I’m going to New Zealand in three months.
That’s Feb 2012, to be exact. And I. Am. Stoked. YEAY!!
Can’t believe that this, one of my ultimate dreams, is about to come through sooner than I thought it would. It was so exciting in the beginning, when I booked the flight. Then the stress kicked in because of the planning – I was only going for 12 days – on where to go and not to go. There was much to see!
The plan’s done, finally, and the little thing left to do is prepare myself for this holiday, physically.
After all, you can’t go to NZ and just sightsee! OMG, the no. of things that one can do in this picture postcard-perfect land, home to the Southern Alps and Marlborough country… I needed to prepare.
So I’ve begun my mission of being healthy enough to take long walks, hikes even, when I eventually get to the Land of the Long White Cloud. To do that, I’ve got to “hike” the treadmill, cross train at higher intensity levels and “climb” the stepper. Well, it’s only been three days and I know I’m doing it right because my thighs are on fire!
And when the pain eventually dissipates, I must push some more. But I will be ready come February. To dance with Aotearoa.
Showing posts with label bow legged. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bow legged. Show all posts
Saturday, November 12, 2011
To PT or not to PT... I chose the former
For four months now, I’ve been actively working out at the gym, after more than two years of dragging myself over once, sometimes twice a week at most, in order to contain my blood pressure.
Every time I get a migraine, I hate going to the doctor’s because I know what’s coming: they check my blood pressure first, then tell me that it’s just a little too high for comfort. Then they give me a form which requires me to come in 5 times in a week, practically daily, to check my BP. I was certain that it was due to a lack of sleep. After all, I worked the night shift, permanently. And sometimes, I don’t sleep so soundly. Determined to prove them wrong and that I did not have blood pressure issues (no meds for me), I convinced myself that exercise was the key to keeping my BP at a normal rate, a healthy rate.
But try as I might, I just could not motivate myself enough to visit the gym at least thrice weekly. And even when I did, I was not pushing myself hard enough, but sufficient to keep my heart rate at its maximum to reap any benefits. I was getting bored.
I considered paying for sessions with a personal trainer, but the last time I got a free session with one, all he did was injure me. I was in a special group of members, you see: I am bow legged, complete with two busted-up knees. There were certain exercises I just could not do. So the thought of getting a personal trainer that was just going to make me worse turned me off the idea. That was, until Kuna introduced himself.
Kuna was a new personal trainer at the gym. After showing me how to use one of the weight machines correctly, he then started asking me about my workout frequency, or lack thereof, and asked if I considered working with a personal trainer to help my motivation. I explained my reasons, but then when he said that as a trained physiotherapist, he could tailor a workout that would work with my injuries and improve the strength in my knees, my ears perked up a little more!
So I gave him the time to explain what working with him would be like and what he could do for me, and I was hooked! But I had to consider the cost, and the consequences. Then I told him what my expectations were, that I wanted to be stronger and for my knees to hurt less, and he assured me that the exercises he would have planned will help a great deal.
After a week of contemplating, I signed up for 20 sessions, not realizing what I had gotten myself into. The first two weeks of my PT sessions with Kuna started off with gusto, followed by aching muscles from my neck to my toes. But with every session, he pushed me to do better, faster, harder, heavier! There was no room for excuses, or whining as he kept telling me that I was strong and that I could cope with the ton of weights he had me pulling, pushing, lifting 30, 40, 80 times in a row! Halfway through each session, I wanted to kill him. But once I was done, I didn’t want it to be over! He even used reverse psychology on me, by telling me that I couldn’t do something and I found myself falling for it every time, because it made me want to prove myself that much more!
That is what’s so great about getting a personal trainer to work with you. You get the motivation you need to start, and once you do, it’s hard to stop. To have someone there to push you and tell you that there’s nothing you can’t do and that you shouldn’t doubt yourself, made every extra pound lifted so much easier.
It’s been four months now since I completed my sessions with Kuna, and I wished I could still work with him. Being out there, on that treadmill can sometimes be a nightmare, especially when I’m tired... The urge to reduce the speed or incline is just. so. tempting. But talking myself through it is sometimes the only self motivation I have. That, and knowing that Kuna is lurking, observing and peaking over my shoulder, makin sure I don't cheat!
Every time I get a migraine, I hate going to the doctor’s because I know what’s coming: they check my blood pressure first, then tell me that it’s just a little too high for comfort. Then they give me a form which requires me to come in 5 times in a week, practically daily, to check my BP. I was certain that it was due to a lack of sleep. After all, I worked the night shift, permanently. And sometimes, I don’t sleep so soundly. Determined to prove them wrong and that I did not have blood pressure issues (no meds for me), I convinced myself that exercise was the key to keeping my BP at a normal rate, a healthy rate.
But try as I might, I just could not motivate myself enough to visit the gym at least thrice weekly. And even when I did, I was not pushing myself hard enough, but sufficient to keep my heart rate at its maximum to reap any benefits. I was getting bored.
