I am in a huge funk. I want to lugubriously scream to my bones! I want one of those embryonic stem cell teams to inject me and help me grow new bone. OK. Enough ranting, time for the story.
It was 17 days ago. I set out for a 6-miler on an early Wednesday morning--with walking hoodie and all. 20 minutes into the walk my left knee was yanking at my chain and I was in pain. Since I was walking with someone I finished the walk as decorously as I could and thought I needed more stretching once I got home.
When I opened the door to my house all I could do was collapse onto the front chair in excruciating pain in the left knee. It was so intense that I had tears on my face--so rare an incident that I even surprised myself. This pain level 10 remained for for 3 entire days. I told Byron to go ahead and shoot me already. Canes and crutches were utilized to get around. I did not walk or exercise for 2 full weeks.
The very next day x'rays were taken at the doctors. Suspecting some kind of meniscus tear because the x'rays looked fine to the family practitioner and me. Made an arrangement to have an MRI the following Monday to rule out the dreaded avascular necrosis, AVN--meaning bone death (reason for my prosthetic hips) and the exact tear/s. I thought for sure the MRI would reveal a small tear and that was it.
Obviously I was NO prophet. By Wednesday the results came back. MRI results were OK--soft tissue irregularities but no tear. Literally two minutes later my doctor sent me the more in-depth results of the x'rays via e-mail after a radiologist looked at them more carefully. I have multiple bone infarcts and edema in both knees--AVN has been in both knees for quite a while. Little pieces of bone in the knees have died and an infarct per each fracture is the result of each micro-stub. The prior Wednesday's 6-miler must have giggled and triggered a break inside the left knee that such severe painful symptom occurred. Another little piece of bone had died that day. Another loss.
Now, like Monk always says, "Here's the thing."---"You mean I can't even go walking anymore?" I was brooding in sorrow and anger. I went into a funk. The difference between a funk and depression is simple to me. A funk is something one is entirely in control of and is also aware of and know that it is healthy for the heart to feel troubled and even broken. Time will heal most wounds--both physical and emotional. Depression is when one simply falls into it without realization (most of the time) and one is fighting to get out without success. I am not fighting to get out of my funk. I LET me grieve. I need to feel the loss and work it out so I can face myself, strategize a Plan B, and to accept my new reality.
I like my funks. I spoil myself with my funks. I need my funks. What do I for myself when I am in a funk? I do all the work that I am supposed to--teaching, choir directing, playing for church, going to all necessary meetings, cooking, washing, shopping, cleaning, self-hygiene, etc… The biggest difference is that I spend a great deal of time by myself--reading, resting, watching Youtube and Chinese soaps. And I give myself love and permission to do all that! I am licking my wounds.
Actually writing about it is a sure sign that the end of this funk is near--well, may be a couple of more weeks. So what made me realize I needed to end this funk? I joined a gym. My pavement is now Matrix TX-10 (fancy Nordic Track-type treadmill made by Matrix). The sliding mechanism is much easier on the knees. Actually I am supposed to wait 6 weeks for the bone to heal but since there is almost no pain (just a little twitch here and there) I decided to work out since my lupus pains had returned due to lack of endorphins.
Thanks to the years of listening to my athletic son, I am finally taking up weight-training and a little of body-building. This Walking Butterfly bravely stepped on the Matrix pavement 2 days ago and tracked 2 miles, then topped it off with 40 minutes of weight-training. Today the same routine. I intend to keep this up for a few months--every other day. Never looking back, my 6 or more miler days might be over, I am not sure at this moment. So I am going to get some muscle on them bones finally. Some day soon I won't have to listen to the medical assistants telling me, "If I were you, I'd get some more meat on them bones." every time they take my blood pressure with a pediatric apparatus, so annoying, really.
I realized this blog started out as a blog about my walking. I am still walking, yet there's more to just walking now. I am re-sculpturing my body in addition to walking. I hope to regain more strength in the knees by staying on the Matrix pavement longer and longer. Whatever and whenever that is going to happen to my knees will happen and I will probably be in another funk, possibly even in a bigger one because they will have to be replaced in the future. I am Ok with it. And I hope you are OK with it, too.
