Here’s the thing:
The more I move, the less I hurt.
I need to cross-stitch that onto a pillow or a sweater or something that I can read every single day, that I can take with me and remind myself every moment of every day.
I bitch and moan here about how much I hurt (I’d like to think I only bitch and moan about it here but ask my family and let’s see how much I bitch and moan to them about being in pain…)and yet I know, I KNOW, that when I move more, I hurt less.
The more laundry I do, the less my hip hurts. Our washer and dryer are in the basement. The closets in which I hang the clean clothes are upstairs. So I traipse up and down two flights of stairs, fourteen steps each (yes, I’m stair counter, have I never mentioned that) so just one trip from the closets to the washing machine is twenty-eight steps, not including the walk down the hall from the bottom of the main stairs to the top of the basement stairs.
So if I know this, why don’t I get more actual exercise every single day?
I don’t know. I mean, I do know, but I don’t really know. Sure, I’m lazy but isn’t is more work to bitch and moan about how much my stupid hip hurts than it does to go for a twenty-minute walk that would actually make my hip stop hurting?
But wait, my foot hurts too. Yes, my stupid left foot is hurting again. The plantar fasciitis is back with a vengeance. My heel hurts pretty much all the time. The last time I saw the doctor about my stupid left foot was just before I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a cortisone shot in my heel and wow, the relief was immediate. I couldn’t believe it. It may be time to see that guy again for another shot.
I’ve taken to wearing the brace he gave (sold) me for the tendonitis in the outside of my stupid left foot. It helps. Which also helps the pain in my hip. I think when my foot hurts, not only do I not want to move as much but I also tend to favor it, which puts a weird strain on my right hip.
I’m just a mess.
And yet…I’m not anymore. I’m better. I need to change my mindset of being a mess and just get off my rather large butt and move.
I know it makes me feel better, which should be all the motivation it takes. Alas, that’s not the case. So…what to do?
I’m trying to take it one step and one load of laundry at a time. When I’m going up the stairs for the twelfth time in on Sunday afternoon, I often marvel at how much I don’t hurt. That’s a start; acknowledging that I feel good. I know we don’t always do that. When we hurt, it consumes us but when we’re feeling good, or at least not in pain, we often take it for granted. I’m trying not to do that.