![]() It took long enough, but it finally hit me – apart from teaching me to be water-safe (to float and to tread), my mom taught me to appreciate how swimming makes me feel. Until she was diagnosed with a brain tumor, she swam a mile a day – before coffee, or tea, or toast, and sometimes, before sunrise.īelieve me, I’d love nothing more than to jumpstart my day with a cold plunge (the colder the better), but between the hot-flashing and the cold-sweating keeping me wired all night like a caffeinated squirrel, I tend to wake up too exhausted to boil water, let alone exercise. My mom taught me how to swim before I could even walk, and in the throes of menopause I couldn’t be more grateful. ![]() Not to mention that the ability to touch my toes has gone out the window with all the collagen I’m apparently losing, so the thought of doing yoga feels like climbing Everest. If only I could donate a few liters to their cause. Hot yoga? No way in hell I’d sign up to overheat (and most likely pass out) with a bunch of strangers who are paying money to sweat. He’s confused and rightfully so he looks about 16 and probably wouldn’t know a hot flash from a rotary phone. “Zumba? I’d rather leap out of an airplane,” I say. As if I don’t sweat enough 24-freakin’-7 with my hormonal flushing. ‘You should try Zumba it’s good for your core,” he says. ![]() Upon hearing me lament about my rapidly expanding midriff sizing me out of yet another pair of overpriced jeans, the guy scanning my gym card suggested I take a cardio class. So, basically, cardio on land is out (at least in summer), along with alcohol and caffeine (theoretically), although those “menopausal bans” have yet to be put in effect. Help! I’m stranded in the menopausal desert and heaven help me if I see a baby camel – it’s game over. ![]() It’s like I fell asleep in the tropics and woke up in the Sahara without an ounce of lubrication left in my body (except for the copious amount of tears that dispense themselves freely at the sign of anything remotely cute or cuddly on Instagram). As if being stalked by AARP isn’t bad enough, now all this? I’ve always fancied myself in pretty decent shape – “mildly athletic”, even. ![]()
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