Alex (yakshaver) wrote,
Alex
yakshaver

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Ten steps forward, one step back. I can live with that.

Sometime around August of last year I ordered three pair of pants (trousers for you Brits) from a fat-guy-friendly online store I'd been using for several years. I made a typo in the first digit of the waist size, and ended up with three pair of pants ten inches too small. I was lame about sending them back, so I came across them when I was packing to move at the end of October last year. At the time I was still unable to walk more than a few blocks without serious pain, and and the idea of keeping them against some hypothetical future in which I'd be able to wear that size seemed absurd. I gave them to Goodwill.

I just ordered another three pair, in that same size. Which now fits.

In other good news, my doctor and I agreed long ago that before undertaking any really intensive exercise, but after a few months of regular aerobic exercise, I should take a cardiac stress test. I did that a few weeks ago, and spoke with him about the results the other day. In spite of having a hole in my heart, my general cardiac health is in the top ten percent for men in their mid-forties.*

This good news is leavened with a little bit of bad. When I started exercising last spring, after more than a year fighting a chronic recurring injury, I took everything very tentatively out of fear of injuring myself yet again. Which would not only have screwed with the progress of my exercise program, but would have been more depressing than I care to contemplate.

But regardless of how careful you are, if you're active, there will be some injuries. My number came up the other day, doing the most pedestrian exercise of all. Literally: I took a brisk one-hour long walk I didn't even notice it when I did it: I stopped at the end of my hour and had lunch; it was only when I got up from the table that I noticed something was wrong. To cut to the chase, I have tendonitis in my achilles tendon; I caught it before it had a chance to get severe; my doctor figures roughly two weeks of ibuprofin, ice three times a day, and avoiding weight-bearing exercise, and I should be fine. So after six months of gradually ramped-up exercise on a body that's largely been neglected for a decade, about as mild a first injury as I could hope for. Here's hoping my luck holds on that front.
* "Is that based on a representative sample of men in my age cohort? Or is it among men referred by their doctor for a cardiac stress test?" My doctor gets points for saying "Good quesiton" when I asked that, loses points for starting to do the standard I'm-a-doctor-I-can't-appear-ignorant dance, and gains some back for stopping himself halfway through and admitting he didn't know. But hey: I'm the healthiest ten percent of something. I'll take it. Albeit with a grain of salt.
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