Bye-Bye Bread

No bread for three weeks except for one violation a week ago, which caused my eyes to swell and nose to run, so there’s no doubt that I should avoid bread. No warm toast in the morning or sandwich at lunch, and forget about a roll with dinner; that’s so sad. Boo-hoo!!

I’ll have no oyster Po-boys in New Orleans, but who needs anything other than oysters? Will I have the strength to turn down the bread basket with dinner? Who knows?

I can’t seem to get enough carbs from vegetables; twice the past week I’ve had low blood sugar with pre-headache flashing lights before my eyes. Fried bananas with cinnamon cured it tastefully. All these raw vegetables don’t fill me up, so for the first time in a couple of years, I’ve been eating meat. Skirt steak, kale, spinach, cucumber, and artichoke made a wonderful salad; just the kind of entrée that makes me want to order dark chocolate cake for dessert.  I sautéed a whole container of chicken livers for breakfast; none were saved for the dogs.

My back hurts hard today, but it’s raining so no surprise. My morning stretches help and soon I’ll at the gym lifting weights and feeling good. 

Bad Back Getting Better

To rid myself of back pain, that’s what I want. Let’s face it; you know it hurts when all you want to do is lay in bed. Contrary to my negative self-image, I’m not a lazy person.

In my fifties, I practically ran my business from my water bed. Without pain pills, I never would have been able to show my dogs to a win. Over a lifetime injuries large and small accumulate in the body. A little ouch here, a little ouch there bones record, giving us bone spurs and arthritis later.

Medical doctors gave me pain pills. Osteopathic doctors and soft tissue therapy helped bit by bit; oh, I best not forget my wonderful acupuncturist without whom I might not be walking.

From a young age an iron worker built like a body builder beat me regularly; being in car accidents, thrown by horses, and other adventures added more than a fair share. Life is a participation sport; you’re going to take some licks.

In my fifties I felt old, ancient; I didn’t know how my aunt then in her seventies could go on weekend trail rides. Strong pain medication fortified me on the few short rides I did.

In my fifties and envisioning a time in assisted living or a nursing home felt bitter. Hated it! Fifty, you could call that my decade of surgeries; after the last, I wasn’t healing. My darling, the man with debilitating pain took such good care of me.

I have read that if your grip is so weak you can’t open a water bottle, you’re at risk of a heart attack. Arthritis in my hands prevented me from bottle opening. The statement made me think the end is near.

Here’s where sing halleluiah enters the picture for me; since exercising for the last four years back pain that had once crippled me becomes less all the time. As muscles tighten holding my fat stuff in a better position, I hurt less.

At times I’d given up and quit only to return to exercise when it hurt more. To exercise after my husband died demanded every bit of will I had left. So much of me wanted to say, “F--- it.”

What does a never give up person do when they get old?

You marshal on as you learned to throughout your life.

So now under flesh that shakes like Jello, I have some solid muscle. Approaching seventy feeling way better than fifty is fantastic. When you tame a pain that medicated with strong pain relievers slows to a four level into three aspirins will cover stronger pain, you can cope with it just fine. Decreasing the jiggle may be a never ending journey, but who cares? I can carry a bag of dog food in the house without hurting. 

Fighting Arthritis Pain

Off and on, sometimes excellent and other times lackluster, over the last four years I’ve exercised regularly; my back doesn’t hurt as badly, but it still hurts and I’m still fat. At the moment I’m grinding a tennis ball into a pressure point in my back for all I’m worth; ain’t life grand?

 As older people we stand differently, a little crooked or maybe slightly humped with head forward; in my fifties, I began a mean dowager’s hump. Arthritis limits range of motion or causes pain; taut muscles try to align the body correctly. This hurts, but then it gets better; that’s my priceless reward.

Rolling your head one way and then the other, a common part of stretch routines, tells where that devil arthritis invaded the neck. Have you ever rolled your head to a sudden “ouch” stop? Surprise, there it is and it hurts.

Swollen face and achy joints in the morning demanded I do something, so two weeks ago I had my last piece of bread. About five days bread free severe withdrawal struck. I got so crabby I couldn’t stand myself. I wanted to go kick a can. My symptoms had caused me to give up my prized comfort food; oh, harsh world.

In the last two weeks, I haven’t woken severely swollen; that’s good. Swelling around my eyes may be ever so slightly decreased or it may just be wishful thinking.

I had bread at every meal; the smell, texture, and feel of it on the tongue gave joy to the day. Cream cheese on kale doesn’t have the same ring as cream cheese on toasted French bread or on a toasted bagel with lox. In another week it should be out of my system so I can test if it’s bad for me. It just gets better. Vegetables replacing bread in my diet must be a good thing; just never mind how sad it makes me feel.

Pain-free, that’s my goal.

Almost 70 Meets Almost 20

The other day at the gym, a pretty twenty-something asked why I worked out after I completed a hundred squats. The look of incongruity covered my face. Huh? The answer required a few seconds of thought because people speak Spanish too fast for me to understand at first. Exercise is the best thing in the world for me and I love it.

This little girl at the age where her body hasn’t even rounded out, looking like a skinny teenager said in Spanish, “Por salud? For health?”  In her eyes I could see her sincerity; she wasn’t being a smartass. None the less I could read in her face the wonder why a fat old lady worked so hard. After all, you’re still old, why not just rest on the porch until your time comes? How sweet, her big brown eyes pitied me.  

After processing the magical mystery tour of a young girl’s thoughts all I could do was nod and say, “Yeah, for health.”

Her face scrunched up like she wanted to cry. Oh, shit, she thinks I’m going to die. Lord in heaven, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and that stupid, but now it comes back to me like the memory of skin so soft.

