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You know how people who work out a lot always say things like, "Wow, that workout class choice was intense! I'm going to be so sore tomorrow I don't think I'll be able to sit down!" and then they go do it all over again and again and they keep talking about their horrifically sore painful muscles and how it's going to help them get in great shape no matter how much it hurts?
I walked two miles between picking up my prescription, getting lunch, and strolling around the neighborhood, and now my entire lower body doesn't want to move. My legs, hips, and knees have decided that unless I have my cane on me, I cannot walk.
Where is my special prize? I though we got prizes for sore muscles.
See, this is why I sometimes feel slightly triggered if a friend talks about how painful and excruciating their extreme exercise regimen makes them feel. You know. P90X or Yuppie Boot Camp or CrossFit or Zumba or Power Yoga or Dance Yoga or AcroYoga or anything combining yoga with anything or anything combing dancing with anything. Also, I will never stop saying how sick and tired I am of hearing about Snobby Yuppie Yoga Workout classes. I get it, you stretch and expand your mind and you exercise at the same time; good for you; now put your mind back in your brain. Stop telling me how yoga can help me and why. Stop. Just... stop it. My mother (who casually teaches old ladies kripalu style disabled yoga) does that for me over the phone very well because we're the Gilmore Girls with more bickering and we do that kind of thing.
The point is: Having physical disabilities and chronic illnesses means living with certain limitations unique to each individual, no matter what. People in wheelchairs do exercise and yoga, people with breathing problems take dance classes, with with semi-paralysis take martial arts, etc etc... and everyone finds a way to raise their own limits while compromising and compensating to fit the workout to them instead of fitting themselves to the workout. Unfortunately, not all of us are able to do this in a class setting or even a group setting for whatever reason.
So. When I say that my body is in horrible horrible pain from extremely simple, quick, easy working out after you say the same about extremely intense, slow, difficult working out, a tiny part of me runs off and cries.
The story:
When I was very little, I took gymnastics to try and help with the cerebral palsy. I lasted one year. I excelled at parallel bars and rings and anything that put me in the air. But I could not do floor exercises or balance beams. When I was a teenager, I took tai chi. The master was sixty and looked thirty. I was the youngest student. I kept making the mistake of following the master and not accepting my body's limitations. The master forgot that I was disabled. In the end, I wound up handling a few injuries that led to permanent sciatica and the master was so horrified that he offered to help me recover and to pay for doctor sessions. When I was in college, I took a few simple, mild exercise courses, and after every single one, while the other students were high-fiving and laughing and feeling energetic, I was curled up trying to hide my tears of agony. The first few times I tried even basic yoga, my entire body rebelled and screamed negative things until I meditated and listened and learned what was better for me, which led me and my mother to develop a highly modified version that was almost not yoga.
The point:
I have limitations with my disabilities. Do not tell me that I have none. Do not tell me that the only limitations are in my mind. Especially do not (ever) tell me that the only disability is a bad attitude. Back off and let me do what I do and make gentle suggestions here and there. Offer to help me stretch a little more and steady my arms while I lift a heavy thing. Help me stretch and flex my legs when I do my physical therapy. Do not whine to my face about how sore you are after your dance yoga power ballet spinning acrobatics martial arts class done in a well-lit air conditioned crowded room blasting out hip pop music. You chose that. You wanted it. You had the ability. I dream about dancing. I dream about being a gymnast. I dream about mastering tai chi and qi gong. I do my best every day to make small, gentle, careful moves that point in all those directions. I don't push my limits. I raise my limits so that I have farther and deeper to go before I reach those limits. And it is going to take a long time. I have to be extraordinarily careful so I don't trigger various symptoms. I only look healthy.
So go on. Go do your Power Dance Acro Cycle Pilates Trampoline Athetic Yoga Karate Class. Rip up your muscles so they can knit together and become stronger. Be strong. Be intense. Be powerful. Be proud. Fuck it, be arrogant and condescending. You deserve it for all that hard work.
