A Little Twisted

I remember being an eleven or twelve year old girl and wondering why my grandmother would rub her wrists to alleviate her joint pain. I remember my parents flopping into the lounge at the end of the day and thinking to myself, “I’ll never be tired like that.” And I remember hearing elderly people say, “At least you’ve got your health” and thinking they were a little demented - of course I’ve got my health, otherwise I’d be dead!

I couldn’t comprehend, at that young, nubile and virile stage of my life, that I could possibly ever be ill or infirmed. It was something that happened to others.

Today I am forty-five years old and often feel like I’m ninety. Over the past few years I have needed assistance in moving around, getting out of chairs, showering and dressing. On occasion I have serious pain - constant throbbing pain and occasional sudden bursts of stabbing pain.

Thankfully, I’m not chronically ill or permanently scarred. I’m just cranky. Two years ago my lumbar 5 vertebrae decided it was time to leave the comfort of my spine and break rank, twisting to the left and causing a chain reaction that has to be felt to be believed.

I’ve always considered myself to have a fairly high pain threshold. While going through labour with each of my three pregnancies was excruciating (18.5 hours, 16 hours and 6.5 hours - just so you know), I felt like I was able to focus, despite the pain and managed to deliver all three 8 pound plus boys without drug intervention.

Now, I’m finally motivated to do something about my health and weight. It’s weird that I am not afraid of severe short term pain, but the discomfort and strain of regular exercise is such a powerful deterrent.

Around five years ago I called my Dad to ask him to cover the cost of a Guthy Renker purchase for me. I don’t have a credit card (evil, destruction-causing piece of plastic) and I was inspired to buy a pilates DVD which was promoted so cleverly on late night television. I promised my Dad to pay him back and he was happy to arrange the purchase with the (completely unnecessary) warning of, “Make sure you actually use it, Jule.” “Of course, Dad. I’m looking forward to getting my fitness back on track. I can’t wait until it arrives in the post!” (14 - 21 days later)

Anyhoo, it is now five years later and today I opened the plastic wrapping on the pilates DVD.

The DVD has 45 minutes of stretching, balancing and body sculpting pilates techniques. The instructor uses odd language that makes little sense “Use your powerhouse (huh?) - press your bellybutton to your spine (is that even physically possible!) - trace the canteloupe with your foot, then trace the barrel, etc, etc”.


I proudly made it all the way to minute #17. After getting a little trapped in the exercise called ‘rolling ball’, where you are the ball, I decided I had to stop. I unravelled my pretzel like position and realised the weakness of my lower back is going to be a problem. Now I recognise a copout as easily as the next person and I was determined not to use my usual adage of ‘I always knew exercise is bad for you” which I pull out whenever anyone gets injured through sport or fitness related activities!

I figure that the pain in my back is more to do with lack of muscles than any long term issue. My chiro once said that your back is like a mast with no strength of its own. It relies on the surrounding muscles, like ropes on a mast. So building it up is the solution!



I’ve decided I’m going to take baby steps (or rolls) and aim to increase my efforts to 18 body sculpting minutes tomorrow. Just got to find my powerhouse and a canteloupe!

Wretched Woman

As I have said in previous blogs, I think I’m a pretty intelligent woman. Not trying to be arrogant or self-important. I think quickly and always have. One thing (only one thing?! Ha!) confounds me ... for an intelligent woman, why am I so stupid?

EXAMPLE 1
Is there any one of us who doesn’t know what healthy food is? Do we not know that salad is a better choice over hot chips? I mean, we’re not really confused by the fact that they’re both made from vegetables are we? We don’t need some chemist or dietician or weight-loss guru to tell us that fat is bad, do we? Really?




In fact, I not only know what’s good for me, I can feel what’s good for me. I have an intolerance to gluten and dairy. It is boring and annoying and I hate it, but I try to eat within the limitations. If I eat gluten, I get sinus attacks within three days. If I eat dairy, I get what feels similar to a stomach virus within hours. If I am gluten & dairy free for an extended period, I feel healthier, my immunity is boosted and I am pain free. And yet ... when the cream laden pastries are within arms reach ..... swoop! I’ve got one in my mouth and two in my pockets for later! Idiot.

Not to mention the whole weight - exercise - health issue. I know what it feels like to have strong joints and to visibly notice a difference in the toning of my body. I know what it feels like to drop a dress size. But when I’m alone in the car I’ll still drive thru at KFC?! Why, why, why do I make such stupid eating choices?

EXAMPLE 2
I hate housework but I love a clean house. I am a procrastinator of the highest order when it comes to chores. Of particular note is clothes washing. I have a friend who actually loves washing the clothes. She enjoys the sorting, the hanging out of fresh, damp laundry, the folding of fluffy newly dry fabric, kissed by the sun and the satisfaction of putting away piles of clothes into their respective places. Nightmare! Nightmare, I say!


But in reality, each step of the laundry process takes very little time. Hanging out a load takes 10 minutes, tops. And yet, stupid/intelligent me avoids doing the task for so long that it ends up needing to be re-washed. The same goes for taking the load down off the line. Many’s the time when I have left a load to be rained upon over days rather than be bothered to venture outside.

What is wrong with me? Why don’t I do the things I know I should do, quickly and when it’s needed. It’s such a good feeling to have them done and yet I leave the jobs fermenting. Fool.

And ironing? You might ask. Oh please .... I don’t iron.



EXAMPLE 3
I am a very talkative person. As I’ve mentioned previously, I’ll always offer my opinion and assume that everyone wants to listen to it! But I hate talking on the phone. I especially hate making the phone call. I think there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I got beaten with a phone as a child or something (sorry Mum!).

I hate the dialling (old fashioned term when you think about it), the waiting for the answer, the ‘not sure who you’re speaking to’ feeling, the embarrassment of assuming the voice is your girlfriend’s when in fact it’s her 14 year old son. (Actually at that moment I’m glad I’m on the phone so that we can’t see each other blush!) I hate the forced small talk before you can get to the point of why you’re calling, I hate the lack of eye contact and body language clues and I hate the inane ‘winding up banter’ eg. “Well, I guess I better let you go” Translation: I don’t want to talk to you anymore but I’m pretending I’m stopping out of courtesy to you.

In fact, I take this dislike of phone calls to a whole new level. I have been known to avoid making phone calls for MONTHS for no other reason than I just don’t want to pick up the phone. Making the call would actually only take five minutes and all normal people do it. What is my problem?? Crazy.

The arrival of SMS messaging was the dawn of a new and blessed era for me. Oh the joy of short, sharp, witty comments, practical reminders and brief notes of encouragement or concern with absolutely no need or expectation of banter, openings, endings or awkward silences. Thank you God, for SMS’s.



I’m sure there are many more ways in which I demonstrate the oxymoron of intelligent stupidity. I do what I shouldn’t do and don’t do what I should do. What a wretched woman I am. Am I alone in this? Does anyone else have an unreasonable fear of phones, clothes washing or gluten starvation?

I’m so odd. And at odds with life sometimes.

Thank goodness ... thank God that this life is not all we’ve got.