I think it's fair to say that the sponsorship effort is going pretty well for The Walk. As you know, I beat my original target and raised it. And then I beat that and raised it again.
And now I'm close to beating that. Blimey. People are lovely.
Raising attention for this has meant stepping outside yet another comfort zone, one that came up in conversation last night as my mate and I stumbled home for 2½ hours from a gig in a London location so outer that it didn't even have a London postcode. She was being quite... insistent... on helping me with my (large, but not as large as usual, and on wheels, okay?) case. She was lovely and patient and helpful and non-patronising, but letting her carry my case was a bit of a mental struggle for me.
To say that asking for help doesn't come easily to me is a bit of an understatement. My first phrase, apparently, as a child was: "I do it myself". (My mother used to say that my first word was "No". Hard to say how accurate that is...) So it's been a fairly overwhelming characteristic of mine since, basically, early cognition. My ingrained dedication to self-reliance is not about to change with ease/ at all/ ever/ overnight, is what I'm trying to say.
I'm getting better at it. For example, I'll accept help with much more alacrity these days. Not quite the same as actively seeking assistance (and I've always been someone happy to go seek information, being more than willing to accept that there's always someone who knows more than you do about, e.g. where the condensed milk lives in this shop, how to open the car bonnet of the car I'm driving, ou est la gare, etc.) but, you know, a start. A big part of the last three years has been accepting what I physically just can't do and persuading myself that I'm worth getting it done well and not hurting myself in the process. At some level, Being Able To Do Stuff is enmeshed with my feeling of self-worth. And yet, as with my complicated perception of the desirability of dieting, I don't judge others by what they can't do...
This is echoed in my sometimes desultory attitude to publicising my own events/ merchandise, etc. The best way to persuade myself to request assistance is to remind myself who else suffers if I don't. So having a goal where others will benefit if I do well is über-motivational, and this has got me pushing mention of my sponsorship drive around the shop. And now that everyone and their monkey know that I'm doing it, I can't bottle out. And if I'm definitely going to walk six miles in a go, I'll need to get the tools to be able to do it without breaking myself and returning to the place where I need to ask for help.
Ta-da! Fay-logic circumlocuted! I win out over the apathy!waaah, and Sport Relief get a bag of cash to help people in need. Oh, and the people who give me the money get to feel good about themselves too... :)
Thanks! :D
Showing posts with label patience. Show all posts
Showing posts with label patience. Show all posts
Friday, 28 February 2014
Friday, 21 February 2014
The Shape of Desire
Part of yesterday's conversation with the physio was her questioning why I'm doing the (upper-body) exercises that I'm doing. Why am I lifting weights, doing press-ups, etc.?
In particular, she was concerned that these exercises were a bit, well, male. She covered, elucidating, saying there was nothing wrong with that per se, but that she was wondering: was I wanting to be a body-builder [cue hunched shoulders and loosely-raised fists]?
Well, there it is. Why am I doing this? Why am I pushing muscles in my upper body that were not designed by nature to be massive (due to HMS and, well, a lower testosterone level than the average bloke) to build?
Several answers, not all of which may be either wise, feasible, or even the whole story:
1. In October 2005 I had a six-pack and could lift sofas without much effort. I also had the kind of lightly but defined muscular physique that made both women and men go "hmmm..." and "ooooh...!" with a little reaching-out gesture. (Yeah, baby...)
a) Being strong felt good physically - my wobbly joints were much more secure.
b) Being strong felt good mentally - being able to rely on myself and feel comfortable (even superior) in my body was rather nice.
c) My personal vanity is, perhaps, a little odd. The resources needed to conform to many elements of acceptable Western femininity feel like way more trouble than they're worth, to me. However, I revel in decking myself in a certain way as I move through the world. I want people to see me, at a glance, as very much my own person, as attractive in an unconventional sense, and blending elements across genders. I also like to look healthy. So a little ripped (again)? Yes please! :)
(I felt right at home in Cambridge really quickly. Wonder why...)
2. I gave up on that level and type of healthy after several things happened:
- motorbike (okay, fine: scooter) accident that made Borked Shoulder the way it is today (February 2006).
- massive (they took photos for a medical journal!) benign tumour;
- recovering from the surgery that removed it (vertical 5" abdominal incision - wasn't allowed to pick up anything heavier than 5kg for, well, a while - September 2007);
- the knee-based accident (and all the other, less easily pointed-at elements) that propelled me into the Year of The Stick (September 2011); and
- subsequent slow recovery from that.