Wherever there is knowledge and hope, fear can never penetrate. I am still on top after 26 years of lupus. Not once have I stayed down--still in the ring!!!!
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
The Walking Hoodie…
How can the sun and I co-exist? This is a serious question and dilemma for me this past 25 years and for future years to come.
I cannot ever imagine myself walking in the dark for many reasons: the primary being safety, and then the issue of falling due to not seeing well. Since I have very expensive hardware inside my body (prostheses), falling poses a very dangerous medical complication that I would rather not take the chance. Yet no matter how early I start walking in the morning, the sun greets me with vim and rigor every time. My lupus skin does not approve.
My dermatologist found 2 small lesions on my face and of course, I was admonished. My son joked with me about getting me a Burqa!! I started asking around but wearing a Burqa might subject myself to another set of possible unpleasantries.
A funny bone tickled me. I thought of the ski masks that bank robbers use in the movies and started wondering where I could get a hold of one--not going to rob a bank, promise.
Last week I thought all the cyclists I run into during my walks and how their faces are always covered underneath their helmets. Then I thought about costumes like Spiderman and Batman. I walked into Sports Authority and asked to see face masks and face hoodies. I was directed to the cycling section. There they were----so many different types: from a skull to Spiderman!! There were at least 30 different prints and several types of fabric. I chose a plain light fleece fuchsia hoodie that covers the head, the neck, and the entire face with a slit opening for eyes. There were only 2 colors, black and fuchsia. I thought the black one looked ominous so I chose the latter.
With proper medical creams and ointments the facial lesions are abating and my face is all but covered during my walks. In the summer, there are tube-like spandex headbands that can cover my face from the cheeks down and a wide-brimmed visor would cover the forehead and eyes.
This is beginning to be a boring blog even for me to write. The point about this story is not so much the process of finding proper cover for my skin and my face. This blog is about the mere fact that I can't even co-exist with the early morning sun for even a couple of hours without fearing for my life. So many of us take so many things for granted.
When I was a little girl my mother made sure I was in the morning sun everyday for at least half an hour. She was adamant about vitamin D and sunshine. Now I take vitamin D in a pill and cover my entire body when I greet the sun. What an irony!
Each time I lose a normality due to lupus, I grieve just a bit. Over the years I have learned to grieve less and less. Nonetheless, grief is real and painful. I have learned to use humor to redirect my thought patterns. I have coined a funny name for each of the medications I take and I call my fake hips "hardware". However, underneath all that "jazz", I am too painfully aware of the limits lupus has placed on my life and on the quality of my life.
Walking in my hoodie is both warm, and cool:)! I am the only one! People look at me, stare at me, and a couple of Muslims guys did a double take (wrong color for Burqa). Yet I am rest assured that the sun and I are friends again and we can most certainly co-exist.
I cannot ever imagine myself walking in the dark for many reasons: the primary being safety, and then the issue of falling due to not seeing well. Since I have very expensive hardware inside my body (prostheses), falling poses a very dangerous medical complication that I would rather not take the chance. Yet no matter how early I start walking in the morning, the sun greets me with vim and rigor every time. My lupus skin does not approve.
My dermatologist found 2 small lesions on my face and of course, I was admonished. My son joked with me about getting me a Burqa!! I started asking around but wearing a Burqa might subject myself to another set of possible unpleasantries.
A funny bone tickled me. I thought of the ski masks that bank robbers use in the movies and started wondering where I could get a hold of one--not going to rob a bank, promise.
Last week I thought all the cyclists I run into during my walks and how their faces are always covered underneath their helmets. Then I thought about costumes like Spiderman and Batman. I walked into Sports Authority and asked to see face masks and face hoodies. I was directed to the cycling section. There they were----so many different types: from a skull to Spiderman!! There were at least 30 different prints and several types of fabric. I chose a plain light fleece fuchsia hoodie that covers the head, the neck, and the entire face with a slit opening for eyes. There were only 2 colors, black and fuchsia. I thought the black one looked ominous so I chose the latter.
With proper medical creams and ointments the facial lesions are abating and my face is all but covered during my walks. In the summer, there are tube-like spandex headbands that can cover my face from the cheeks down and a wide-brimmed visor would cover the forehead and eyes.
