February, the month of love and romance. And here already. Some may say not soon enough. It was welcomed here with a fabulously beautiful "tease" day, mid 60's with the sun shining brightly in a brilliant blue sky. (Today we're back to ice and yuck) Everyone was washing cars, walking their pets, tinkering in their lawns -- it was a day of rampant rejoicing. On my way to the gym yesterday morning, the highway was dotted with countless runners taking advantage of this mild weather to get their run on.
Later I sat on the patio in the sun -- short sleeves! -- and soaked up its warmth and goodness while reading magazines and listening to Blank & Jones on Pandora.
We ended the day with a fire on the patio, watching the sun go down. I grilled pork chops and made a tossed salad with a light vinegar-based dressing. A toast ...red wine...to this beautiful red evening sky.
I replaced some of the adornments on my front door wreath with a big red heart. It is that time, world. Get busy writing your love notes. Tell 'em that you love them.
A love note a day ignites romance, they say.
As a hopeless romantic, I think of the time when lovers had to communicate their affections by written letters and notes when they were away from each other -- no telephones, not cell phones text messages, no emails. You bled onto paper in your own handwriting. It was real. Tangible. Drawn from the deepest places of the heart. I've begun collecting some favorite "love letters" from Pinterest. I will share them during the month of February in my blog.
There are times when there's just way too much STUFF in my head, on my
heart, weighing me down. I’m not
special. We all have it. People have issues. It’s the stuff of life. But I think women have it worse -- no, I
KNOW we have it worse. From the day we
took our first breath until the day we take our last. We pay dues.
One of the reasons I blog is that it offers a vessel into
which I can empty myself when my drains get clogged and the overflow proves
detrimental to my very sanity. It helps. Getting it all out of my brain, out of my heart, and
onto “paper” -- cyber paper, that is, it assuages the pain. Though far more transparent than keeping a diary, blogging can still be almost as cathartic. That
is, if the words will form. And when they
don’t -- for whatever reason -- I feel involuntarily stifled. The weight of the STUFF that needs to be
purged bogs me down both mentally and physically. Try as I might, the words simply won’t
form. My voice gone. It's empty. I'm silenced.
Enough. I can't hold my breath forever. I need to exhale. I decided it was time to just sit down and … as Ernest
Hemingway puts it -- Bleed.
I think about all the times when I was younger hearing "the old people" say things like "getting old sucks,” or “getting
old is not for sissies.” I'd think
to myself: Uh-huh. Yeah, I guess. Hmmm.
Bummer. But I always wondered to myself what those words really meant.
It's not that I think of myself as
invincible. Time doesn't stand still
for any of us. We all grow old eventually. But the goal, hopefully, is to try slowing the pace and easing into it. Well, as they say: I didn't see it coming! I didn’t realize that [it] would send a jolt my way like a bucket of ice water in my face --
or maybe I should say, a cup of steaming coffee? The horrors of menopause from the past 4 to 6 weeks, arriving like a bat out of hell, have literally robbed me of my identity. I don't even know who I am anymore. I look in the mirror and see a stranger. An unfriendly one. This is not who I want to be! Menopause has affected my sleep,
my energy levels, my sex drive, my mood, my tolerance levels, and most of all my joie de vivre. My typical method of unloading a bad hand, the "shit" of life, has been getting myself to the gym for a good sweat. But in these past several weeks, that hasn't worked as effectively. And now I think I know why.
With no energy and not enough rest, people can expect to morph into a most unpleasant version of themselves. Increasingly fatigued, I couldn't find the energy to work out and was far grumpier
than usual. It dawned on me this morning
that I have not had a good night’s rest in over a month. I'm usually up two, three, four times a night for several minutes at a time, sometimes for over an hour. Hot flashes, sleeplessness, whatever.
Just can’t sleep. Can’t
rest. Toss, turn, get up, lie back down. Go downstairs. Try again. Repeat. And I wonder why I have no
energy? Angry, annoyed and confused, I hurdle insults at myself:
Why I can’t get myself to the gym?
Why am I overeating more than usual?
Why am I craving carbs more than usual?
Why is (he) getting on my nerves?
Why do I feel so sad?
Why am I so tired?
