Born Again Gym Rat: Running On Half A Tank

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Running On Half A Tank

I read somewhere that daughters were prone to inheriting their mothers' craziness. I hope it's not true. My mom was bat-shit crazy. Not the obvious "cat lady hoarder crazy", but unhinged nonetheless. When I read that OCD could be related to untreated childhood rheumatic heart disease, I felt like I'd been granted a reprieve. I'm not as compulsive as my mother, but there are personality traits I'd rather not have. Like anxiety. Occasionally I wake up in a panic with racing thoughts, and irrational fear. I think our society may have such tendencies as a whole, explaining our obsession with "leisurely" pursuits that allow us to self-medicate and obliviate our worries. (Yes, that's a real word.) It explains the despair and hopeless rage of mass murder and suicides. It is scary as hell.

If you're not a cog in the machine, then what are you? Are your thoughts rational or delusional? They seem to change like the weather. If my visual perception can change dramatically without the aid of lenses or mind/mood altering products, then what of emotional and intellectual perceptions. For example, I once described an acquaintance as tall and thin as she loomed over me. But she's only two to three inches taller than me and probably the same weight. Astigmatism? I don't think it works quite like that. My emotions have run the gamut from raging despair to quiet happiness in a span of a few weeks where nothing else has changed. Is this menopause brain?

I'll be 56 next month, and I'm trying to wrap my head around getting soft and flabby. It's not a comforting thought. Marketeers of hearing aids and assisted living plans are all too eager to sell unnecessary items to me. Rosie, the senior who walks a mile and a half to the gym, tells me she thinks I'm in my 30s. She needs better glasses, but I'm flattered. And I don't feel quite as soft and dumpy anymore, even though I know I've looked better.

I had a dream about being surrounded and lost in a literal mountain heap of black plastic garbage bags, strewn with small yellow shopping bags. Someone was asking me why I was shopping so much. And I woke up in a panic, my heart racing, worried that I was sitting on the edge of a precipice, too scared to move. My mother suffered from agoraphobia. I don't have that issue, but I'm not a big traveler. When I roamed, when I was younger, it was with a sense of fated recklessness. Now I have responsibilities, people I care about and love. And I feel paralyzed, with too many projects I have yet to start and complete. I feel overwhelmed. What I really need to do is breathe. Calm down, make a list, and then actually check the items off as I get them done. Without distractions. Going to the gym is a distraction. But it is also a calming meditation, and in a sense, medication for my over-wired brain.

I get to the gym today, having had fractured and disturbing sleep. I'm lagging a bit. But I still manage over 6 miles in cardio. Still knock out a few push ups and pull ups, bench a few reps. The sciatica threatens to cramp my hamstring as I add plates to the bar. But I up the reps on the Reverse Incline DB Flyes. I only do two sets of pull ups though, because today the Stretch Cage is very popular with the Seniors. My sciatica really bothers me when I pull myself up straight so I curl my knees into my chest. I feel a familiar strain under my sternum as I pull. Not a good feeling. Is my gall bladder acting up? Or my liver? The only thing that seems easy are the Drag Curls. I should probably up those weights next time.

Thursday Workout
(6.4 miles cardio)