This is beginning to be a boring blog even for me to write. The point about this story is not so much the process of finding proper cover for my skin and my face. This blog is about the mere fact that I can't even co-exist with the early morning sun for even a couple of hours without fearing for my life. So many of us take so many things for granted.
When I was a little girl my mother made sure I was in the morning sun everyday for at least half an hour. She was adamant about vitamin D and sunshine. Now I take vitamin D in a pill and cover my entire body when I greet the sun. What an irony!
Each time I lose a normality due to lupus, I grieve just a bit. Over the years I have learned to grieve less and less. Nonetheless, grief is real and painful. I have learned to use humor to redirect my thought patterns. I have coined a funny name for each of the medications I take and I call my fake hips "hardware". However, underneath all that "jazz", I am too painfully aware of the limits lupus has placed on my life and on the quality of my life.
Walking in my hoodie is both warm, and cool:)! I am the only one! People look at me, stare at me, and a couple of Muslims guys did a double take (wrong color for Burqa). Yet I am rest assured that the sun and I are friends again and we can most certainly co-exist.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Walking….full circle
There is one more day left in 2011. As usual, I bundled myself up like a penguin (white jacket and black leggings) and was on my 7-miler route this morning.
The streets were calm at 8:30 in the morning, not much traffic, semi-hybernating/partying week: the week between Christmas and New Year. I started to retrace my steps in 2011 as I was stepping forward in a fast-paced power-walk mode.
Where do I start? let's start with my lupus--a very good place to start. 2011 has turned out to be the year of my regular and on-going visits to UC Davis' Cancer Center for leukopenia--low white count. As I have grown almost too painfully accustomed to bad news, it was a bigger blow than usual. The sight and the smells, the patients and their ashen countenance proved to be a grueling exercise to walk in there and not be "moved". A lovely East Indian hematologist greeted me and now we are fast friends. She is young, warm, engaging and the best of all, encouraging at every turn. Just as we thought I needed hormone treatments, my blood would do an about turn and the white count would be inching up. Then down, up, down, up….and then the red count would take a nose-dive, then up, down, up, down.... My red count and white count have been playing on a swing all year--24/7--it does not seem to abate. And so I have learned to live with yet another medical routine, and another doctor in the docket.
Another lupus issue in 2011 is this pain predicament. The very reason the walking and this blog started. Please do read my past blogs to get more details. Yes, I started to fight pain with walking (very painful at first). Honestly, I can say I have traded one type of pain with another. Power-walking leaves me extremely sore whereas lupus just tortures me with unrelenting pain everywhere in the body.
June of 2011 marked a significant time for me and my entire family. Our son graduated from high school and decided to go to Berea College in Kentucky in the fall. We became empty-nesters and I am loving it.
My walking has turned into a time that I guard and treasure. I recounted this morning my journeys to Montreat, North Carolina in June, then Berea, Kentucky in August, and the countless drives to Daly City, California visiting my mother. I can declare that I am walking to think, I am walking to calm, I am walking to quell pain and most importantly, I am walking to be sane.
I calculated that by now I have set my footprints over 350 or so miles of pavement. Every footprint is intentional and purposeful. My legs became re-aquainted with the former marathon runner (moi) and the muscles are back. There is more a spring in my steps, there is power in my stride. And it is high time to consider "walking" a marathon in 2012.
My heart is full and my legs are pumped!
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Walking Wounded
"I have a pain in the butt!" I said. "And I will BE a pain in the butt if I don't rest up now!"
My husband is used to hearing these words from me. My sciatic nerves are shot from the trauma of the two total hips replacements and hips revisions. The pain in the buttock is no laughing matter when it comes to walking or simply being just upright.
A month ago I decided to give it up and called the doctor for another slow/long-acting epi-dural injection of steroids. This Friday morning I am going in to be poked. Hopefully this will ease up the protestation and the revolution in the behind for a another couple of years.
It is an archaic attempt to live with pain anymore, by all technological and medical standards. By that I mean that the medical establishment has created, invented and then re-created and re-invented so many solutions and drugs to pain-control that anyone choosing to live with pain is either a martyr or a moron, so I thought.
