, though, you can find me in the pool.
     I'll be the one not slouching.  

Yoga of the Tuesday

     I have stood up to my fear and spit in its eye. My fear, meanwhile, seems to be taking out its frustrations on my knees.
     It's sort of like a sweaty circle of life.
     A few posts ago, I wrote about stepping up my efforts at the gym. I'm happy to report I continue to progress. Elliptical, treadmill and weight machines all are integrated into my routine now.
     What's more, I've taken the utterly terrifying plunge into uncamouflaged group exercise with Bodyflow. As I've previously related, this Les Mills creation is described by my gym as:

 "A yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates workout that builds flexibility and strength, leaving you feeling centered and calm. Controlled breathing, concentration and a carefully structured series of stretches, moves and poses create a holistic workout that brings the body into a state of harmony and balance."

     After surviving two whole classes, I can't really comment on the harmony part. I can say with great certainty, however, that my balance utterly stinks.
     I can also say with great certainty, "Ow. ... Ow, ow, ow. Ow." I'm merely quoting my knees.
     Additionally, I have commented on Facebook that I am quite stunned I haven't spot welded to the floor.
     My mantra — aside from "Ow, ow, ow" and under-my-breath random cursing —is "It'll get better."
     And it will. Honestly, I was very pleasantly surprised to find I had begun to noticeably adapt in just two classes. I'm not kidding myself, I've got a long, long way to go, but I feel I can do it.
     The unfailingly pleasant instructor, Kay, who strongly reminds me of one of my favorite high school teachers, has been wonderful. She gave me a quick rundown of the process my first class and simply said, "Do what you can. Don't beat yourself up. You'll learn."
     The other folks in the class — it's a mix of ages — have been welcoming and encouraging as well. That's something I worried about, given some previous encounters with ultra-fit gym rats who look at fat old me as though I am something they just scraped off the bottom of their shoe. Thankfully, though, they are turning out to be the ones in the minority, and as I go forward, I'm learning to be less intimidated by them.
     I can't say I'm going to be totally free of my Simmophobia, though. I think I'll always be embarrassed/scared by the thought of falling on my face/butt/other extremities in public exercise situations. That, and, well, Richard Simmons is a little frightening.
     In the meantime, I'll just keep at the Bodyflow thing in addition to my other gym work. I'm getting to the point that I really like it, and I'd like to be more proficient at it.
     But I do have a suggestion. I stumbled across a meme recently that appealed to me very much as both a budding yoga fan and as a geek, and I think the gym might benefit if it adapts this into a real program. Surely I'm not the only sci-fi nerd out here who wants/needs to improve fitness-wise.
     Behold, Star Wars Yoga:

   

     The whole set of poses can be found here.
     Apparently there are SW yoga mats and bags available on Etsy, but I've not heard of this as a real class. ... Hmm, maybe that's my new million-dollar idea. Remember, you heard it here first.
     May the force be with us all.

No pain, no ... well, you know

     I am sore.
     And it's likely to get worse, entirely of my own volition. That's not a bad thing.
     Come hell or high water ... and given the storms in Lancaster County tonight, the latter is entirely possible ... I will be hauling my tubby self back to the gym in the morning to lift more weights.
     I started back at the gym right about a month ago, spurred by the enthusiasm of Supportive Partner Man (toning up and slimming down!) and his truly epic War on Fat. I'm happy to report that I am still on the road to wellness. Up until now, however, it's been an exclusively cardio road.
     To try and get my cholesterol-saturated ticker and its accessories used to the idea of pumping blood again instead of melted butter, and so my joints wouldn't die of the shock, I stuck to the elliptical the first two weeks. Then I added the shiny new treadmills to my rotation. Just my second time on that, I forced myself into my own little HARC Death March ... a 5K at a 5.0 percent incline. It took me an inglorious hour. But I did it. The next morning, my Achilles' tendons felt like they were on fire. I could barely walk down the stairs.
     You could say I overdid it a bit. Earned me a minor scolding from Rachel, our awesome nurse practitioner. But I got back on the horse, er, machine, and started conditioning myself. Two more weeks down the road, my Achilles' don't feel like they're going to rip away, and I miss the cardio if I don't do it. I'm feeling much better, physically.
     So I've upped the ante again.
     On Monday, I had a 10 a.m. meeting with Dave, one of HARC's resident fitness instructors. At 67, he's more than enviably fit, leg-pressing 415 and hitting 125 on the abdominal crunch machine of doom. His challenge was to take me through all the Cybex weight machines and help me find proper form and correct settings.
     I only did one full set on each machine, but that apparently was enough to make a dent. I woke up Tuesday morning feeling quite achy. Given my intent to hit it harder today ... and throw in some cardio ... Thursday could be a big-time ibuprofin day. But again, that's not a bad thing.
     Maybe by the end of August, I'll be up for the next change in routine. Dave heartily suggested I try a group class in Bodypump or Bodyflow. That'll be a caution. I have long lived in fear of group exercise classes, as I am alarmingly uncoordinated. I've always been afraid of falling smack on my face in such a scenario and making a complete fool of myself. I know several people who do group classes and love them. My friend Cindy, for example, is the Zumba queen. Lori is a spin class fan who also has described herself as a "Pilates evangelist." And John is actually in training to become a yoga instructor. These friends often speak glowingly of their disciplines' benefits. I believe all of them. Meanwhile, part of me wants to try Bodyflow, described in the playbook as:

