Somewhere toward the beginning of the pandemic, let’s say March or Aprilish, I realized that I (like so many others) had started putting on the pounds. Perhaps it was depression, or boredom, anxiety, maybe ordering in so many times because I couldn’t just go to the store whenever I wanted to pick-up what we wanted for dinner. Who knows. All I know is that once I realized it was piling on, I knew it needed to come back off. So I started dieting, and working out. And while the dieting isn’t so so bad (25 pounds down, thankyousomuch), I’m here to tell you, working out is a pain in the ass.
Working Out Is A Pain In The Ass
When I was 24 I was diagnosed with an undifferentiated autoimmune disorder. That means that the doctors knew something immune-related was wrong with me, but it hadn’t defined itself well enough yet to call it any one thing. So it was called: lupus, then mixed connective tissue disease, then fibromyalgia, then rheumatoid arthritis – and with each different name, a different medication was started. This past year my rheumatologist decided she was done waiting for my disease to name itself, so she said that a rash on my arm looked like psoriasis and we went with psoriatic arthritis.
This matters because without a name, we couldn’t try any of the big gun medications. With a name, I’m now on Enbrel and lo and behold the inflammation markers are going down and I’m actually feeling better for the first time in almost twenty years. With that, though, comes the desire to live better. When my autoimmune disorder was at the height of flaring up, I could barely move. I’d sleep 17 hours a day some days, and I spent so much time in pain that I could barely walk.
Now, I had a new lease on life. The pain from simply moving was gone, and I was looking forward to hitting the gym and becoming the badass I knew was inside of me.
Then, COVID-19 hit. And just like that, gyms closed. Restaurant deliver was easier than ever, and since no one could leave their homes, I (like everyone else) started putting on weight.
But again, I’m on Enbrel, and it’s helping my joints. I feel better, I couldn’t let this virus beat me back down! So, I started walking. Mostly at home. Okay, all at home. Pretty much either walking up and down my hallway or marching in place. When I first started, I hit 1500 steps in one day and went to bed with legs that felt like rubber. I had spent so many years not moving at all that even now at 3000 steps per day I’m going to bed in pain like, damn. Determined, but DAMN!
I mean, I’m glad I’m doing more than I did before, but I really wish the body didn’t respond with pain. That’s so dumb. You’d think it would respond with ice cream or glittery hair or some other happy incentive. Nope. Pain. YOU SUCK, HERE’S SOME PAIN.
Glitter hair would be a much better incentive.
I’m still going to do this, even without the glitter hair, but honestly, working out really is a pain in the ass. Literally. I know it’ll be worth it in the end, but until then, damn.
Are you taking steps to stay active while things are shutdown? Want someone to virtually walk with? Join me on Stridekick and let’s work this out together!