Well, I live with pain, non-retractable, relentless pain. So I am either a martyr or a moron. I am both.
I am a martyr not by choice, but by my genetic make-up (now the pandora box of genes is open). Mother nature has predestined me to a life of lupus. A life that is full of pain. Mother nature has also designed my digestive system to only accept certain foods and chemicals. When my stomach finds certain pain meds repulsive and starts a revolt, I am back in pain. When my body continues to ignite and inflame itself, I am in pain. So the martyrdom is half self-inflicted without cognitive agreement. The moronic part is the way I have chosen to make my own pain relief--by walking.
Due to limitations to what I can do physically to make endorphins, I chose walking. When I walk at least 2 hours a day, my pain is tolerable with help from Tylenol. It is super time-consuming.
I do have another choice. The choice of lying around and doing nothing--much like many other lupus patients. I have given this choice a lot of thought. At times this choice is so alluring that I am actually "good" with it. The unacceptable drawback of this choice is: ONE WILL HAVE NO LIFE.
Life to me is immensely more than pain or lupus. Life is more important than May Tucker or Walking Butterfly. Life is a philosophy that echoes a footprint in the sand: it shows that someone has made an impression on this earth, however ethereal. My footprint is only one in billions. But it's mine.
I want to step out and be counted. I want to feel the ocean hitting the shore with my feet. I want to build my own sandcastle. I want to bask in the sun and feel its warmth. I want to taste the salt of the sea. I want to swim and laugh. I want to party with my friends and family. I want to have a picnic and then some. Lastly, I want to have my corner on this earth and make an impression with the writing from my heart. Nothing, not lupus, not anything else can take that away from me.
So I am the walking wounded. And woundedly I walk.
My husband is used to hearing these words from me. My sciatic nerves are shot from the trauma of the two total hips replacements and hips revisions. The pain in the buttock is no laughing matter when it comes to walking or simply being just upright.
A month ago I decided to give it up and called the doctor for another slow/long-acting epi-dural injection of steroids. This Friday morning I am going in to be poked. Hopefully this will ease up the protestation and the revolution in the behind for a another couple of years.
It is an archaic attempt to live with pain anymore, by all technological and medical standards. By that I mean that the medical establishment has created, invented and then re-created and re-invented so many solutions and drugs to pain-control that anyone choosing to live with pain is either a martyr or a moron, so I thought.
Well, I live with pain, non-retractable, relentless pain. So I am either a martyr or a moron. I am both.
I am a martyr not by choice, but by my genetic make-up (now the pandora box of genes is open). Mother nature has predestined me to a life of lupus. A life that is full of pain. Mother nature has also designed my digestive system to only accept certain foods and chemicals. When my stomach finds certain pain meds repulsive and starts a revolt, I am back in pain. When my body continues to ignite and inflame itself, I am in pain. So the martyrdom is half self-inflicted without cognitive agreement. The moronic part is the way I have chosen to make my own pain relief--by walking.
Due to limitations to what I can do physically to make endorphins, I chose walking. When I walk at least 2 hours a day, my pain is tolerable with help from Tylenol. It is super time-consuming.
I do have another choice. The choice of lying around and doing nothing--much like many other lupus patients. I have given this choice a lot of thought. At times this choice is so alluring that I am actually "good" with it. The unacceptable drawback of this choice is: ONE WILL HAVE NO LIFE.
Life to me is immensely more than pain or lupus. Life is more important than May Tucker or Walking Butterfly. Life is a philosophy that echoes a footprint in the sand: it shows that someone has made an impression on this earth, however ethereal. My footprint is only one in billions. But it's mine.
I want to step out and be counted. I want to feel the ocean hitting the shore with my feet. I want to build my own sandcastle. I want to bask in the sun and feel its warmth. I want to taste the salt of the sea. I want to swim and laugh. I want to party with my friends and family. I want to have a picnic and then some. Lastly, I want to have my corner on this earth and make an impression with the writing from my heart. Nothing, not lupus, not anything else can take that away from me.
So I am the walking wounded. And woundedly I walk.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Walking and the homeless….
