There is an old expression—whenever God closes a door, he opens a window. That is true, I believe. In my case that window was opened to yoga.
About 10 months ago I had the misfortune to swim in a pool and get something called "folliculitis." Basically this is a rash that covers your whole body and makes you feel like you are going to die if you get the severe version. If you get the lightweight version you get a bump or two, you wash with antibacterial soap, and it goes away. I got the severe version.
I went to war successfully against my gym. I called the health department. My gym admitted no wrongdoing, said and proved they passed their health department testing on the specific days levels of bacteria and other “ickys” were tested, but also got new lane lines and completely re-tiled in response to the cage rattling I did. I won, but I also haven't begun regular swim workouts again. I would like to and I will, eventually.
When I realized I didn't want to swim for my exercise for a while (mostly out of fear), I also knew that I didn't want to give up my fitness regimen. I had worked too hard and too long to backslide. I needed alternatives. While I was at my very heaviest I loved the pool in spite of the fact that it was a terrible challenge to force myself into a bathing suit and get out there. As I made my way from the locker room to the pool I always felt like I was a prisoner of my own body making my last walk to execution—Fat Girl Walking—but once there I had the weightlessness of the water to my advantage. I lifted the extra pounds of weight off my frame and I was effectively much lighter, more graceful, and able to work out pulling a more normal amount of weight around.
One horrible part about obesity is you miss so much. Your world gets smaller and smaller the worse you feel and the more difficult it is to move around. Things fall away. The folliculitis (interesting gift, don't you think?) coincided with a rather large amount of weight loss. I yearned to get out of my comfort zone a little and experience some of the things I had been missing for so long—or had never tried. I wanted those things back. So I braved my local junior college.
As I was in my own mind (ok, and reality too) a "middle-aged-fat-woman," I was pretty worried about taking the plunge back into my local junior college. The last few times I had been to an open house at my daughter's high school I couldn't fit into a student desk. My fear of being anywhere I couldn't fit was—well, huge. But online registration appealed to me, and I thought, if not now, then when?
I registered for classes in the Fall semester. I registered for four classes—Gentle Yoga, Pilates, Body Sculpting and Tap Dancing. I have always been the kind of person who once decided, goes with as much gusto as I can muster.
Now a little side note about "Fall Semester" in Phoenix. It is about 117 degrees here in the fall. Not only was it going to be hard to do all these classes, but even for a healthy thin person it would be hard to walk into the class locations. A parking lot in 117-degree weather gets to be about 130 degrees because of heat retained in the asphalt. It's dangerous. But I planned a strategy. I armed myself with bottles of water and diet sports drinks. I had a spray fan from Disneyland that would effectively work as a hand-held swamp cooler. I had a charged cell phone. I even had an umbrella. I was going to look like a fat, middle-aged, idiot—but I was going to live. I wasn't a girl scout for nothing. It's a wonder I didn’t use my lashing skills (knot tying for the uninitiated) to fashion some heat-stroke-preventing contraption, but that's another story.
At the time that I began classes I had also moved my workout at the gym from the pool to cardio. I could manage a 30-minute elliptical workout—the previous May my visiting brother, very optimistic about what was then my 30-pound weight loss, cheered me on and copiously high-fived me when I managed a five-minute elliptical attempt. The first day of classes I still knew that sitting on the floor of a work out room and getting back up again would be a challenge. (One of the really limiting and frustrating things about being fat is all the planning about trivia. How will I walk through the parking lot? How will I get up from the floor? How can I fit in a plane seat, restaurant booth, amusement park ride, etc.—how will I not embarrass myself?)
My classes began with Body Sculpting. In retrospect I definitely was in the right class first. The class leader, a extremely fit 30-something woman with a contagious smile, a crazy amount of energy and a very accepting attitude bounced into the class and asked that we introduce ourselves and give a brief bio about who we were and why we were taking her class. I mentioned the fifty pound weight loss and said something self-deprecating about how I would be the least coordinated and able-bodied person in the class. She told me publicly in a very nice way that I should quit knocking myself. It was a good lesson. I will probably never forget it.
Her attitude made me realize that I was accepted there and even welcomed. (This in spite of the fact that I was definitely the fattest, probably the oldest, and certainly the least fit.) So there I was. She played people's play lists on their IPods and laughed when the songs got a little over-the-top or rude. She walked in class and said, "I am glad you are talking, continue, get to know each other." And she told me after class that I was the sort of person that made her glad she taught. She told me I was an inspiration, I told her she was.
The class was extremely hard. Grueling, toning work that uses your own body weight instead of weights as natural equipment. Lifting my own body weight was a very big deal—but I could, even though at times I fantasized about dropping to the floor and staying there, and I actually had perspiration dripping down my face and all over my body like some hulking Olympic hopeful lifting huge weights overhead. If it wasn't for my instructor’s penchant to crack jokes and keep everyone smiling while she did the workout herself, I don't think I would have survived. I managed to.
After class I would drink water and try to figure out how I would make it to my car in the 117-degree heat alive. I had to walk it. I filled up my empty 32-ounce energy drink with water—ice cold from the refrigerated fountain. I took out another bottle of water to drink along the way. I made sure my keys were at hand and turned on my water fan and even had my umbrella at the ready. I literally had to concentrate to make it. If I was unlucky enough to park in the far lot it was about a city-block in distance. Not a big deal to most people even in the heat, but to me like walking through the gates of hell to a waiting oasis that could be a mirage.
After the first couple of steps out of the air-conditioned work out facility I figured out I needed to amend my plan. I took the 32-ounces of ice-cold water and poured it over my head. I looked like a twisted version of Flash Dance—without the glamour. But on I marched—dipping wet, hot as hell, and holding an umbrella overhead. Gorgeous and triumphant.
End of Part One--
Stats: Today in the mail I got my actual Go Red pin! I am wearing it now—along with the purple ribbon, which is still on my wrist, refusing to budge. The last two weeks have been fraught with stress. It would be easy to fabricate weight loss and success, but I can't—and won't. All I can tell you is I am holding on, I have made it through one of the most stressful two-week periods in my life without gaining weight, while holding on to most of my goals, but not seeing the scale move. I am not giving up and I hope that now that this very stressful set of personal circumstances has passed that I can get my body to release more weight. Interestingly, bodies react to crisis by moving into survival mode and holding weight. I have still lost a little over ten pounds since I began my recent Go Red quest, and I have time and willpower to succeed. Think a good thought for me this week as I get back on track.
