Sunday morning wanderings

I usually go to Maggie's spinning class Sunday mornings at the Holyoke Y. It is quite a wake-up call and energizing and fun. But it did not happen today, so, for a total change of pace, I went to an alignment-based yoga class at the Hampshire Regional YMCA.

Sometimes people don't realize that most Y members have reciprocity at other locations. These two Y's have different personalities, each with something different to offer. I have their schedules side-by-side on my desktop. The people at the Holyoke Y know me better and have been wonderful and instrumental in helping me get back on my feet and stay there.

Whenever I have a new yoga teacher, that teacher sees that my left hand will not flatten out. As happened today, the teacher comes over and asks if I can undo my claw. Well, if I could, I would. I don't really say that; I just explain that I assume it is arthritis, which I think I also have in my wrists, because I cannot make a 90-degree angle between my hands and my wrists. It probably hurts my down dog because I don't have a good foundation. This teacher suggested, as others have done, to roll up my yoga mat at the front for more support. Also, she brought me over a chair when she saw that I had trouble balancing. I appreciated that.

I am thinking of going back at 4:30 for Pilates. Looking at the schedules, I realized that I could spend a whole day going back and forth between Y's, but then I wouldn't get anything else accomplished.

On my way home, I stopped at Breezy Acres and almost had a full lunch while Evelyn gave me samples of almost everything in her case. At one point I had four plastic forks in my hand. I came home with enough food for dinner...chicken soup, baked beans, antipasto and a new supply of my favorite apples, Macouns. I said I vowed to make some good soups this winter, but my soups always taste so bland and watery because I don't have a sense of what to add. I guess I could read a recipe.

Vanessa James, an old acquaintance who is a professor of theater at Mount Holyoke, was there, and the three of us talked about politics. Her son has an interesting job working for Joe Biden. We talked about whether or not Joe will run, and we agreed that after Hillary's performance in the #DemDebate, it seems increasingly unlikely.

When she closes for the winter, I'm going to miss going over there to our little community gathering place. I told this to Evelyn, who is always so cheerful, and she said not to worry, she's going to be open for quite a while longer. Also, there is always Tailgate Picnic.

Harsh words that I said to myself

Sometimes a critical voice comes into my head, such as this admonition when I walked up the stairs to a Pilates class at the Hampshire Regional YMCA this morning:

"Walk like a normal person."

Somebody was behind me, and I didn't want my slower pace to hold her up. I think I might have even mouthed the words or possibly even mumbled them. In any case I heeded them and walked up more quickly. I doubt it bothered the woman behind me. It was just bothersome to me. Not a problem in Northampton, although they might run you down on the stairs in the New York subway system. I am normal enough on the tennis court. Stairs are the last frontier.

Once in class I did well. I have caught on quickly. I even discovered another vertebrae in my back so that when lying down, I can touch more of my back to the mat, one section at a time.

After Pilates I rode a bike for half an hour, followed by a not too difficult decision on whether to lift weights or head to Woodstar before the Sunday morning crowds arrived. I chose the latter. Usually I bring my Sunday New York Times, but today, much to my annoyance, it was not delivered. I did get a paper: yesterday's, delivered today. I took my laptop instead.

I usually don't mind reading on line, but on Sunday, I like to spread the sections around and save what I want, usually the Book Review, for the next day or so.

I have had delivery issues before and am not alone in this for The Republican as well.

This is difficult for newspapers to control, but if they want to hold on to a loyal and dwindling print readership, they should devote more resources to figuring it out.

Walking the way I walk

Someone was saying I walk funny: stiffly and almost like I am on shards and trying to hold myself together.

People mention this frequently, mostly out of concern as in "Are you all right?" but sometimes it sounds critical, which is probably just my thing, but it does occasionally come out in a tone that makes the question sound like, "What's the matter with you?"

I told Joe and he said let that person have leukemia three times (not to mention the coma, which I just did, thereby engaging in a pet peeve of mine by saying "not to mention" when I just mentioned it) and I am much better than I was a couple of years ago.

Someone who I briefly knew said I exercise too much and that he knew I was trying to keep my girlish figure, but still. Actually I am lucky to have my father's metabolism and so that although with age it is a little harder, my "girlish figure" (what a putdown) takes care of itself. This person said my gait was off. So it is. But did I ask?

I do the work like fitness classes because I have to do it to maintain my strength and the balance that I have, which is not the same as it was before cancer but not nearly as bad as shortly after my transplant when by all accounts I walked like a Gumby doll and people were afraid that I would fall over, which I frequently did.

 Maybe some day I will like these classes, but at this point they are a chore, although the Pilates class  at the Hampshire Regional YMCA is just perfect, and I wish that it was offered more frequently, and also the yoga class the Justine teaches at Serenity Yoga is wonderful too, and she always makes sure that I get a wall.

Did I say that the other day I squatted to get a pot out of the low cabinet and toppled over onto the tiled kitchen floor? Did I say that I lost my balance in my bathroom and scraped my arm? Did I say that even with the Neurontin, the neuropathy from chemotherapy causes me to never totally feel my feet on the ground?

I hate to think of what I would be like without all the exercising I do.

When I first got back to tennis (again), I was not so great due to these problems and also the weakness in my quads from prednisone and my lower red blood cell count.

But now that is normal and my endurance is good.  Now when I am on a tennis court, the tentativeness goes away, and after we play for our allotted time I could just keep going.

It is like someone with a stutter who sings, and that stutter goes away.

If only I could carry a tennis court around with me...