As I walk on the beautiful American River bike trail most mornings, I see uncountable homeless families staying in tents along the river bank. My heart goes out to them, especially to the children and the elderly. Last Wednesday I counted over 150 tents. And there I was walking, holding a very nice water bottle and keeping my distance as if they were going to hurt me. How absurd is that?
Walking is supposed to ease my pain, not add to it, I thought. I could not help but had my eyes and heart opened by the plight of these folks and families down on their luck. So many are hurting in so many ways. The beautiful scenery of the river is compromised by the shivering adults and children I witnessed.
It would be inhumane to do nothing. Yet what can I do? These folks have their daily routine down to a science: big brunch at Loaves and Fishes and then shower, children go to Mustard Seed School for the homeless where they are fed again, and dinner is up for grabs. Most of them have an address with the county welfare office so they can receive food stamps (it comes like a credit card now) to buy additional food and other needed items.
I understand my limitations yet I decided to do what I can, in the capacity that would allow me to be charitable without risking my own safety. My church has a food closet that serves thousands of people every month. The South Sacramento Interfaith Partnership Food Closet opens for 3 hours a day and is run by mostly volunteers. The mission of this organization is not for the homeless but is geared towards the marginalized folks who live in homes and have addresses but do not not enough money to buy all needed food for their families at times.
I donated 200 pounds of potatoes 2 days before Thanksgiving--it was like a drop in a bucket. I felt so helpless because I wanted all of them to have plenty yet reality was different…..
I learned something in the last a couple of weeks as the weather has turned cold at night and in the early morning. I am blessed because I can eat all the food I want, I have a beautiful and warm house, and I don't lack anything. I walk to fight pain and yet I saw another type of pain. The pain of the rawness and bleakness of the homeless and all the complications that go with it.
As I continue to walk, I hope my soul would remain open and be vigilant to the people I encounter. There are more than my own pain and my own endorphins. There are the misfortune and challenging survival of many whose pain I have yet to know.
Walking is supposed to ease my pain, not add to it, I thought. I could not help but had my eyes and heart opened by the plight of these folks and families down on their luck. So many are hurting in so many ways. The beautiful scenery of the river is compromised by the shivering adults and children I witnessed.
It would be inhumane to do nothing. Yet what can I do? These folks have their daily routine down to a science: big brunch at Loaves and Fishes and then shower, children go to Mustard Seed School for the homeless where they are fed again, and dinner is up for grabs. Most of them have an address with the county welfare office so they can receive food stamps (it comes like a credit card now) to buy additional food and other needed items.
I understand my limitations yet I decided to do what I can, in the capacity that would allow me to be charitable without risking my own safety. My church has a food closet that serves thousands of people every month. The South Sacramento Interfaith Partnership Food Closet opens for 3 hours a day and is run by mostly volunteers. The mission of this organization is not for the homeless but is geared towards the marginalized folks who live in homes and have addresses but do not not enough money to buy all needed food for their families at times.
I donated 200 pounds of potatoes 2 days before Thanksgiving--it was like a drop in a bucket. I felt so helpless because I wanted all of them to have plenty yet reality was different…..
I learned something in the last a couple of weeks as the weather has turned cold at night and in the early morning. I am blessed because I can eat all the food I want, I have a beautiful and warm house, and I don't lack anything. I walk to fight pain and yet I saw another type of pain. The pain of the rawness and bleakness of the homeless and all the complications that go with it.
As I continue to walk, I hope my soul would remain open and be vigilant to the people I encounter. There are more than my own pain and my own endorphins. There are the misfortune and challenging survival of many whose pain I have yet to know.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Walking and Body Weight
I have been asked to address the more popular and light-hearted subject of walking and weight loss by many friends. So this blog is for them.
I have always be slim. During my teen years and 20's I was more muscular because I was a long distance runner. I was also a vegetarian. Now, I am a proponent of "whole foods" and I do eat meat. In addition, I believe in eating seasonally and consuming local produce as much as possible.
That being said, I do have a some insights on long distance walking and body weight. I am not a medical professional but the simple math of intake and output is undeniable. If one has more intake than output, one is going to gain weight; and then the opposite is that one will lose weight.
