Some parents sat inside the warmth of the ski lodge, viewing the class through large picture windows. Other parents watched from the bottom of the hill, seated at crudely built wooden tables with tree stumps for stools. They were positioned to watch their children as they made their way down the bunny slope during ski school. On a good day, the line of children following the instructor looked like a row of little ducklings following their mother as they traversed slowly back and forth, making their way from the top to the bottom.
The good days were the days I loved my job as a ski instructor the most. Teaching children to ski was much better than teaching adults. Those kids were like rubber! When they fell down, they bounced right back up.
I once spent twenty minutes trying to show an adult how to get up from the snow while wearing skis. Finally, by using every ounce of strength I could muster, I ended up pulling the guy up by the armpits.
Another fun part about instructing the kids was that they were smiling and laughing most of the time … the adults were moaning and groaning. For years, I thought the adults were just afraid or grumpy. What I know now is that they were in pain! Or they knew they would be hobbling around the following day!
When did that happen to me? When did I cross over from smiling and laughing after a day of physical activity to the moaning and groaning bench? If I were forced to pick a number, I’d say 45. After age 45, my body let me know that it did NOT appreciate my weekend warrior lifestyle.
You know that lifestyle … you sit at a desk all week staring at your computer screen, so by the weekend you want to be outside as much as possible. When the kids were little, that meant every weekend was spent at the ocean, the lake, or the stables—surfing, skiing, and doing barn chores.
The kids are long gone, and the horses and boats have gone with them, but don’t get me wrong. That doesn’t mean I’ve quit cramming as much fun … or work, as my husband calls my fun … into every weekend. I may not be surfing, skiing, or doing barn chores, but this weekend I found myself under the bathroom sink contorted into pretzel position to tighten the leaking faucet. When I emerged—victorious I might add—I couldn’t raise my arms in celebration for about 15 minutes because it hurt too much to move!
The unfortunate thing is that it isn’t only contortionist positions that render me immobile. Seemingly benign things like stopping to pick up the laundry or blow drying my hair have created similar results, and I DON’T LIKE IT! Sorry for ALL THESE CAPS, but I REALLY DON’T LIKE IT!
Since I’m not going to stop doing the laundry or blow drying my hair, it doesn’t make sense to stop doing the outdoor things I love either. Even though I know I will be sore the next day, this spring I will still plant my garden, and refurbish my pergola and patio seating.
It’s all about using the technique of mind over matter.
You can add some HRT! Game changer, it is! But I feel ya👩🏻🦯👩🏻🦽➡️