WHEN THE PANDEMIC CAME, I quit the gym. It was hard, giving that up, but some things are out of our control. It had only been about three months before that I’d planted my feet in a determined stance and said: “You’re going to do this.” So I hated having to stop. But this week, sixteen months later, I’ve started back up. With the plague fading and two Moderna shots behind me, I’m getting back to the weights, not just for the muscle benefit but – dammit!—it’s enjoyable. It’s fun, pretending I’m machoman.
“Youth is given. One must put it away / like a doll in a closet, / take it out and play with it only / on holidays.” May Swenson, “How to be Old”
So I’m clearly overdoing this “recovering my youth” malarkey. Every morning, I’m at the gym door when they open at 5 AM. My arms are a trifle sore right now, but it’ll fade as I work it out. This morning, I noticed the guy at the front desk seeming to keep an eye on me; probably afraid I’m going to have a stroke or something and keel over next to the lat pull. I didn’t think that I was groaning that loudly.
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Are you a caregiver for a child with an ostomy? In the summer months, this can become more challenging, thanks to heat, humidity, water activities, and travel plans.
Learn more about caring for children with an ostomy on vacation.
Learn more about caring for children with an ostomy on vacation.