I have not changed my diet much to accommodate my hours of walking. I have added more lean protein such as Fage's non-fat plain Greek yogurt (so delicious), cottage cheese and more fresh fruits--sometimes up to 12 servings of fruits a day. I still eat an almost vegetarian diet with the exception of more salmon or other fish. My caloric intake has not increased by much, may be around 200 calories more a day, at the most. And I walk at least 2 hours a day and once a week I walk 5 hours and then some.
When I stepped on the pavement to start walking over 2 months ago, 3 weeks into my walking I noticed that my body started to re-shape itself: flatter stomach, less adipose under my entire body--firmer and more toned muscles emerged. It is evident that even my face lost its roundness yet my weight did not drop significantly. I weigh just about 5 pounds less but I feel more compact as most of you know that muscles weigh more than fat. So for me, walking has not been the magical weight loss program for me. However, if you have 35% of fat or more in your body, you will lose more weight more quickly. Lean folk like me just get toned and denser muscles.
As you may remember, I did not start walking to lose weight. I started to walk to curb pain. So I have not paid as much attention to weight loss as I should have. The 5 pounds I lost was alarming because it happened very quickly--second week. So I have been doing everything to maintain my current weight---116 lbs. at around 5'6".
I do want to talk about whole foods and seasonal and local diet. I eat foods that look like the way they are from the ground or from the original sources---no box foods for me. In terms of vegetables and fruits, I eat seasonally: berries are abundant in late spring and earlier summer and that's when I eat them. I know grocery stores are still selling strawberries and blue berries now--they are imported and not seasonal here in CA so I don't eat them. In terms of meat and fish I buy them from a butcher instead packaged deals. Chinese and Asian markets are known for their swimming fish and fresh cuts of meat. I get to see the meats and choose what I think is the freshest.
A couple of other important dietary habits I have employed are: absolutely NO white sugar and NO deep-fried foods; suffice to say, I can't remember the last time I went into a fast food joint. These actions might take a bit of discipline for most people but they came quite easily for me as I never did like much sweets and deep-fried anything.
So much about diet and weight loss, I can't say enough the importance of some sort of exercise for everyone. I walk because of a serious personal conviction to survive and cope with my health issues. Yet one does not need to step on the pavement because of a health issue. Walking is cheap--all you need are comfortable shoes, warm clothes, sun-block and may be music. No membership fees and all the other fancy trimmings of a health club. Walking is natural. Everyone walks. Walking is by far the most holistic of all exercises and when done regularly with proper eating habits, one can expect miracles.
Now, put on your comfy shoes, wear a visor, take your house key, and hit the pavement, everyday. Just do it!!!
I have always be slim. During my teen years and 20's I was more muscular because I was a long distance runner. I was also a vegetarian. Now, I am a proponent of "whole foods" and I do eat meat. In addition, I believe in eating seasonally and consuming local produce as much as possible.
That being said, I do have a some insights on long distance walking and body weight. I am not a medical professional but the simple math of intake and output is undeniable. If one has more intake than output, one is going to gain weight; and then the opposite is that one will lose weight.
I have not changed my diet much to accommodate my hours of walking. I have added more lean protein such as Fage's non-fat plain Greek yogurt (so delicious), cottage cheese and more fresh fruits--sometimes up to 12 servings of fruits a day. I still eat an almost vegetarian diet with the exception of more salmon or other fish. My caloric intake has not increased by much, may be around 200 calories more a day, at the most. And I walk at least 2 hours a day and once a week I walk 5 hours and then some.
When I stepped on the pavement to start walking over 2 months ago, 3 weeks into my walking I noticed that my body started to re-shape itself: flatter stomach, less adipose under my entire body--firmer and more toned muscles emerged. It is evident that even my face lost its roundness yet my weight did not drop significantly. I weigh just about 5 pounds less but I feel more compact as most of you know that muscles weigh more than fat. So for me, walking has not been the magical weight loss program for me. However, if you have 35% of fat or more in your body, you will lose more weight more quickly. Lean folk like me just get toned and denser muscles.
As you may remember, I did not start walking to lose weight. I started to walk to curb pain. So I have not paid as much attention to weight loss as I should have. The 5 pounds I lost was alarming because it happened very quickly--second week. So I have been doing everything to maintain my current weight---116 lbs. at around 5'6".
