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It was 60 outside. It had been gorgeous outside for days. At another time, or in another place I would have embraced these balmy weather. But spring hadn’t arrived – this was New York, it was the middle of February. It would last just long enough for me to let my guard down. That way the bitter cold would be twice as bad. Global warming? More like Global weather mood disorder.
The alarm went off too early for a Saturday. Maybe I could sleep for a while longer … maybe…..
No. No, you’re not going to be lazy today, I told myself. It’s time to get up. Taking a deep breath, I lurched up out of bed. Pushing away, I scrambled to get ready before the inviting bed lured me back. Pulling my hair unceremoniously into a ponytail, I climbed into some work out clothes, and shoved on my running shoes as quickly as I could.
Focused on getting out the door before the last remnants of that initial momentum dissipated, I barely remembered to grab my hoodie and ipod (metrocard inside) before dashing out the door.
Pleased I’d made it out of the apartment, I energetically jogged into the brisk morning air. Half a block later I zipped up the hoodie, another block and my hands found their way deep into my
pockets. Breath visible, I fervently wished I’d brought gloves. Google had said it was getting up to 50s! Didn’t I just see ice
there on the sidewalk? Stubbornly I ran on despite the weather. Surely I could make it to jog a little in Riverside Park. 2 miles -I could run that in my sleep. I wasn’t in good enough shape to make it all the way back – I’d just take the subway at the Columbia stop at 116th street.
A mile and a half later, my breath started to come harshly, soon daggers pierced my lungs. Blocks later my stomach started to cramp. “Just to the end of the bridge, just to the end of the bridge,” I chanted the words like a mantra.
I made it – barely – and jerked to an abrupt halt. I couldn’t have made it a step further. Hands on my knees, stomach threatening to unburden itself of my nonexistent breakfast, I sat down on some nearby stone steps. A moment later, when my stomach had calmed down, I dragged
myself to the nearest subway and shamefacedly gasped and wheezed my way home.
Unbelievable how out of shape I’d gotten in just a few months. I was a wreck! It was ages before my lungs stopped feeling like someone had turned them wrong-side out. Finally when I felt a little less like a puddle of gelatinous goo, I took a long hot shower, stretched, and fixed
myself a nice hot cup of earl grey.
Sipping my tea I told myself (for the thousandth time) I would work out on a regular basis year round. I'd be sore tomorrow.
I need to work out. It isn’t just so I can fit into my jeans, looking nice is important, and a motivator, but it's not the reason.
My physical health is important, but it’s not just that either. For myself and other brain injury survivors, working out is imperative for cognitive and mental health, as well as physical well being.
For brain injury survivors, exercise has been shown to:
v Increase neuroplasticity (helping the brain repair and learn)
v Increase proteins involved with learning and memory
v Reduce depression (in more pronounced ways than for those without brain injuries
v Reduce the number of physical, emotional and cognitive complaints and symptoms (including sleep disorders, agitation, organizational skills, and so forth)
v Improve memory
v Improve speed and thought processes
When I began writing this entry, I realized that exercise was good for recovery but I was surprised to learn the extent to which it can help. We have every reason in the world to exercise. Now there's no excuse. Let’s strengthen our bodies to strengthen our minds.
Onwards and upwards, let's move forward with our improvements….
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