“I exercise so I can continue to be strong enough to do things around the house.”

Her look said, “Like what?”

“I buy dog food in fifty-pound bags. If I didn’t exercise moving it would hurt my back.” Perhaps this practical answer would justify my presence at the gym.

Her face said loudly, “You poor thing!”

Who, me, came the internal reply. Believe how glad I felt that she didn’t verbalize this!

What could I do, but return to my workout? Her big kind eyes made contact with mine and we smiled as we moved to a new machine. She lowered the machine settings by about half each time she got on one I’d just finished. About the third time, I smiled and winked at her as she adjusted the weight. “Yeah, you’ve got a long road ahead of you; enjoy!”

Going to be a Fine Year

Over the New Year Holidays and since I’ve been feeling off. Sleep, my new best friend comes often and stays long. Post nasal drip plagues me; if you have it, you know what I’m talking about. This is physical stuff, not me with my usual whiney attitude over losing my husband.

Whenever I hear conversations about allergies, I hear something about winds from Africa and sand. A day at the shore breathing salt air helps tremendously, but my allergies haven’t been this bad since I lived near a coal yard in Chicago.

Of course, it may be the wheat; I eat way too much bread. I read that food allergies trigger other allergies and the foods we crave like bread cause it all basically. Just swell.

My allergy addictions get the best of me in high-stress times like when a bunch of my stuff breaks all at once and my car is one of those broken things. Just before everything broke, I booked a four day trip to St. Thomas when I caught the nice holiday sales. Live music on Water Island by world class performers, do I have to tell you how excited I was?

Light switches in the kitchen and both bathrooms refused to turn off; I took action, turning off the appropriate breakers. Repair could wait. Both toilets started leaking, so I turned off the water to both toilets; all of this happened before Christmas company.

My attitude remained positive; after the holiday I could hire a new handyman. I could get by, but my friend came to have fun and so we drove my car to Fajardo and Ponce, all over the island. The island beauty will grab the air right out of your chest.

Explaining my house problems to my guest humiliated me, but what the hell. If pouring water from a bucket to flush the toilet is too rustic for you, sorry; that wasn’t nearly enough. On the patio, I noticed a steady stream of water from the roof near the water tank that should have dried up with the rain. Goody.

All I wanted to do was to go to sleep, my joints ached and my face felt swollen. My company left early; I found a handyman, slept a couple of days, and then went to the gym. After a few days, I felt well enough to think about driving to Isabela or maybe just go home; I didn’t know.

I felt and heard a pop and my car stopped; I managed to get it off the road. The funny thing about hitting the end of my rope is nobody cared. I wanted to scream or cry or hit something, maybe. Time to inhale deeply, a few more times, since this had to happen after close of business before Three Kings’ Day and I was flying to St. Thomas on Friday, the thirteenth.

One nice thing about being a senior citizen is you’ve had plenty of time to learn how to get over yourself and get on with it. I handled my car problems, went on my trip, where I had a good time until a waitress upwind of me sprayed a cleaning solution in the air that I happen to be allergic to and instantly became wheezing ill. For two days of the trip, I slept like a bear in hibernation.

The night I made it to the concert on Water Island, classical vibrations by talented musicians danced with the dendrites of my neurons. The magic of performance ignited my spirit when I needed it most. 

Carlos Jimenex, my car’s fine mechanic had her ready and running on time. I and my stuff are on the mend.

Healthy Routine or Good Times

Been a goodish girl for days and this arthritis still beating my butt; how long does it take for inflammation to exit the body?

During exercise I felt the endorphin rush; I’m such a fool to discontinue what allows me to hurt less. DUH!!

How quickly I let my healthy routine slide surprises me. For those few days I wanted to indulge in dark chocolate and fun, to be a bad girl. I can picture my mother saying, “See what happens.”

I remember my husband tossing his healthy routine for more good food than he should have been eating. He lost a toe over it.

Exercising through arthritis pain hurts, so I seldom get carried away exercising like a mad woman. The last three days are an exception because it felt so good to be back.

Spoke with my mom who is going to be ninety-four on Friday, the thirteenth. I wished her happy birthday and thanked her for the genes. That I’d be pleased to take after her amused both of us which made an ironic moment we appreciated, damn few of those in a lifetime.

It’s time to go get a replacement part for my rooftop water tank or go to the gym. Perhaps, I shouldn’t exercise four days in a row after being off two weeks, but I need an endorphin rush and dark chocolate cake is out of the question. Mmmm, I shouldn’t think about that too long.

Enjoy your day.

Weighty Dilemma

Serious describes five workouts at the gym and Zumba twice in the same week. Saturday exercise hurt; I usually stop short of pain. My triceps still ache. Rest on Sunday seemed appropriate.

My mouth consumes too much quality protein; I’m not a junk food kind of girl. Smoked Salmon doubles down on decay the second you open the package. It’s a sin to waste. Bread, give me bread under starry skies above or any place else. Chocolate most dark and decadent too seldom passes my puckered lips or pudge face I’d really be.

I navigated under the opinion that I didn’t care about my weight; I wanted to be stronger and for my back to hurt less. Exercise vastly improved both. My mood almost always improves after exercise. Actually I believed my weight would spiral slowly downward with regular exercise; in three years it hasn’t.

When you eat a healthy diet, you expect to lose weight, but I haven’t lost a damn pound. Apparently, I’m too good to me.

My blood pressure is good; eating remains a source of pleasure. What the hell am I supposed to do?

Monday morning Zumba, and then, lunch followed by the gym. Let’s see what happens.