I do want to talk about whole foods and seasonal and local diet. I eat foods that look like the way they are from the ground or from the original sources---no box foods for me. In terms of vegetables and fruits, I eat seasonally: berries are abundant in late spring and earlier summer and that's when I eat them. I know grocery stores are still selling strawberries and blue berries now--they are imported and not seasonal here in CA so I don't eat them. In terms of meat and fish I buy them from a butcher instead packaged deals. Chinese and Asian markets are known for their swimming fish and fresh cuts of meat. I get to see the meats and choose what I think is the freshest.
A couple of other important dietary habits I have employed are: absolutely NO white sugar and NO deep-fried foods; suffice to say, I can't remember the last time I went into a fast food joint. These actions might take a bit of discipline for most people but they came quite easily for me as I never did like much sweets and deep-fried anything.
So much about diet and weight loss, I can't say enough the importance of some sort of exercise for everyone. I walk because of a serious personal conviction to survive and cope with my health issues. Yet one does not need to step on the pavement because of a health issue. Walking is cheap--all you need are comfortable shoes, warm clothes, sun-block and may be music. No membership fees and all the other fancy trimmings of a health club. Walking is natural. Everyone walks. Walking is by far the most holistic of all exercises and when done regularly with proper eating habits, one can expect miracles.
Now, put on your comfy shoes, wear a visor, take your house key, and hit the pavement, everyday. Just do it!!!
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Walking past 150 miles…..and Mt. Whitney
I don't know about you, but nothing makes me feel accomplished and content until I am satisfied with the results of my own efforts, however long it takes.
It was a sunny, early August day in 1976. In honor of USA's bicentennial, a group of us decided to go on top of a tall mountain and plant the Stars and Stripes--our national flag. There were 8 of us driving from San Francisco to climb Mt. Whitney in Southern California. All the sleeping bags, food supplies, toiletries and miscellaneous items were carefully checked and re-caclulated to ensure our survival during the climb and back.
I had been in this country for about a year then and was not inducted into the grandness of these United States of America and her natural landscape as well as beauty. I had just finished my 150th mile jogging the week before preparing for this hike to 10,000 feet above sea level.
About 2 hours into the climb I turned around during our recess and my jaw dropped! Why are we still at the bottom? The 7-mile hike should be a cinch, but no, very soon my chest was heaving and the feeling of being stabbed over and over by a sharp knife would not relent. More breaks, more rest stops. The elevation was getting to all of us. Nature was flaunting the power of height and the thinning of oxygen. We were aching, feeling slithered and almost totally defeated by the mountain and the lack of air!
After lunch some of us were discouraged. We were all in great physical condition and were proud of our prowess as jocks. We needed no guide on this mountain because we WERE GOOD for it. The eery afternoon was silent. I heard only the struggling breaths of myself and my climbing party. One foot forward, then another, and another. A little light came into our quiet despair around 2 p.m. We saw the peak and we were half way there. I ached so horrifically all over and the nausea had begun to interfere with ability to breathe. None of us gave in to our inadequacies, we'd rather die!
Around 8:30 p.m., we looked at one another and let out the loudest cry! Yes, yes, yes, yes! A lot of crying and laughing, even weeping came over us. We were high. We were standing on the peak of Mount Whitney--10,150 feet above sea level. Then as if we had rehearsed, we all scurried and scattered and found a quiet spot alone in this peak and started "zen-like" personal, private meditations. 9 p.m., 14 hours after we set foot on this mountain, the sun had set almost completely, our collective hunger warranted a strike on this exquisite moment of personal reflection.
I recalled crying by myself in joy: recounting and retracing the agonizing steps through the entire day. I wrote in my journal and I quote,"Is there anything more precious to me than the over-whelming content feeling of accomplishing something well with all of my efforts?"
Stepping out to walk to fight pain 7 weeks ago was not a flippant or temporal idea. It was a conscious and deliberate attempt to try to ease my physical pain. It was my last-straw effort in the fight of a savaging illness that has robbed so much of my life. I gave walking no chance to fail. And it can't fail. The journey of these past 150 miles was wrought with great risks and a massive amount of gnawing pain those first days. I am starting to reap the benefits of high levels of endorphin and my pain is under my thumb and my feet, literally. My walking now reminded me of our Mt. Whitney hike 35 years ago.