I started feeling old. I let myself become dispirited by the constant setbacks (I tried building in strength in 2006; scuppered myself lifting furniture; tried getting fit again 2010-11, not as hard as now, but cycling everywhere... then Stick Year... and then again in the summer of 2013...); I rationalised it as "I'm not meant to be fit", I think. And yet clearly this other model of me persisted underneath the whole time, because now I'm thinking: screw old, there are people who take up marathon running in their 70s. I want to take this body as far as it can in terms of healthy, fit, and strong.
3. I don't want a male physique, I want a strong female physique, and I don't think I'll get that purely from physio exercises - I'll need to challenge myself, not just maintain myself. I'm also pretty sure it would take more effort, time, and calories than I would consider worth spending getting perturbingly "bulky".
4. Up until now, not one single person (male or female) has told me that I shouldn't do press-ups, etc.
My dad (the very one who's struggled with my gender queerity in recent years) showed me how to do them; and a recent boyfriend showed me the variations on the theme. We did them in school, and we were expected to do them in the few martial arts lessons I attended. They're part of my model for "becoming fit and strong".
5. I enjoy doing weights, press-ups, planks, etc. Not only do I think they're fun (look, I'm a bit weird, just give up and go with this), but I enjoy being able to do them well (possibly in a tomboyish, showing-off-physically kind of way).
So here's the thing I'm going to try to find a way to say succinctly to the physio: this is the kind of body I want to aim for. It's not unfeasible, and it's not toxic, so please help me get to a point where I can make that happen. Ta!
So, unless anyone's got any better perspectives, that's The Plan.
In particular, she was concerned that these exercises were a bit, well, male. She covered, elucidating, saying there was nothing wrong with that per se, but that she was wondering: was I wanting to be a body-builder [cue hunched shoulders and loosely-raised fists]?
Well, there it is. Why am I doing this? Why am I pushing muscles in my upper body that were not designed by nature to be massive (due to HMS and, well, a lower testosterone level than the average bloke) to build?
Several answers, not all of which may be either wise, feasible, or even the whole story:
1. In October 2005 I had a six-pack and could lift sofas without much effort. I also had the kind of lightly but defined muscular physique that made both women and men go "hmmm..." and "ooooh...!" with a little reaching-out gesture. (Yeah, baby...)
a) Being strong felt good physically - my wobbly joints were much more secure.
b) Being strong felt good mentally - being able to rely on myself and feel comfortable (even superior) in my body was rather nice.
c) My personal vanity is, perhaps, a little odd. The resources needed to conform to many elements of acceptable Western femininity feel like way more trouble than they're worth, to me. However, I revel in decking myself in a certain way as I move through the world. I want people to see me, at a glance, as very much my own person, as attractive in an unconventional sense, and blending elements across genders. I also like to look healthy. So a little ripped (again)? Yes please! :)
(I felt right at home in Cambridge really quickly. Wonder why...)
2. I gave up on that level and type of healthy after several things happened:
- motorbike (okay, fine: scooter) accident that made Borked Shoulder the way it is today (February 2006).
- massive (they took photos for a medical journal!) benign tumour;
- recovering from the surgery that removed it (vertical 5" abdominal incision - wasn't allowed to pick up anything heavier than 5kg for, well, a while - September 2007);
- the knee-based accident (and all the other, less easily pointed-at elements) that propelled me into the Year of The Stick (September 2011); and
- subsequent slow recovery from that.
I started feeling old. I let myself become dispirited by the constant setbacks (I tried building in strength in 2006; scuppered myself lifting furniture; tried getting fit again 2010-11, not as hard as now, but cycling everywhere... then Stick Year... and then again in the summer of 2013...); I rationalised it as "I'm not meant to be fit", I think. And yet clearly this other model of me persisted underneath the whole time, because now I'm thinking: screw old, there are people who take up marathon running in their 70s. I want to take this body as far as it can in terms of healthy, fit, and strong.
3. I don't want a male physique, I want a strong female physique, and I don't think I'll get that purely from physio exercises - I'll need to challenge myself, not just maintain myself. I'm also pretty sure it would take more effort, time, and calories than I would consider worth spending getting perturbingly "bulky".
