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.

Renewing the Battle of the Bulge

     As an Oversized American, I've never been too fond of going for regular doctor visits.
     Dentist, eye doc, those I can handle ... they don't force me onto a scale. "Woman's doctor" and GP? I'd almost rather be made to sit and listen, for hours on end, to rich politicians or fire-and-brimstoney preachers endlessly yammering about how they know what's best for me and the rest of the unwashed masses. Almost.
     Today, however, I had a most unusual experience: a GP visit I actually found somewhat pleasant and definitely worth the price of admission.
     Given the ongoing medical treatment of Supportive Partner Man (pursuer of a healthier lifestyle!), I, in an effort to be more supportive of him for a change, have made the choice to improve my own overall health and welfare. Keep in mind that I have been running about three years past the expiration date in the checkup department. My primary doc of record was still based in our old home of Reading. SPM, meanwhile, recently has fallen in with a new caregiver at his "primary physician's" sprawling Lancaster practice. Upon meeting her — Rachel Ho, nurse practitioner — for the first time last month, I made an appointment of my own.
     With that appointment behind me, I can say with certainty that she's pretty damned cool, very knowledgeable and, most importantly, will not hesitate to boot me up the arse as I need it.
     "They call me 'The Dictator,' " she said with a quirked eyebrow and a lazy grin.
     No, this one's not going to take me being lazy about my health. I get the distinct feeling that she's going to challenge me, go drill sergeant on me, explain things in depth and actually get involved with my care past a cursory glance at my record and check of my blood pressure.
     As an aside, I'm happy to report that my BP was 104/64. I was floored. Both The Old Man and Saint Joan sailed off into Hypertensionland in their mid-40s, so I am a bit nervous about potentially going the same route, especially given my love of super-salty foodstuffs. So far, so good, though.
     But my challenge is my weight. I know ... shocking, right?
     Still, it can be very sobering to hear a medical professional, no matter how awesomely snarky, tell you that you could stand to lose somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 pounds. In all honesty, I could be a candidate for the bariatric surgery SPM is considering. Sobering, indeed. She wants me to fall in line with the diet and lifestyle changes made by SPM in the last month, with which she was most pleased. His blood sugar numbers are trending down, as is his weight. I'm very, very proud  of him; but like the blogging, where he's also ahead of me, I need to catch up.
     My next official appointment is in mid-Septemeber, though I'll get to see Rachel for a monthly side dish of motivation at Brian's regular appointments with her. My "official" bloodwork — the tale of the tape on my other official problem, high cholesterol — is due at that time. That gives me three months to show I'm making some progress. And in the meantime, I've booked my yearly trip to the woman's doctor, scheduled a mammogram and made a dentist appointment. The eye doctor will probably show up in the rotation later this summer, too.
      I really should seek out a local specialist for my arthritic lower back, while I'm at it. I do have a recommendation for one. Perhaps in the fall, depending on how I'm doing in the Rachel Challenge.
     I must leave you today with something I found in my Twitter feed this morning that I thought was both amusing and appropriate. From the fine folks at Retronaut, it definitely made me laugh:

   
     Wonder if I can find a set of these on eBay?