Today I had one of those moments that surface one’s deepest, darkest fears.
Those of you who know DH know that not only does he look incredibly young, he has the physical fitness of a man half his age. Over the past couple of years, as he has started edging into retirement, he is doing more and more exercise. Runs of 20 km are not quite daily, but several times a week. Bike rides of 100 km, including climbing steep hills, happen whenever he has the chance. Running up mountain trails are his idea of fun.
I, on the other hand, have been sliding in the opposite direction. Severed achilles tendon, broken 5th metatarsal, broken fibula, torn rotator cuff, elbow tendonitis, knee pain, arthritis. As DH puts it, in his oh-so-charming way, “if it’s not an arse, it’s an elbow.”
I do keep trying to keep up. Often we can deal with the difference by my using an electric bike (if one is available). Even as recently as last year I let myself be dragged into a major hike up the side of a volcano. I worried the whole way that I’d re-break my leg, but I didn’t.
However things seem to be getting worse. Despite hours of physio and three times a week with a trainer, my knees keep giving me grief. When I walk quickly I get shin splints. But the worst came today. Our hosts on Maio, the wonderful Christophe and Mona, had lent us a couple of mountain bikes to cycle a bit around the island. We set out on the bumpy cobblestone road towards town.
Almost from the beginning I was having problems. I hadn’t thought to take Ventolin before going because it was only a four km ride we had planned, on mostly flat land. It hasn’t rained here for four years, so perhaps it was because of all the dust and sand in the air, or maybe I was just having a bad day, but I was struggling. Not wheezing, but nevertheless clearly not getting enough air into my lungs and feeling dizzy.
With several rest breaks we made it into town and then beyond to a beautiful beach. I was fine while we walked the beach for a while, but when we headed back into town I was again having trouble pedaling and was feeling dizzy.
We stopped at a café for lunch (John had an amazing fish dish, while I got the only non-fish item on the menu: a plate of spaghetti with about two tablespoons of tomato sauce. Fish allergies are such a drag when you love being on the coast!). Our plan was to take a route through the dunes to return to our hotel. The route is gorgeous: there are pink salt flats on one side and the ocean on the other. But I was struggling. There was no way I was going to be able to make it back. I felt like vomiting. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
DH turned us around and we went back to a place we knew a truck could get to. He called Christophe, who came immediately to rescue us. I was so embarrassed, yet grateful. Christophe kindly drove us back through the dunes in his 4 wheel drive pickup truck. At least I got to see the rest of the salt flats.
What scares me is what our future will be if I can’t do anything physical anymore. Especially as DH becomes ever-more physical. Will I just become the burdensome wife that he has to put up with? That he “parks” somewhere while he goes off with the physically capable. In the short run, how will I even manage the rest of this trip? There is a lot of hiking in mountains planned. Will I be able to do it? Should I even risk trying? And if I can’t, how do I prevent myself from just becoming a blob with a brain?