 "A yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates workout that builds flexibility and strength, leaving you feeling centered and calm. Controlled breathing, concentration and a carefully structured series of stretches, moves and poses create a holistic workout that brings the body into a state of harmony and balance."

     But I'm still petrified of publicly choreographed exercise.
     I wonder if there's an official name for that. Jazzerciseaphobia, maybe? Or, the unnatural fear of Richard Simmons ... Simmophobia?
     In the meantime, I'll just be over here in the weight room, picking things up and putting them down.

Steam heat and American Stick Insects

     So much for that twofer post ... is that really a week ago? Gee, time flies.

     No, I didn't get trapped under a pile of falling stuff last Friday. Literally, anyway. Figuratively? I always get trapped under a pile of falling stuff. I'm not quite sure how my attention always seems to get diverted by something else (my Disney fan friends are now shouting "squirrel!" in unison, I think), but I am prone to being easily sidetracked.

     So, let's see. What's been going on at Chez T since last I checked in?

     Our traditional family yard sale has been postponed — it was scheduled for tomorrow morning — because it's going to be ridiculously, disgustingly hot and humid. As The Lovely Cousin Jody explained it, it was for the best to postpone because: A, we didn't think it wise to make some of our older family members have to come out in the heat; and, B, the thought of haggling with the masses while overheated and drenched with sweat might lead to some, shall we say, unwelcome fits of temper ... or perhaps spontaneous combustion.

     The part of me that enjoys hanging out with some of my favorite family members is disappointed, but the part of me that enjoys air conditioning is quite pleased.

     And anyway, we'll still be having it, just on a (hopefully cooler) Saturday to be named later.

     Hmm, what else?

     In the ongoing gym-based serial "Tales of Brave Supportive Partner Man (he picks things up and puts them down!)," SPM has been chugging right along. He made his first visit to a support group last night, and his friendly neighborhood exercise physiologists, Ryan and Cory, apparently are happy with his progress in the gym. They have increased his weights and time on the cardio equipment. He's been coming home drenched and achy, but rightfully feeling quite good about himself. 

     As an extra bonus, he even went to the regular gym today for the first time in about two years. Although I am but the B-plot in this story — I'm shooting to earn an Emmy award for comic relief — I am happy to say that I got out of bed and accompanied him. I tried a different program on the elliptical today, which was going quite well until the machine told me to pedal backwards. I managed to do it without falling on my head, so, score. Lasted nearly five minutes going that way, too. But my quads are killing me.   

     The interesting part of going to the gym is the other people. There are a few who are built like we are, but most of them fall into three categories: fit, fitter and American Stick Insect. The last of which I remain intimidated by. There was one woman on the step machine today with eye-popping washboard abs and what looked to be 0.17 percent body fat. I know this because she was ruthlessly owning the machine while wearing only her spandex shorts and her sports bra. Seriously, you could liposuction me to within an inch of my life, then lock me in the gym for a month with only granola, water and the arc trainer to sustain me and I doubt I could be that thin. I know there are many of these people who are very nice. However, I've had issues with a few who have given me the stinkeye as I've loaded my tubby butt onto the elliptical, hinting that I had no right to be breathing their air.

     Makes me want to force-feed them a donut or six.

     SPM says he refuses to be intimidated by these people any longer, and he's going to go to the gym whether he feels wanted or not. He's just reported he's lost another belt notch, so I guess he's the one with the most correct outlook.