I had my hair tinted yesterday. Today I had it trimmed. Both days I found sitting in the stylist’s chair a miserable chore. Both my hips ached, the knuckles of both hands were nauseous, and both feet felt like they’d been whacked and battered with truncheons wielded by scowling, aggravated trolls for hours on end.
My stylist was a 20-year-old, about-to-graduate beauty school student. That’s why my new look took so long—six hours all together. But my hair looks great! She did a terrific job with the color, the weave, and her scissors—and she was friendly and professional and full of humor. Kudos to the Paul Mitchell School in Sacramento.
I wish dropping 30 pounds could be so easy!
I’m feeling a lot better about the changes I’m making to be healthier. Slowly, I’m getting my mind around resuming my low-carb, high-protein, high-veggie, low-sugar-and-salt diet. After all, it can only help. And while my blood sugar is great right now, that doesn’t mean it will stay that way without some vigilance on my part.
Slowly, I’m accepting that coffee is Not My Friend. I’ve almost gotten to the point where I can drink just two, 8-ounce cups of joe a day without getting a horrid caffeine-withdrawal headache. I took a 45-minute walk the other day while Mom was at her physical therapy appointment—and I enjoyed it. So I’m working myself up to daily exercise, too. There are nice neighborhoods all around our new home that’ll be really pleasant for walking in. And our fitness room here at our new home should be finished and ready to use any day now.
What I haven’t managed, yet, is to talk myself into liking all these changes. Yes, I want to drop some weight. Yes, I really, really want to avoid a heart attack or stroke. Yes, I would prefer not to get type 2 diabetes, and yes, I want my muscles to be stronger so they can support my RA-compromised joints better.
I know my success in these things hinges on my attitude and my mind-set. What I’ve discovered about myself, though, is that I can’t force either to do like I want them to. It’s like my brain has to work it out subconsciously before it clicks over into “go” mode. Still, I’m trying.
Moving Mom took a lot of oomph out of me. I turned 58 in late October, and for the first time, I felt my age (even as I threw a childish tantrum and pity-party over my health). But I’m recovering. I keep telling myself how nice it will be to fit into my size 14 pants—I’ve got a closet full of them, most only worn a few times—and how nice it will be to tone up all the flab that’s built up everywhere over the last two years or so.
And I hope that making these changes will also have a positive effect on my RA. Actually, I know they will, even if achieving them won’t cure it or even necessarily send it into remission. If I feel better about myself, my RA will feel better, too.
Maybe change isn’t so bad, after all. 😉