One Fun Ride

I haven't written about my love affair with my Trikke lately. It's not because we're on the rocks. It's not because I have decided to use it as a clothes rack. It's because I have been in training for the last six weeks.

I have been riding seriously every other day for those weeks because I want to build my Trikke-muscles for the Labor Day Trikke Ride in Long Beach, exactly one week from today. I've been in training to ride farther and am now able to cover 10 miles. This is quite a goal buster for me.

I've had my Trikke for a year now and I still remember when it was hard to go around the block. I thought 10 miles was farther than my body could dream of. And yet here I am.

My body has changed so much. I am leaner. I am harder. I have upper body strength. I have definition. Not bad for a 54 year old obese woman with fibromyalgia!

I still have a long way to go. So far the journey has been packed with fun and hard work. After all Trikkes don't move themselves.

After next week I can go back to trikking any day I want for as long as I want. I won't stop traveling 10 miles. When I think of it, I will never be out of training as long as I'm breathing and loving my Trikke.

The Shoulders I've Tread Upon

I can't help but think of the women before me. They led the way for me to live as I've pleased, to make the choices I've been confronted with. Yet, How many centuries have women been born into a straight-jacket of servitude? How long before we had choices?

Just think, one hundred years ago, a woman could not live alone. She would not be single and she would not be without children whose noses needed to be wiped or who's diapers needed to be changed.

Even 50 years ago a woman needed a man to get through. These women were born to serve. After watching my mother work all day and come home to work all night, I saw that being a woman was a rotten deal.

Without words, I learned what was in store for me. And yet, I was lucky enough to be born in an era where I had choices. Should I marry? Should I have a career? After all it's just too much work to have it all.

I never wanted to pick up after a man like my mother did. The price was too high for me. And I can't help being grateful for all those unnamed women who were stuck in a life of subservience and who dreamed a better dream. I get to reap the benefits of those dreams.

I thank all the women whose shoulders I've tread upon. And I thank them for the life I live today. Without them I wouldn't have the choice to be with a man or to stand alone.

No Plateau

My friend Sara and I are both trying to lose weight. A lot of weight. And we both have noticed something about our bodies. It seems we lose weight in layers.

When I started my body was very soft, what you would think pudgy feels like, pliable, like a pillow sort of. I started exercising and losing weight. The pounds dripped off and my body got hard. It felt great.

Then a strange thing happened. I stopped losing weight. My body got all soft again. I thought I had gained all my weight back. I was surprised after a weigh-in that I had not gained one pound.

What happened? I lost all that soft fat, only to have the firm layer underneath go soft. Is the body getting ready to lose the next layer by making it soft and more easy to access for weight loss? Is this process what a plateau is?

If this is a plateau, I don't mind it. It is not a stagnate state the body goes into, but a preparation for the next phase of weight loss. As long as my body is actively working to lose weight and not just on vacation, I can handle that with diplomacy.

Paws-ative Proof

In-cognito

I have these spells occasionally, well maybe frequently, where I want to sleep all day. And so I do. I get up and in two hours I am so tired. I say to myself that I will just sit down for a while and then I wake up six hours later.

The dishes pile up in the sink. I don't want to cook, well I can't with no clean forks or spoons. I eat protein bars and yogurt to sustain myself. And my mood takes a dive into the deep end. I guess this is what depression and/or fibromyalgia look like.

My Trikke sits, collecting dust. I throw clothes over the handlebars. Those handlebars are perfect for a clothes rack. They are more perfect for carving up the sidewalk, but that is far from my reach during my down time.

These moods can last for three days. After that time I generally pull myself away from the Velcro couch and the TV. I need Zone Perfect bars. I need cat food. I need to save my soul from rotting on the inside.

It is hard, every time I get up and make my way back into my life. It takes walking blocks to unstiffen the muscles that have been shriveling up for the last few days.

In the sun, I'm like a flower unfolding. With my petals open to the sun, I stretch, I grow. It is then that I am recreated. Again.