Not that long ago (or so I want to believe…) when a new ache or pain showed up I had a pretty good idea what the cause was. As our kids were growing up we had a very large yard. It was fully landscaped ( 1 1/3 acre) so it required (demanded actually) constant attention. Repairing sprinklers, improving planting beds. mowing, trimming, and weeding were some of the weekly chores I couldn’t get out of. The fall season would be and endless supply of leaves and winter was shoveling the snow. Spring was clean-up and planting. Summer was maintenance and the payback for all the hard work— hosting parties and family get-togethers-requiring all hands on deck to get ready. Saturday and Sunday nights were tylenol followed by BBQ and margaritas. By 9 pm my body would hardly move but I knew where every ache and blister came from. Pity was easy for me to ask for because it came from a worthwhile cause. Home DIY projects required every muscle to show up to lift, move, haul, paint, hammer, build—whatever was required, often alone, hoping for another hand but figuring out how to do it by myself. I know I whined about it more often than not because it was more about the acknowledgment of the task than actually doing it. Worn out, bleeding somewhere and rubbing and stretching sore body parts were my weekend ritual. Sports ailments were different because I had friends to commiserate with and compare injuries. The best were after a full day of skiing with my kids. The older they got, the more competitive it became. After a hot shower a good meal and a glass of wine, I would sink into my bed and feel every muscle in my legs. After a good night’s sleep they would still be a bit stiff and sore, but after walking around they would start to feel better. Golf was another example. Sore hands, back and arms were expected and toasted in the clubhouse. Boating and jet skis were another opportunity to beat up your body and your liver. Camping was easy, it was the hiking that wore you out. The campfire was the perfect place to compare injuries and talk of the fish that got away. Fast forward. Nowadays if I get out of bed the wrong way, my back reminds my all day. Sometimes it can be a week before the ache settles down and quits barking at me. Walking up the stairs is no problem until out of nowhere a “catch” manifests itself in a knee hobbling me into submission until I stop. Out of nowhere a forearm starts feeling like I severely pulled a muscle. I get flashbacks to surgery for a rotator or a meniscus so I get an appointment for physical therapy. When the therapist asks the reason I answer with “I have no idea.” That sucks! How can I expect any sympathy for a non-injury? You can’t-that’s the point.

How’s that exercise plan working out?

We are about to enter week 10 of walking the stairs. My assumption was being forced to walk up and down 8 flights of stairs with a backpack loaded with stuff (on the hike up at least), I would lose twenty pounds and have rock hard legs muscles. Assume is such a difficult and disappointing word. If I have lost five pounds I’m lucky. A positive is being able to actually do it and for that I’m grateful. It is apparent my diet wasn’t as healthy as my stair regime so they cancelled each other out. I still have another 2-3 weeks of stairs left so maybe there is still time for miracle. One positive is I started eating oatmeal in the mornings which is a good thing right? Maybe it’s the amount of maple syrup that’s the problem…