I
have always been fortunate enough to be able to brag that I sleep well. I have often
stated (unapologetically) that I sleep like someone with a clean conscience. But,
the last few months seem to have landed me with a mild case of foot in
mouth.
After
a number of recent bouts of insomnia I have felt the frustrating pain that the millions
who suffers from insomnia struggle with; and I cry for every single one of
them.
But
why on earth would I suddenly be struck by this frustrating condition? My
conscience is still squeaky clean, I’m working longer hours, my work load has
increased, and I’m busier than I have ever been. My anxiety levels have been
stable at “high” for years. Surely I
should be sleeping even better than ever before (if that’s even possible).
Could
it be age? I blame most things on aging. It’s because of aging that I look old.
It’s because of aging that I struggle to lose weight. It’s because of aging
that I can no longer wear cute little outfits without looking like mutton
dressed as lamb. It’s because of aging that I can no longer practise the Karma
Sutra without straining various muscle groups. It may very well be because of
aging that my sleeping pattern has change.
So
I had another extensive discussion with myself and decided that although my
days are longer and busier and my anxiety levels remain unchanged, and there is
sweet blow all I can do about aging, I am not really any more active than
before. I concluded that I would try to move a little more to see if I could
stimulate a better night sleep. I’m an
avid exercise hater, mainly because the couch is my place of safety and I think
sweating is revolting but, I’ve decided to try light exercise to see if it will
relieve my problem.
So
I went for a walk…………
I
kitted myself out with a sweet pair of gel trainers, stole some ear phones from
my son and walked calmly out the gate. I put the music on and started my walk.
I had no route, distance or time in mind. I was simply going to walk until I got
bored or couldn’t walk anymore (whichever came first). I immediately noticed
that my pace was good – fast and strong!
“Oh wow, this is going to be a piece of cake! I can do this!” I thought.
“But what the hell am I listening to?” I took the phone out my pocket. Skip song!
I have no idea how that RAAAAAR RAAAAAR excuse for music landed on my playlist.
Good
- nice music again, let’s keep the pace. I managed another three blocks before
I realized I was really pounding the tar. My feet started feeling tender so I
changed my pace to take shorter, lighter steps. But what the hell was I
listening to now? I took my phone out my pocket to make sure the phone was in
fact mine because I couldn’t recognise the music as anything remotely like the
music I’d download. I would never listen to this crap… It was definitely my
phone though. Skip song, again!
A
small gentle uphill – I can do it! But then the heavy breathing started. Not
the exciting kind of heavy breathing, but rather the dying kind – guttural, hoarse
and ugly. I was gasping and gulping for air at the exact time that I walked into
a swarm of midges. I sucked those
buggers in by the lung full which caused a frenzied reaction which involved me swishing
my hands wildly in front of my face to try clear the air so I could continue gasping
without vacuuming any more midges in. Any residents standing in their gardens
watching me may have thought I was having some kind convulsion, or perhaps that
I was self harming. I fought my way
through the swarm and stepped up my pace. I had to get distance between me and
those pests.
As I made it over the verge
I decisively concluded that I’d had enough. But I couldn’t just stop there. I
was about 5 blocks away from home. So the next block up I turned to head homeward. A nice easy stretch of road – flat and
straight, and no midges. I slowed my pace to try easing the ridiculous
breathing. But wtf was playing now… skip song, again. Finding a decent tune to listen to took me to
the end of that block and with a better beat playing I started a steady
downhill towards home.
I
was two blocks closer to home when I diagnosed myself with plantar fasciitis,
shin splints and groin strain. I was in agony. My lungs and throat were still
burning. But worst of all there was still crap playing through the earphones. Where
the frikken hell did this music come from. SKIP
SONG!
After
what felt like an hour, I reached home so frustrated. I was least concerned
about the fact that I was damn near crawling from my freshly self diagnosed
ailments, and had only been on the tar for 20 minutes. My playlist had invented
a whole new level of frustration for me. I heaved myself through the front door,
waddled with very small delicate steps to my bed and there I lay for a good
hour sorting and deleting tunes. I
conclude that there is little worse than listening to dreadful music whilst
dying.
So
I tried cycling……….
This
should be a whole lot of fun – cycling with my favourite friends. I’ll be off
my feet and on my bum – how hard can it be?
Apparently only as hard as the bicycle seat!
My
Sunday morning cycle was on a borrowed bike - I felt it was a little too big for
me because even when sitting on the seat in its lowest position I could only
reach the ground with my tip toes. But
with no bike of my own I had no choice but to use what had graciously be loaned
to me. The ride started out just dandy! Nice
easy tar, but then we turned onto the dirt and all hell broke loose. Bump, bump,
bump, jiggle, bump, uphill, bump, bump, jiggle, narrow foot path, mud, BIG
BUMP, feet fly off the peddles, off the path, into the ruts, handlebar wobbling,
OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! I didn’t fall but came dangerously close, twice!
I
thought sitting and exercising would be far more comfortable then exercising on
my feet. But alas - I was wrong! After I was informed that we had done
approximately 5 kilometres I asked in my most hopeful voice “Does that mean we
are finished?” “NO” came Linda’s response. While my body felt like it could go
on, I was pretty damn sure that my nether region couldn’t take more. My
delicate area was taking excessive strain. It was burning and uncomfortable and
feeling out right nasty. I tried standing on the pedals to take the pressure
off my little flower, but that just threw me off balance and the bike wobbled and
sent me into the ruts again. I had to sit down to gain control of the bike
right in the middle of some enormous rippling bumps. My punani took yet another
very nasty pounding and it was not pleasant pounding by any stretch of the imagination.
After 8.5 km and a whole lot
of whining about my very sore flower, I was taken back to base. I walked tall
to hide the fact that my crushed flower was causing me intense discomfort, but
I think it was pretty obvious I was having tremendous difficulty walking. I managed
to enjoy a lovely breakfast, wonderful company and have a few good laughs
before I got home and gently put myself on the couch. I had to lie down and
rest my bruised punani. I struggled to
sit for two days.
Did
I sleep better? I sure did! I conclude that exercise tames insomnia. But do I feel
better? Should I be putting my body
parts at risk like this just for a better night sleep?
The
next discussion I have with myself is going to be about which discomfort I can live
with more ungrudgingly – the sheer exhaustion which comes from insomnia or the
battered and bruised body parts which come from exercising.