I considered paying for sessions with a personal trainer, but the last time I got a free session with one, all he did was injure me. I was in a special group of members, you see: I am bow legged, complete with two busted-up knees. There were certain exercises I just could not do. So the thought of getting a personal trainer that was just going to make me worse turned me off the idea. That was, until Kuna introduced himself.
Kuna was a new personal trainer at the gym. After showing me how to use one of the weight machines correctly, he then started asking me about my workout frequency, or lack thereof, and asked if I considered working with a personal trainer to help my motivation. I explained my reasons, but then when he said that as a trained physiotherapist, he could tailor a workout that would work with my injuries and improve the strength in my knees, my ears perked up a little more!
So I gave him the time to explain what working with him would be like and what he could do for me, and I was hooked! But I had to consider the cost, and the consequences. Then I told him what my expectations were, that I wanted to be stronger and for my knees to hurt less, and he assured me that the exercises he would have planned will help a great deal.
After a week of contemplating, I signed up for 20 sessions, not realizing what I had gotten myself into. The first two weeks of my PT sessions with Kuna started off with gusto, followed by aching muscles from my neck to my toes. But with every session, he pushed me to do better, faster, harder, heavier! There was no room for excuses, or whining as he kept telling me that I was strong and that I could cope with the ton of weights he had me pulling, pushing, lifting 30, 40, 80 times in a row! Halfway through each session, I wanted to kill him. But once I was done, I didn’t want it to be over! He even used reverse psychology on me, by telling me that I couldn’t do something and I found myself falling for it every time, because it made me want to prove myself that much more!
That is what’s so great about getting a personal trainer to work with you. You get the motivation you need to start, and once you do, it’s hard to stop. To have someone there to push you and tell you that there’s nothing you can’t do and that you shouldn’t doubt yourself, made every extra pound lifted so much easier.
It’s been four months now since I completed my sessions with Kuna, and I wished I could still work with him. Being out there, on that treadmill can sometimes be a nightmare, especially when I’m tired... The urge to reduce the speed or incline is just. so. tempting. But talking myself through it is sometimes the only self motivation I have. That, and knowing that Kuna is lurking, observing and peaking over my shoulder, makin sure I don't cheat!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Of Screws and Stitches and Everything in Between...
A week ago, I went under the knife.
In my previous entry, I mentioned a plate and four screws that were discovered in my left leg when the doctor had x-rays done on both my legs. He scheduled my surgery for June 29 to remove the "implants" as they're referred to by the hospital people, as one of the screws looked to be impinging on a nerve.
The day came, and I had to admit myself at 8am. Half an hour later, I was shown to my bed in the women's ward. My folks, who were with me through the admission process, left half an hour later to return in the evening.
I was nervous about the operation. I knew it was a simple procedure, but being cut open at 5 years of age is different when one is 30-something years old. You become more aware of what's about to take place, and I couldn't help but feel a little nervous.
For one thing, I was alone when they prepared me just before the surgery. A couple of nurses came in to see me every ten minutes - to collect my blood, run blood pressure tests and also had me pee in a cup! I was then presented with the dreaded hospital gown, with instructions to remove all my underwear plus any jewelry I had on me. Believe me when I say there is no dignity in donning a hospital gown! My doctor then paid me a visit and briefed me on what would be done while in the OR. By this time it was 1030am, and my surgery wasn't until 2pm, so I tried to relax my thoughts by reading and listening to some music.
But fifteen minutes later, two nurses wheel in a bed and ask me to jump onto it, as they were taking me to the operating room. Needless to say, I was nervous. Removing the sarong I was wearing to conceal myself from the waist down, I propped onto the bed, and received an injection in the bum.
That trip to the operating room felt like the longest of my life! Here, I was "parked" just outside the OR while one of the doctors asked me some procedural questions. Then the anesthesiologist asked me if I was allergic to any medication and explained what would be given to me post-op, for any pain I may experience.
I was then left alone to panic for a few minutes! What was wrong with me? It wasn't like I was going for open heart surgery, for goodness' sake! I wished I hadn't sent my mum home so soon! By the time I pulled myself together, the doors of the operating room opened and I was wheeled into it, then was asked to move myself on to the operating 'table'. The last things I remembered were an IV being placed through my left hand and a wire with a clip placed on my right index finger to monitor my heart rate. And just like it was in the movies, an oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth to breathe. I was out by my third breath.
Before I knew it, I woke up drowsy, but aware that the surgery was over... and had drifted in and out of consciousness as I waited to be transported back into my bed and wheeled into my room. But I wasn't allowed to drift off into sleep yet as the anesthesiologist paid me a visit to check my pain levels.
It was another hour before my doctor paid me a visit after the surgery to tell me that he couldn't remove fhe screws! Well duh, doc! It's been more than 20 years that those babies have been in there, they're very much a part of my tibia! Fearing he had cracked the tibia, he put my leg in a cast and I was taken the next day to the Xray department to check out the extent of any damage he was concerned he had caused from trying to dislodge the screws. That meant I had to stay one more night.