Why does winter seem darker than usual?
Why does food not taste good anymore?
Why do I not want to be around people?
Why do I feel like I'm suffocating?
It’s been a domino effect. When we don’t sleep well, our cortisol levels
go out the roof. which triggers increased hunger and a slower metabolic
rate. As a result, extra fat is stored,
making us even MORE sluggish. Low on energy and unsatiated, we then eat more, both out of boredom and ensuing hunger, and the cycle continues.
I was trying to do pushups the other evening in the family
room floor. Really??? I was shocked and mad as hell at myself that I
couldn’t do my normal set of 20-25. I
got to 15, and not without a struggle -- and gave up. You're a pitiful mess, I said to myself. What the hell is wrong with you!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yesterday afternoon, after losing my temper with my son over
an incident, the last straw that made me snap following a series of other repeated feuds with him (I used the F word with him twice!!! I never use the F word in
front of my kids!!!), I realized that I needed to get him home then get a grip and get the hell out of the house, go somewhere and diffuse. Immediately. I drove to the park and sat in
my car in silence for several minutes. The sun was beginning to set over the hill, and I was fixated on its beauty and calming effect on me. I sat there in my car for over an hour. It was too cold to get out of my car, and I wasn't dressed to go tromping through the snow and ice to a nearby picnic table or bench. I eventually switched on my
Pandora app and just sat there staring blankly into the sky, listening to soft
music. What now? The sycamore and birch trees stood tall and majestic, their gleaming white bark upstaging the surrounding rows of dark green pine and other bare-branched deciduous species. My medicine. Temperatures dropping, I
watched as clouds formed and drifted in front of the setting sun. Frustrated with myself for having lost my
temper with my son, I felt powerless.
I'm broken. I want fixed.
I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t
want to cook dinner. I didn't want to hear the TV. I didn't want to face the dimly lit evening winter hours ahead. I didn’t want to do
chores, or laundry, or engage in conversation with anyone. I didn’t want to be asked how my day was when
my husband arrived home. I didn’t want
to talk about everything that was bothering me, at how angry I was at myself
for allowing a simple thing like menopause issues to have such a stronghold on
me. Silenced. I either couldn’t or wouldn’t give voice to my frustrations. I didn’t feel like justifying my behavior or attempting to explain [again] my apparent apathy and aloofness.
No
voice. Silenced. I couldn’t even put the sentence together in
my head.
The only words that felt right forming on my lips …
What’s FUCKING wrong with me?
Leave me the hell alone.
After the sun had set and darkness began filling my world, I
knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. I
had to go home. Hunger hit out of nowhere. I'm not cooking, I said to myself. I stopped and grabbed a
few hot n spicy wings. They hit the
spot. I needed KICK. Actually, what I needed was a KICK START. But what, where, and how?
I pulled into the driveway.
I walked in the house. I tersely
answered the impending rhetorical questions.
I gave my side of the story regarding the argument I’d had with my son, defiantly
defending myself -- the words were beginning to spill, it seemed. Yikes.
I
announced that I was going upstairs to read.
Translated: Leave me alone. After changing clothes and getting ready for
bed -- at 7:30! -- I crawled into bed and began to read. I read for about an hour, and then fell
asleep. I woke up an hour later feeling
entirely exhausted and desperate for more rest.
My doctor had given me a prescription to help with night sweats a few
weeks ago, and after the third night and no
results, I’d given up on it. I decided
last night to take two instead of one, hoping that it would offer me
a bit of relief.
When I woke up this
morning, just before my alarm went off, it hit me. I was ecstatic. I’ve slept through the night! For the first time in HOW LONG?
I actually felt rested.
Having been so depleted of rest and energy, it had been over a week
since I’d been to the gym in the mornings.
Today was different, thankfully. I decided to give it a go.
I made coffee, changed clothes, and off I went, managing to get in 25 mins of
leg/glute work and 18 mins of cardio on the elliptical. High volume, low weight, to really get my
heart rate up but still challenge the muscle. EAU YEAH. Feeling good so far! Simple pleasures. Thankful to
feel somewhat alive again, I grabbed my gym bag and headed home.
The sun was shining, the temperatures had
risen to a balmy 34 already, and it was Friday.
