Conquering Vertigo

Y

MCA
It's fun to stay at the YyyyyMCA-a.

Or at least work out there.
And now that I write it, perhaps "fun" isn't the correct word.

Regardless (not irregardless. Irregardless is not a word; stop using it.)

Regardless (and really the song is just a convenient lead-in to the blog today), the Man and I have joined the Y here at the Presidio, and are engaged in working our Major Muscle Groups.

My work-outs are complicated by the injured foot and the clogs I have to wear. Ever worn clogs to the gym? Let me rephrase that -- are you NOT Scandinavian, and yet you have worn clogs while working out at the gym? Do you feel my pain?

Since I'm not allowed to put undue pressure on my foot, my current areas of activity include:

• The recumbent bycicle
• Various machines for exercising arms and stomach muscles
• The swimming pool if I don't use my legs and feet much. Fun!

Recumbant bikes are sort of cool, actually. About half the recumbent bikes at the Y are attached to computer screens allowing you to surf the web or watch a television program while pedaling.

"While pedaling" is the operative phrase.
Stop pedaling and the screen goes black.
The web-TV access is supposed to act as an incentive to continue exercising.

But I wind up feeling like one of those gerbils or hamsters in an exercise wheel, forever running to catch something I can't have, while scientists evaluate my behavior.

"Look at that woman pedaling during the Julia Child re-run," they say behind the big glass wall, making obscure notations on their clipboards. "She's working so hard; does she really not know how to boil water? Do you think she'll ever learn? And what's with the clogs?"

The arm and so-on machines are easier. No real pressure on the Clog-encased Foot, and I can feel very virtuous about the lat pull-down and the tri-cep extension. Passers-by are sometimes startled when I announce "Twelve!" in the midst of complete silence, but then they notice the Clog and adjust their expectations accordingly.

The swimming without using my legs and feet is a toss-up.

• Plus, I don't have to wear the clogs.
• Minus, I'm automatically the slowest person in the lane.
• Plus, no one really notices the quiet counting of strokes, as if I'm a crew chief on the Thames.
  
• Minus, I forget not to use my feet, go underwater for a couple of mighty frog kicks, and come to the surface in pain, knowing I've just set my recovery back by another day or two.

Yesterday, I tried to adapt one of those styrofoam floating kick-boards to my work-out instructions. You know the ones, an elongated half-moon shape that people hold with their hands and arms while kicking like mad to get across the pool? Well, try clamping it between your thighs while using only your cupped palms to reach the other side.

They think the mirrors are only one-way, but I could see the scientists with their clipboards watching me. "Doesn't understand use of styrofoam board," they note on my permanent record in indelible ink. "Uncoordinated swimmer, slowest in her lane. Counts outloud."

"And where are her clogs?"

posted by Woman In Love @ 11:37 AM