The Floor Is Your Friend

 

When I was working long days in tech, I completely ignored an important voice, the voice of my body. Curved over the computer, stressed about details I no longer remember, I ordered pain into the background, ordered my body to keep going. I knew that I needed to exercise, so I parked at the far edge of the parking lot and walked to the building and up the stairs to my office. I walked on the weekends and made myself take classes: aerobics, toning, even a little yoga here and there. 

My least favorite part of these classes was getting down on the floor.

Getting up and down seemed like more effort than I could possibly afford. Some days just hauling myself out of the car and up the stairs to work seemed too much to ask, let alone getting down on the floor for exercises I was never sure I was doing  quite right. And the floor was an uncomfortable place, hard and cold, drawing my reluctant attention to my aches and pains.

My father, no stranger to long days and work stress, had a sympathetic piece of advice he used when I told him about my frustrations: “Don’t let them get you down on the floor.” An ominous expression if I ever heard one, it seemed to imply that once on the floor the battle would be over for sure, and also that you if you let them get you down on the floor it was your own damned fault. You’ve got to be tougher, be smarter, he urged me in these conversations.

Also, especially when I was younger, I periodically had a reaction to abdominal pain combined with stress in which I would sometimes faint. Eventually I learned how to handle this peculiarity by lowering myself down at the first sign of trouble, usually in the middle of the night. I would wake up a few moments later, face on the cold hard bathroom floor, sorting through that jumble of images and ideas that the brain has when it’s been rebooted abruptly and is trying to spin back up. And thus the cold hard floor became associated in my mind with fainting, losing consciousness, losing control—scary things.

However, as I begin my 70s I have, as Joni might have said, seen the floor from both sides now. For over a year I’ve been a daily devotee of a specialized practice called Kaiut Yoga that focuses on the joints, developing strength and greater mobility, reconnecting mind, body and spirit. To my amazement, this slow-moving, meditative form of yoga has become a cornerstone of my life. As a result of my daily practice I feel stronger both emotionally and physically, more centered. I now feel much more comfortable on the floor than ever before in my life. I still experience an occasional uneasiness as I lie on it though, the vague memory of unwanted floor encounters of the past. 

On the other side of 70, the floor’s sure support, its very hardness, its indisputable confirmation of the here and now, have finally made it my friend.

Of Mice and B-bikes

I steel all my courage. At the bottom of the path through the CU campus and across the creek is the B-bicycle station which I have carefully cased previously, its red bikes on display. Ive already walked a couple of miles to get this far, and today I intend to check out a bike for a short spin. I follow the instructions to insert my credit card.


On my first try, with only 30 seconds of insistent beeping allotted to pull a bike from the rack, I get confused and press the silver button which is only to be pressed if you have a special B card which I of course don't have. Three beeps tell me the bike has been "successfully returned," still locked tightly into the rack, not my intention at all. But since I have 24 hours of usage for my $5, all I have to do is swipe my credit card again and this time I hastily yank the bike out of the nearest slot. I now have the B-bike in hand and, happily, no onlookers have seen me fumbling.

A small sign on the bike says "B-cycles will self destruct when ridden on commercial sidewalks and pedestrian malls."


I imagine what this self-destruction might involve: whooping alarums? A poof of smoke and perhaps for drama a small lick of flame? A mechanical recording that warns "this bike destructs in 30 seconds" or perhaps simply "I can't do that, Lynn?"

My plan is very simple, anyway. I will ride the bike strictly on the bike path from here to the next station, just past Broadway--about 7 blocks. But this does take courage on my part, because I've always been nervous on bikes: a wobbling, unassertive rider too shy to call out "on your left" when I pass a pedestrian. And I am also doing the unconscionable (given my frequent exhortations to my children); for this short experiment I am Biking Without a Helmet.

I keep my backpack on my back rather than using the basket, hoping it will be more stable. I try to remember the last time I was on a bike. I take a breath and careen off down the path, which is not flat of course since each bike path underpass involves a small dip down and back up again. Despite my ability to walk relatively long distances, I'm out of shape bike wise and actually have to suppress my humiliation and briefly walk the bike back up from the underpass at 17th.

It is an unstable but quick ride, and the sharp pain in my right hip from my walk that had caused some limping a bit prior to arrival at the bike station has magically disappeared, perhaps because the hip got a rest as I sat on the bike using muscles and joints in different ways.

But my relief is palpable at being able to get off the bike again, push it back into an empty slot in the rack behind the Municipal Building, and observe the reassuring triple beep and green light indicating that it has been successfully returned without self destruction of either me or bike.

For my $5 I can do that again and again anytime in the next 24 hours free, as long as my rides are under an hour. And rest assured, if I try it again today, it will be another short ride. I love the concept though, encouraging alternative forms of transportation with these $1000 smart bikes that are tracked by GPS and are suddenly so readily available along our Boulder Creek Bike Path. I hope they end up being successful. Biking as an alternative does seem to make sense for me and my hips, so maybe I'll continue to take baby steps like the one today.

Mountain's Edge

When I finally realize my life depends on it, I choose Mountain’s Edge fitness club because it's two minutes away from my house, and I figure I will have no excuses for not working out. But as dumb luck has it, the ambience is great. The walls are painted a certain blue that makes me happy (the same color you see highlighting my blog site). When I climb the central staircase to take a BLTS (Body Lean Training System, weight training) or T.A.C. (Total Athletic Conditioning) class, then come back downstairs afterwards feeling like I’ve accomplished something, right above the stairs is a blue and white painting of the Flatirons* that always gives me a sense of well being.

There's energy in the air. I see all ages and types, from young, incredibly muscular, tattooed men to silver-haired seniors. I go to the 6 a.m. spinning class on Thursday morning, and find that the bikes face a huge west window overlooking the snowy Flatirons. As I spin in the class listening to “the kind of music KBCO plays--no 80's,” according to the teacher), I imagine riding right up the mountainside. Peggy, the kindly and humorous instructor, understands my awkwardness. She cheerfully helps me get seat and handlebars adjusted and my toes into the toe clips. During “Peggy’s Moment of Meditation” she suggests we think about a goal while spinning to the song she plays, and I get into that so much with my eyes closed that Peggy has to come back and check me out to make sure I'm all right.

I am not in good shape right now, so going to the club and doing the classes is a repeated exercise in humility. My goal is not to be extremely athletic, or even to lose weight. My goal is to retain as much strength and flexibility as possible and be able to walk and move freely as long as I live. I want to be a spry old lady.

Motivation is my biggest challenge now. My work schedule doesn’t easily let me work out during the day or in the evening. So it is either weekends or 6 a.m. classes for me. Wish me luck (or actually, wish me self-discipline)!

*If you don’t live in Boulder you probably don’t know what the Flatirons are. They are three foothill rock formations just west of Boulder, each flat and tilted, and they can look magnificent – never more so than when they are dusted with snow or glowing pink as they reflect the morning sunrise.