Physically, I felt halfway decent for the first time in weeks. One hurdle down, a few more to go. But I’ll take this. I’ll
most definitely take it and celebrate.
After all, it is winter. It’s
been damn cold, dark, ugly, and life is beyond dull right now. Add to all of that the onset of relentless
hot flashes and sleepless nights, and I guess I can expect to lose my temper,
my sense of joy. I’ve gotta work through
this somehow. Women go through this all
the time. I’m not special. I’ve got to find my way. I have so much to be thankful for. This is no way to live.
My son had already left for school when I pulled in the
driveway on my way back from the gym. I had already decided to apologize to him for losing
my temper. I grabbed my phone and texted
my apology to him with an extra dose of sincerity, ending the text with “I love
you.” No response. I proceeded to get ready for my day.
Just before heading out the door
to drive to work, my phone alerted a text.
It was him. He said he was sorry
for being so disrespectful lately, ending his text with those three most
precious words:
“I love
you.”
It made my day. It fixed me. For now at least.
I feel rested.
Finally. I can smile again. It feels good to exhale, to purge, to bleed from the heart.
That is the controlling theme for my life, it seems. It started about mid December, this avalanche of hot flashes, and I've been trying to minimize them ever since. I've Googled, researched, asked questions, tried supplements -- all with very little improvement.
I’m melting
here, people!
I'm hot natured anyway. Raise my temperature on top of my natural thermostat, and we have a critical situation here. Several times a day I'm running outdoors to the back porch just to diffuse. And it's WINTER. What if it were summer? Would they have to admit me to the hospital? Keep me in one of those tents on life support?
That's not funny.
Never mind.
My research tells me that wine and coffee exacerbate hot flashes. Great. Just take ALL of my pleasure away why doncha.
I can't wear many of my favorites of my winter wardrobe -- ribbed turtlenecks, some of my heavier blazers, sweaters. I'm wearing thin, light layers most every day so that I can shed when necessary. No fun at all! I guess it at least keeps me motivated to keep my arms as toned as possible. No pressure. RIGHT!
So I dreamed last night that I was on assignment (assignment?) interviewing women about their hot flash experiences. What, when, how long, how extensive, what they did to alleviate them, whether they were successful in treating them. I was on the news, reporting live with my interviews. It was a funny dream. But not really. I mean it's funny thinking back to it, but the dream itself was tormenting. Maybe I should change that to "nightmare."
So I managed to get to the gym today around 11:00. It's my day off -- MLK Day -- and I had other errands to run earlier. I wanted to warm up (warm up?) with cardio. I suffered through on the cardio loft for ten minutes and then thankfully headed down to the [cooler] weight room for lifting. It was shoulder and abs day, with a four sets of decline skull crushers thrown in for triceps. I pushed hard for an hour and loved-hated every minute of it.
Three sets of each of the following,
unless otherwise noted:
lateral raises
lying leg raises/crunches with gym ball
wood chop squats with medicine ball
Arnold presses
inclined rear delt raises
inclined front DB raises
weighed planks (10 lbs 90 secs)
declined weighted crunches (25 lbs x 12)
leg extensions
bicep BB curls 21’s (30 lbs x 2 sets)
declined tricep extensions (skull
crushers) (30 lbs x 12)
Finishing with one continuous ab
cycle:
20 bicycle crunches
20 V-crunches
15 lying leg lifts
I'm driving home with the windows down, the cool winter air and warm sunshine in my face. Sunny and 50 degrees. This isn't supposed to last long. We're expecting snow tomorrow.
I have a list of things to get done today on my day off. I plan to make a chicken casserole for dinner -- my mother-in-law is coming to stay with us for a couple of days before flying to CA to visit her brother for a couple of weeks to beat winter blues. I'd like to go along too. But reality tells me I gotta stay put. We have a trial starting tomorrow. No goofing off for me.
So in the meantime I'll keep yummy candles lit, play music that soothes and uplifts me, keep popping Vitamin D and fish oil, make visits now and then to the tanning bed (thank you, Deborah), and stay committed to my morning cardio and my gym routine. It's my survival technique for the nextt couple of months to get me through winter. You do what you have to do. Look for happy...
