Insomnia or Exercise?

 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.