4. Up until now, not one single person (male or female) has told me that I shouldn't do press-ups, etc.
My dad (the very one who's struggled with my gender queerity in recent years) showed me how to do them; and a recent boyfriend showed me the variations on the theme. We did them in school, and we were expected to do them in the few martial arts lessons I attended. They're part of my model for "becoming fit and strong".
5. I enjoy doing weights, press-ups, planks, etc. Not only do I think they're fun (look, I'm a bit weird, just give up and go with this), but I enjoy being able to do them well (possibly in a tomboyish, showing-off-physically kind of way).
So here's the thing I'm going to try to find a way to say succinctly to the physio: this is the kind of body I want to aim for. It's not unfeasible, and it's not toxic, so please help me get to a point where I can make that happen. Ta!
So, unless anyone's got any better perspectives, that's The Plan.
Thursday, 20 February 2014
Body Blow
I walked out of the physio's this afternoon, clutching my hat against the wind and squinting against the sunlight, muttering certain anatomical terms.
The news had been mixed.
The good news first:
1. I'm doing a lot of things right.
2. The general prognosis isn't as bad as I'd assumed from what she said last week. I may, after all, be fine as I get older. Nothing is certain.
3. That dumb move is a) unlikely to have done much damage, b) not beyond the realms of possibility for me to do in future.
4. The Walk is still on.
Bad news:
1. Something's clearly gone wrong and The Dumb Move only exacerbated it. The thing that's gone wrong is cerebro-spinal. Hence the pins-and-needles, numb patches, and other weird symptoms that have been plaguing me with increasing intensity since December.
2. I've been doing some things wrong - who knew I should change up weights for different muscles? Oh, you did? Nice... I'll ask you next time...
3. No upper-body work for, well, a while. A really vague while but the phrases "you're not going to be pleased about this" and "longer than you'd like" have been bandied about.
So no free weights, press-ups, rowing-machine, weights machine. I didn't ask about planks. I suspect that since the repsonse to "does it put stress on your shoulder and neck" is "yes", I've got my answer.
And we talked more about HMS and agreed that, while yes - constant pain is dispiriting and draining, and damn-near-inevitable injury in the course of working to make yourself less prone to injury is demoralising - it could be a lot worse, and - bar Dumb Moves - I'm doing pretty well.
I know people who have been made pretty much housebound by this or similar conditions. I know people who sublux and dislocate at the drop of a hat. I've met people who're in their 20s and far more debilitated and in pain than I am on a daily basis. I'm not sure whether that makes the pain I have to cope with any better, but it does put it in perspective. It's worth managing it, and keeping on doing the right things, and learning from (and not punishing myself for) setbacks.
In other words: everything I said in that poem last night. So well done me.
The news had been mixed.
The good news first:
1. I'm doing a lot of things right.
2. The general prognosis isn't as bad as I'd assumed from what she said last week. I may, after all, be fine as I get older. Nothing is certain.
3. That dumb move is a) unlikely to have done much damage, b) not beyond the realms of possibility for me to do in future.
4. The Walk is still on.
Bad news:
1. Something's clearly gone wrong and The Dumb Move only exacerbated it. The thing that's gone wrong is cerebro-spinal. Hence the pins-and-needles, numb patches, and other weird symptoms that have been plaguing me with increasing intensity since December.
2. I've been doing some things wrong - who knew I should change up weights for different muscles? Oh, you did? Nice... I'll ask you next time...
3. No upper-body work for, well, a while. A really vague while but the phrases "you're not going to be pleased about this" and "longer than you'd like" have been bandied about.
So no free weights, press-ups, rowing-machine, weights machine. I didn't ask about planks. I suspect that since the repsonse to "does it put stress on your shoulder and neck" is "yes", I've got my answer.
And we talked more about HMS and agreed that, while yes - constant pain is dispiriting and draining, and damn-near-inevitable injury in the course of working to make yourself less prone to injury is demoralising - it could be a lot worse, and - bar Dumb Moves - I'm doing pretty well.
I know people who have been made pretty much housebound by this or similar conditions. I know people who sublux and dislocate at the drop of a hat. I've met people who're in their 20s and far more debilitated and in pain than I am on a daily basis. I'm not sure whether that makes the pain I have to cope with any better, but it does put it in perspective. It's worth managing it, and keeping on doing the right things, and learning from (and not punishing myself for) setbacks.
In other words: everything I said in that poem last night. So well done me.
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