It was a nightmare staying in the hospital, mainly because I refused to use a bedpan and had the nurses' help to get me to the toilet in a wheelchair because of the cast. Still I'd much rather clean up after my self than get those poor nurses to do it for me. I was adamant about being as independent as possible. I also slept a lot and didn't have much of an appetite, until my family had visited me.
The following day, I was taken to get X-rays done, and an hour later, the doc returned with the results. There were no cracks, thank goodness, so I could go home without the cast and be on crutches for a couple of weeks. On the day I was to be discharged, I was taken to the physiotherapy room to learn how to use the crutches.
It's been a week since my surgery. I've got one more week before I start walking normally again. I feel so much better now than I was a week ago. My family's been taking care of me since I got home. But the last two days, I've been getting my own glass of water and moving as much as I can so I don't lose the strength in my left leg.
I know that my knees will need to be replaced eventually, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let that happen. It's up to me to lose the weight so my knees don't suffer.
My doctor has been good to me, and I'm glad I chose him to tell me what's wrong with me and what needs to be done. I'm looking forward to September... I can go back to my workouts and being serious about losing weight.
For now, I'm just preparing to walk without the aid of the crutches. And living a better life.
In my previous entry, I mentioned a plate and four screws that were discovered in my left leg when the doctor had x-rays done on both my legs. He scheduled my surgery for June 29 to remove the "implants" as they're referred to by the hospital people, as one of the screws looked to be impinging on a nerve.
The day came, and I had to admit myself at 8am. Half an hour later, I was shown to my bed in the women's ward. My folks, who were with me through the admission process, left half an hour later to return in the evening.
I was nervous about the operation. I knew it was a simple procedure, but being cut open at 5 years of age is different when one is 30-something years old. You become more aware of what's about to take place, and I couldn't help but feel a little nervous.
For one thing, I was alone when they prepared me just before the surgery. A couple of nurses came in to see me every ten minutes - to collect my blood, run blood pressure tests and also had me pee in a cup! I was then presented with the dreaded hospital gown, with instructions to remove all my underwear plus any jewelry I had on me. Believe me when I say there is no dignity in donning a hospital gown! My doctor then paid me a visit and briefed me on what would be done while in the OR. By this time it was 1030am, and my surgery wasn't until 2pm, so I tried to relax my thoughts by reading and listening to some music.
But fifteen minutes later, two nurses wheel in a bed and ask me to jump onto it, as they were taking me to the operating room. Needless to say, I was nervous. Removing the sarong I was wearing to conceal myself from the waist down, I propped onto the bed, and received an injection in the bum.
That trip to the operating room felt like the longest of my life! Here, I was "parked" just outside the OR while one of the doctors asked me some procedural questions. Then the anesthesiologist asked me if I was allergic to any medication and explained what would be given to me post-op, for any pain I may experience.
I was then left alone to panic for a few minutes! What was wrong with me? It wasn't like I was going for open heart surgery, for goodness' sake! I wished I hadn't sent my mum home so soon! By the time I pulled myself together, the doors of the operating room opened and I was wheeled into it, then was asked to move myself on to the operating 'table'. The last things I remembered were an IV being placed through my left hand and a wire with a clip placed on my right index finger to monitor my heart rate. And just like it was in the movies, an oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth to breathe. I was out by my third breath.
Before I knew it, I woke up drowsy, but aware that the surgery was over... and had drifted in and out of consciousness as I waited to be transported back into my bed and wheeled into my room. But I wasn't allowed to drift off into sleep yet as the anesthesiologist paid me a visit to check my pain levels.
It was another hour before my doctor paid me a visit after the surgery to tell me that he couldn't remove fhe screws! Well duh, doc! It's been more than 20 years that those babies have been in there, they're very much a part of my tibia! Fearing he had cracked the tibia, he put my leg in a cast and I was taken the next day to the Xray department to check out the extent of any damage he was concerned he had caused from trying to dislodge the screws. That meant I had to stay one more night.
It was a nightmare staying in the hospital, mainly because I refused to use a bedpan and had the nurses' help to get me to the toilet in a wheelchair because of the cast. Still I'd much rather clean up after my self than get those poor nurses to do it for me. I was adamant about being as independent as possible. I also slept a lot and didn't have much of an appetite, until my family had visited me.
The following day, I was taken to get X-rays done, and an hour later, the doc returned with the results. There were no cracks, thank goodness, so I could go home without the cast and be on crutches for a couple of weeks. On the day I was to be discharged, I was taken to the physiotherapy room to learn how to use the crutches.
It's been a week since my surgery. I've got one more week before I start walking normally again. I feel so much better now than I was a week ago. My family's been taking care of me since I got home. But the last two days, I've been getting my own glass of water and moving as much as I can so I don't lose the strength in my left leg.
I know that my knees will need to be replaced eventually, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let that happen. It's up to me to lose the weight so my knees don't suffer.
My doctor has been good to me, and I'm glad I chose him to tell me what's wrong with me and what needs to be done. I'm looking forward to September... I can go back to my workouts and being serious about losing weight.
For now, I'm just preparing to walk without the aid of the crutches. And living a better life.
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