My buddy called me this evening. She said, "I was running around all day, and by the time I got home and made dinner, I was ready for bed. I know we were going to go to Boulder tonight. How are you feeling?" My answer was, "I spent all day in the mountains yesterday. I spent all day in pajamas today." She understood immediately that I was fine with not going out on the town. I've been putting serious effort into regaining strength and stamina, now that my lupus is headed firmly into remission with treatment. That's why my roommate and I go on walks six or seven nights a week, why I never miss taking my satchelful of prescriptions and supplements, and why I keep doing all the things that lead me to a healthier body and mind. Tonight I wondered whether more exercise was always the right answer. I'm pretty sure it isn't. After taking a long recovery time from my mountain trip this morning and early afternoon, I found more cleaning projects (mostly shaking out all the throw rugs, vacuuming everything, and mopping a floor that has been present for far too many fried food incidents), and worked myself into a pleasant exhaustion. Then I got a wild idea to walk to the grocery store for our evening constitutional, to get what I needed to make mango chicken and the grain-free oatmeal raisin cookies I saw on Against All Grain. (Does that make them "fauxtmeal?") It's uphill the whole way to the store, so you'd think it would be an easy hike home. After I had to climb back up the half-block to the store from where I realized I'd forgotten shredded coconut (what makes the fauxtmeal), the walk home got longer and longer. Three blocks from the house, I wondered how I was ever going to make it back. My roommate steered me down the alley, so we could come in the back door, shaving maybe 25-30 feet off of the walk. It's possible those saved fifteen steps were enough to keep me from falling down.
I started thinking about Spoon Theory in those last few blocks. Am I really getting stronger as I work out when I'm tired, or am I tiring myself out excessively, leaving me vulnerable to getting weaker sooner? I know that I ache more than I ought to for a 50 minute walk, there, back, and around the store. Did I gain more spoons by exercising than I spent in the same activity? I really don't know. I might be able to figure it out tomorrow, when I'm trying to get through one of the four things I have planned to accomplish. (Thankfully one of those is the massage I'd failed to schedule in the last six weeks. I'm way overdue.)
Regardless of whether it's making progress or hobbling me or both (I'll go with both), I'm going to keep doing everything I'm doing. I'm going to keep walking. I'm going to keep deep cleaning the house while I'm able, so that it's back to a place where it's easier to maintain. I won't revert to poor eating habits, and I'm not giving up my pills, no matter how many people try and throw a new alternative method at me. (Side note, if the alternatives had ever worked, I would never have known I had lupus, because they would have made me feel okay. I tried everything while I waited for a doctor to recognize that something was seriously wrong. Nothing helped, and I got much, much worse. So enough with the suggestions, no matter how kindly you intend them, okay?) All of the pieces are coming together to make me stronger, even if some of them feel like there is a lot of give and take in the process.
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