I did exercise yesterday, but also had a job interview, for which I prepared extensively, and then afterwards felt really tired, so I never ended up blogging about it. So there. Today, I went swimming, combined with time in the sauna. Coming from frigid outdoor temperatures, it took a full 10 minutes before I broke any kind of sweat inside the sauna. I was all red aftewards, which I thought was really interesting because it was an even redness all over every part of my body. Being in the sauna is a strange experience - you have to really give in to the experience if you don't do it often because it's so hot, and you find yourself feeling a little panicked with so much heat around you and in the air that you're breathing in. Once you relax, though, and allow your body to soak in the heat, it's nice to feel your muscles relax. I believe that it is good for you, and they say that it's good for joint problems, but perhaps the 25 minutes of swimming afterwards wasn't as good because my wrist, fingers, and elbows did hurt afterwards. But I felt generally healthier, and happy to have done my exercise, so that's something.
I'm grateful for my past unfettered health. I think it's one of the most difficult things for healthy people to understand people who are having serious health problems. Most of the time, healthy people don't have any interest in unhealthy people because they're so in the flow of life. They don't see that sick people are slow because of pain and disease - literally, don't see them, don't see the problem. I know I was that way with people in the past, but now that I'm experiencing my pain symptoms, I definitely have a lot more compassion for people who are not well.
When I was swimming, I went rather slowly and deliberately, trying to make sure I didn't overdo anything. About halfway through my time, a girl started up in the next lane, and she powered through. She may have been in high school or college. I think she must have made two laps for one of mine. I used to be like her. Anyway, I could see her beautiful strokes, and feel the power she had cutting through water. I remember that grand feeling of making the water move just the way I wanted it to. I'm glad I have known that. I am grateful for this condition now that gives me insight into what it might be like for two of my friends who have rheumatoid arthritis. It's astounding that people have this disease and don't decide to just give up entirely. Healthy people really don't know what they've got until it's gone... Sick people show us the true strength of what it is to live and be human.
And people who aren't as fast or as strong any more - they have something to give still. They can contribute, and indeed, one of my friends, ML, strives to be independent and contribute, and she does, a great deal. Such a strong woman, with her knees replaced, and arthritis curling her every joint. I do think she gives more than I do, and is much stronger than me.
Perhaps sickness can make us stronger. It makes us see what's important, helps us prioritize. I've often had this problem of having too many options in front of me. Too many choices. Not enough passion. Someone said that you pick your passion, don't wait for it to pick you. Yes. I agree. Go towards things you're attracted to, do what you can, and let the universe deal with the rest. There's more than enough to go around.
My visualization:
Feel warm, soft sand beneath my feet, almost dusty.
Miles of crystalline green waters lay out in front of me, light playing into the facets, reflecting off the shallow shoals.
A palm tree shades my spot, and I sit there, soaking in the summer heat.
My immune system is a bent, distorted piece of metal, scuffed, rusted, marked up.
Out here on the calm, warm, comforting beach, I see it transformed, straightened, polished, filled in with missing parts. The instructions for my immune system are rewritten, finally, a whole, clean, shining piece that transforms back into a small metal cube that I swallow.
I lay in the warm crystal waters, waves lapping over me.
The crystal water is a tonic, a purifier.
Every time it laps over me, it washes me, clearing away the old, bad information,
making way for the clean, clear, good information.
Healing me.
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