What lied ahead 35 years ago after we reached the top of an enormously tall mountain was the cold, dark night; and of course, the descent the following day. On that dark mountain and ice-cold night I was again face-to-face with the unfathomable power of nature and my own vast limitations in every turn. It's a miracle we all made it down the next day. The encounter with Mt. Whitney had a profound effect on the 8 of us. Somehow we emerged from the mountaintop different, perhaps we were worn and weathered a bit, just a bit, no more cockiness. We piled into our vehicles in total exhaustion as well as sweet contentment heading north, singing most of our way.
The feeling of content accomplishment has no fanfare and needs no audience and applause. It is absolutely silent and private. I am there.
It was a sunny, early August day in 1976. In honor of USA's bicentennial, a group of us decided to go on top of a tall mountain and plant the Stars and Stripes--our national flag. There were 8 of us driving from San Francisco to climb Mt. Whitney in Southern California. All the sleeping bags, food supplies, toiletries and miscellaneous items were carefully checked and re-caclulated to ensure our survival during the climb and back.
I had been in this country for about a year then and was not inducted into the grandness of these United States of America and her natural landscape as well as beauty. I had just finished my 150th mile jogging the week before preparing for this hike to 10,000 feet above sea level.
About 2 hours into the climb I turned around during our recess and my jaw dropped! Why are we still at the bottom? The 7-mile hike should be a cinch, but no, very soon my chest was heaving and the feeling of being stabbed over and over by a sharp knife would not relent. More breaks, more rest stops. The elevation was getting to all of us. Nature was flaunting the power of height and the thinning of oxygen. We were aching, feeling slithered and almost totally defeated by the mountain and the lack of air!
After lunch some of us were discouraged. We were all in great physical condition and were proud of our prowess as jocks. We needed no guide on this mountain because we WERE GOOD for it. The eery afternoon was silent. I heard only the struggling breaths of myself and my climbing party. One foot forward, then another, and another. A little light came into our quiet despair around 2 p.m. We saw the peak and we were half way there. I ached so horrifically all over and the nausea had begun to interfere with ability to breathe. None of us gave in to our inadequacies, we'd rather die!
Around 8:30 p.m., we looked at one another and let out the loudest cry! Yes, yes, yes, yes! A lot of crying and laughing, even weeping came over us. We were high. We were standing on the peak of Mount Whitney--10,150 feet above sea level. Then as if we had rehearsed, we all scurried and scattered and found a quiet spot alone in this peak and started "zen-like" personal, private meditations. 9 p.m., 14 hours after we set foot on this mountain, the sun had set almost completely, our collective hunger warranted a strike on this exquisite moment of personal reflection.
I recalled crying by myself in joy: recounting and retracing the agonizing steps through the entire day. I wrote in my journal and I quote,"Is there anything more precious to me than the over-whelming content feeling of accomplishing something well with all of my efforts?"
Stepping out to walk to fight pain 7 weeks ago was not a flippant or temporal idea. It was a conscious and deliberate attempt to try to ease my physical pain. It was my last-straw effort in the fight of a savaging illness that has robbed so much of my life. I gave walking no chance to fail. And it can't fail. The journey of these past 150 miles was wrought with great risks and a massive amount of gnawing pain those first days. I am starting to reap the benefits of high levels of endorphin and my pain is under my thumb and my feet, literally. My walking now reminded me of our Mt. Whitney hike 35 years ago.
What lied ahead 35 years ago after we reached the top of an enormously tall mountain was the cold, dark night; and of course, the descent the following day. On that dark mountain and ice-cold night I was again face-to-face with the unfathomable power of nature and my own vast limitations in every turn. It's a miracle we all made it down the next day. The encounter with Mt. Whitney had a profound effect on the 8 of us. Somehow we emerged from the mountaintop different, perhaps we were worn and weathered a bit, just a bit, no more cockiness. We piled into our vehicles in total exhaustion as well as sweet contentment heading north, singing most of our way.
The feeling of content accomplishment has no fanfare and needs no audience and applause. It is absolutely silent and private. I am there.
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