Just don't tell me that I can do all these things you do with ease and don't tell me I have no limits and don't tell me that I'm just challenged or differently abled. Do not insult me. Just talk to me. Then, if I ask, work gently with me.
I walked two miles between picking up my prescription, getting lunch, and strolling around the neighborhood, and now my entire lower body doesn't want to move. My legs, hips, and knees have decided that unless I have my cane on me, I cannot walk.
Where is my special prize? I though we got prizes for sore muscles.
See, this is why I sometimes feel slightly triggered if a friend talks about how painful and excruciating their extreme exercise regimen makes them feel. You know. P90X or Yuppie Boot Camp or CrossFit or Zumba or Power Yoga or Dance Yoga or AcroYoga or anything combining yoga with anything or anything combing dancing with anything. Also, I will never stop saying how sick and tired I am of hearing about Snobby Yuppie Yoga Workout classes. I get it, you stretch and expand your mind and you exercise at the same time; good for you; now put your mind back in your brain. Stop telling me how yoga can help me and why. Stop. Just... stop it. My mother (who casually teaches old ladies kripalu style disabled yoga) does that for me over the phone very well because we're the Gilmore Girls with more bickering and we do that kind of thing.
The point is: Having physical disabilities and chronic illnesses means living with certain limitations unique to each individual, no matter what. People in wheelchairs do exercise and yoga, people with breathing problems take dance classes, with with semi-paralysis take martial arts, etc etc... and everyone finds a way to raise their own limits while compromising and compensating to fit the workout to them instead of fitting themselves to the workout. Unfortunately, not all of us are able to do this in a class setting or even a group setting for whatever reason.
So. When I say that my body is in horrible horrible pain from extremely simple, quick, easy working out after you say the same about extremely intense, slow, difficult working out, a tiny part of me runs off and cries.
The story:
When I was very little, I took gymnastics to try and help with the cerebral palsy. I lasted one year. I excelled at parallel bars and rings and anything that put me in the air. But I could not do floor exercises or balance beams. When I was a teenager, I took tai chi. The master was sixty and looked thirty. I was the youngest student. I kept making the mistake of following the master and not accepting my body's limitations. The master forgot that I was disabled. In the end, I wound up handling a few injuries that led to permanent sciatica and the master was so horrified that he offered to help me recover and to pay for doctor sessions. When I was in college, I took a few simple, mild exercise courses, and after every single one, while the other students were high-fiving and laughing and feeling energetic, I was curled up trying to hide my tears of agony. The first few times I tried even basic yoga, my entire body rebelled and screamed negative things until I meditated and listened and learned what was better for me, which led me and my mother to develop a highly modified version that was almost not yoga.
The point:
I have limitations with my disabilities. Do not tell me that I have none. Do not tell me that the only limitations are in my mind. Especially do not (ever) tell me that the only disability is a bad attitude. Back off and let me do what I do and make gentle suggestions here and there. Offer to help me stretch a little more and steady my arms while I lift a heavy thing. Help me stretch and flex my legs when I do my physical therapy. Do not whine to my face about how sore you are after your dance yoga power ballet spinning acrobatics martial arts class done in a well-lit air conditioned crowded room blasting out hip pop music. You chose that. You wanted it. You had the ability. I dream about dancing. I dream about being a gymnast. I dream about mastering tai chi and qi gong. I do my best every day to make small, gentle, careful moves that point in all those directions. I don't push my limits. I raise my limits so that I have farther and deeper to go before I reach those limits. And it is going to take a long time. I have to be extraordinarily careful so I don't trigger various symptoms. I only look healthy.
So go on. Go do your Power Dance Acro Cycle Pilates Trampoline Athetic Yoga Karate Class. Rip up your muscles so they can knit together and become stronger. Be strong. Be intense. Be powerful. Be proud. Fuck it, be arrogant and condescending. You deserve it for all that hard work.
Just don't tell me that I can do all these things you do with ease and don't tell me I have no limits and don't tell me that I'm just challenged or differently abled. Do not insult me. Just talk to me. Then, if I ask, work gently with me.
