Life in Horizontal

I am writing this entry laying horizontal with the computer in my lap, two snoozing danes sprawled alongside me, and a heating pad on my back. A few days ago I made the enthusiastic, but not so bright, decision to hoist the dogs' 32 lbs of dog kibble into the back of the car by myself. The repercussions of this act did not become evident immediately; it was the next day, following a cleaning frenzy of the condo that my back began to emit a droning, spastic outcry. Yesterday morning I felt some twinges, but I knew things were not boding well for my bod when after attempting to extricate myself from the beach chair at the end of the day, I realized I could not stand fully upright. On the way home from the beach, I hobbled into the nearerst pharmacy and stocked up on heat patches, pain reliever and invested in a new, lovely blue heating pad. I spent the night in the embrace of the big living room chair with the healing heat of the pad coaxing my muscles to relax and unspasm. I have spent today horizontal, to the tail-thumping delight of the dogs, Zeebo and Suki, since they have never experienced me sharing their prime napping hours alongside them.

Being knocked for a loop by an injury is always startling. If you recall last summer I suffered an elbow injury after being bowled over by love in a parking lot by my dane, Zeebo. In that post I wrote about how recovery from an injury offers one opportunities to celebrate little achievements and successes on the road back to health. Over the past couple of days I have been thinking about how this new injury has provided me with time to consider how I tend to push my body beyond its limits simply because my mind thinks a particular task is a good idea and like an unruly tyrant, overthrows good sense and takes charge. I have brought running injuries onto myself in the past because I did not want to listen to the signals my body tried to provide me about slowing down. A few years back I was so intent on training and completing the Honolulu Marathon that, while running the event I popped ibuprofen to manage the pain in my aching left achilles tendon. Upon return to TX and a visit to an orthopod, I left the doctor's office sporting a bright blue cast for the next three months while time healed my inflamed tendon. Fortunately following a year of taking it easy, I am back to running--no more marathons, but I am so grateful to be able to continue to indulge my passion for running that I gladly pass the marathon baton to another.

Earlier today I pondered over how difficult it is for me to accept that my body is aging and that I need to heed its messages. I have always been an athlete and a woman proud of my strength and independence. It is a sobering reality to accept aging and some of the physical difficulties that accompany the passing of years. Not that I am ready by any means to cancel my subscription to Runner's World or trade in my membership card to my gym for a motorized scooter, but what I am beginning to realize (albeit reluctantly) is that in order for me to continue to enjoy physical movement and activity for decades to come, I need to temper it and allow my body, not my head, to signal when I need not push myself so hard.

So today I make the commitment to acknowledge that my body is no longer as agile and strong as it was 20 years ago. I acknowledge that I love my body and wish to treat it with kindness and honor, rather than with abuse by rushing headlong into physical feats, with no thought to the potential aftermath. Today I will begin to ask for assistance and help when needed rather than allowing my pride to lead me down this particular path of pain. Here's to hoping that tomorrow I will stand a bit straighter and I will be a bit smarter as I age one more day.

Thought for the Day: What can you do today to honor your body and treat it with the respect it deserves?

“Aging is not 'lost youth' but a new stage of opportunity and strength.”
--Betty Friedan