Therefore, be it resolved

New Year’s resolutions really don’t have anything to do with it. I’ve never kept a New Year’s resolution so I gave up on those years ago.

No, I decided to do this back in November and chose my date to start not based on a new year but on the fact that holiday revelries would beget certain doom. I needed to get past the superfluous temptations of November and December and move on to only those weeks for which I could plan to deal with enticements.

I haven’t always been overweight. In fact, that is something that has crept up on me significantly in the last 15 years. Part of that I can blame on a series of injuries and surgical issues that left me with an artificial left knee and absolutely no rotator cuff in my right shoulder or tendon in my right upper arm. When I fractured my right ankle last spring that pretty much did me in.

But, if truth were told, I turned into a couch potato. Or a computer desk potato. Or a Lazy-Boy-with-a-book potato. I find it ironic that all of these appellations are completed with a starchy vegetable and one that I absolutely love to eat in virtually any form. The thought of a heaping plate of homemade mashed potatoes and butter (and perhaps chicken gravy) would be akin to the craving of a piece of chocolate for others. Of course, to add insult to injury, I have become, perhaps, the shape of a potato. I used to be a pear-shape. Now I’m a potato.

Never mind the embarrassment of showing up at my 45th class reunion looking like this (they knew me when I was more the shape of a beanpole). Never mind the embarrassment of just looking like a potato (you are what you eat). I have gotten to the point where I really don’t care what other people think of me. That’s their problem.

Except that it is also my problem. My very caring and compassionate internist and cardiologist really want to keep me alive. That’s their business. I would like to stay alive too. I have places to go and people to see. I need to be healthy enough to do that.

I knew from my earlier years that going on a diet isn’t enough for me to lose weight. It just won’t happen unless I exercise at the same time.

Let me be clear, other than closed-minded, self-serving people, there is only one thing I like less in this world: exercise.

Up until I fractured my ankle last spring I was walking close to five miles a day, and, dare I say it, I was getting to the point that I almost enjoyed it. But then I was reminded of how much more I like reclining in my Lazy-Boy (I’ve already told Terry that it’s going to the “home” with me when the time comes).

So back in November I started charting a plan for myself. A new hospital just a few miles south of us had just opened and it contains what they call a Wellness Center. Late in December I took a tour and got the skinny on it, explored their website and classes. In January I started doctor-ordered physical therapy on my fractured ankle and I signed up for one class at the Wellness Center: Golf Conditioning. I do love golf and I have never thought of it as exercise even when I walked the course. But I figured that if I could get my ankle strong enough to walk, I still needed help with my swing because of the rotator cuff issue.

Now, I had two fears about these things: one was showing up for ankle therapy and being forced to don a swimming suit in public in order to get into the pool; the second was just showing up for a golf class of any kind.

Let’s just say I was mildly surprised when I got to the golf class. It didn’t surprise me that it was composed of all men. But it did surprise me that the first class had nothing to do with swinging a golf club, at least to the extent of having one in my hand. No, it was all about getting conditioned to play golf. Gee, now I know that the title of the class was a clue. We gathered together on the gym floor and the very first words out of the instructor’s mouth were, “Get down on the floor.” I was frozen in place. The guys were all down there looking up at me. The highly trained Titleist professional said, “Gretchen, is there a problem?”

At least I quickly found my voice. I had no other choice. “I’ve got this artificial knee. I can get down there but I won’t be able to get up without help.”

“No problem,” he promised, so I dropped to the floor and proceeded to attempt every strengthening, stretching, shaping contortion in which he directed us. He went out of his way to modify each situation to my inability. In those first ten minutes I was sweating like a stuck pig. But I wasn’t going to give up. When it came time to get off the floor, he and one of those buff young males each took an arm and lifted me up like two cranes.

Let’s just say that for the next 45 minutes our conditioning exercises increased in difficulty, ending in the weight room. Now, I’ve only seen pictures of weight rooms. I never dreamed I would be in one and actually pulling weights. But there I was. I didn’t even look at the monitor. I suspect the weight I was pulling might have measured about five pounds, but I was still doing it. We ended with squats (mine were against the wall because my cracking right knee hurt the instructor’s ears). I got a “good job” from all the guys and I walked into the cold night soaking wet with sweat, glad that no one saw me but a bunch of young dudes, yet feeling a sense of accomplishment.

The fear was gone for me. I attended the second class and I was the only recurring member there. There were all men again, but no repeaters. Maybe it was because they didn’t get to swing a club that first night. Again we went through all of our conditioning (the instructor set up a couple of boxes for me so I didn’t have to get on the floor), but this time we were allowed to take our five irons and start swinging. This was my demise. My right arm just won’t move in that direction.

I was never good at golf, but I was often told I had a beautiful golf swing. When I did connect with the ball, it would go flying straight down the fairway. Now I can’t even get the club to swing back because my shoulder and arm don’t make that motion.

It was demoralizing. What I realized at that moment was that this class was beyond my skill level. I could have weathered and even enjoyed the workout, but I knew I needed to get some shoulder therapy before I proceeded any further with conditioning for golf. I didn’t give up. I came to a considered decision about what I needed to do.

So my next fear to overcome, getting into that swimming suit for physical therapy, will occur next week. The therapist has promised to give me directions not only to strengthen my ankle, but my arm and shoulder as well.

When I worked around the state legislative process, I came to understand something called a resolution. The body of the resolution is what I call a preamble. It sets up all the reasons why a legislative body wants something to happen. There is a lot of “Whereas, this” and Whereas, that” in the preamble. But in the resolution clause itself, the part that starts out, “Therefore, be it resolved,” those desiring to stand behind it state exactly what will be done and they will enforce to get it done in order to reach the effect desired as stated in the preamble.

Legislative resolutions happen all the time, not just at the beginning of a new year. A lot of those resolutions fall by the wayside just like ordinary New Year’s resolutions do.

What I’ve just written is my preamble. I left out the part about not wanting to look like a beached whale but the potato description kind of covers that.

Therefore, be it resolved, I will continue to ride my stationary bike for at least 7.5 miles five days a week, I will suck it up (literally) and get into that swimming suit for my water therapy, and I’ll continue on what has thus far been a very successful dietary regimen. When I can, I will walk long distances again.

And I’ll be happy about it because I will be proud of myself as I am proud of myself for struggling through every step of the way right now.

 

 

13 For it was you who formed my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well. – Psalm 139:13-14

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