Month: June 2017

WORKING OUT

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(photo credit – http://www.fineartamerica.com)

 

Well … I’ve made a decision [round of applause, please]. I’ve decided, after living much of my adult life in a wheelchair and needing carers, that I’m going to get myself fit. I’m going to get fit in my city’s main gym – working out – [yes, me, little Ellie, working out – you heard right]. My brilliant idea is that maybe – just maybe – I would be able to manage a bit more independently without having to rely on carers so much.  I am very serious about it, and it would be amazing to achieve this.

Having made this great pledge to myself, I set off for the sports centre for the first time today.  I bought my ticket and a membership card and wheeled through the turnstile, along with an unexpected and very excited party of primary school children who were waiting to go into the pool for their swimming lesson.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect as I entered the door to the gym. I was wasn’t entirely surprised to find there were a few keen, male bodybuilders and one or two rather muscular, female weightlifters, all of which looked like they had popped a few steroids before they’d come out! However, I wasn’t particularly concerned [‘each to their own’, I thought].

I slid quietly passed them, trying not to look too conspicuous in my pair of blue jeans, a tee-shirt and a purple and white sweatshirt (which I couldn’t get changed out of without the help of a carer who I didn’t have with me). Compared to everyone else in their smart sports gear, I did, indeed, look conspicuous. I pulled off the sweater and bravely bared my arms in a vain attempt to fit the image a little more. I failed, miserably, but was nevertheless determined to get started – onwards and upwards!

One of the instructors met me a few minutes later, and having assessed me gave me a print out of the exercises I needed to do. I was keen to begin my workout. I didn’t know the names of half the equipment, but I managed to locate the weights and thought I’d start with them. I picked up the 2 kg dumbbell, and my arm plummeted towards the gym floor … I’d better start with a lighter one, I decided, and then chose the ½ kg weight. That was better although I felt a bit pathetic attempting to raise my arm above my head with what looked like a pencil with two blunt ends. I managed two lots of ten lifts with each arm altogether which was a fair start.

I gradually worked my way through my programme and finished after an hour, feeling suitably proud of myself. I felt really good and had thoroughly enjoyed it. I refilled my water bottle, went out into the caféteria area and treated myself to a vitamin-packed mango, spinach, kale and celery smoothie which was delicious despite the fact that it looked the same colour and consistency of the green sludge that floats across the top of my garden pond from time-to-time. Trust me … it was lovely.

I eagerly finished that up and left the sports centre absolutely buzzing with endorphins, and now, I can’t wait to go again on Tuesday. I’m so excited by the prospect of possibly being able to manage with less care, so achieving more independence. The sun was shining, warm on my back on the journey home and I must have looked a bit daft as I wheeled along with a smile on my face like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland!

woman in wheelchair exercise equipment

(photo credit – http://www.nchpad.org)

 

 

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WHAT’S IN A NAME?

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What’s in a name? My own name is important to me but perhaps not in the sense that most people would feel that their name means much to them.  I have changed my name quite a few times during my life. I feel I have needed to do this precisely because I’ve never had a solid sense of identity to represent the person I show to the world and the individual that I feel I am at a given phase in my life. Sometimes, I have changed my name to metaphorically, run away from myself, usually for some emotional reason.

I don’t give my birth or last name here because I want to retain the anonymity of my blog. I don’t share my blog or my blog details with any of my family or friends – only my readers and followers.

When I was a teenager my life changed very radically in that the sexual abuse I had suffered since toddlerhood finally ended. As the months went by and after the initial sense of trepidation wore off, I began to feel safer in my own body, and I decided I didn’t want to be called by my birth name anymore (I didn’t want to connect with that abused child inside).

I then begged my parents to let me change my name and eventually, they agreed that I could use my middle name and so at the age of seventeen, I went by that name. However, I can’t say I was terribly happy with that either, but it was as far as my mother and father were prepared to go, so I settled with that, at least, for the time being.

After I had married, I was free to go by whatever name I wanted. I chose carefully, not rashly nor hurriedly. I changed to suit who I felt I was at that point in my life. It goes back to that fundamental core lack of identity. During my young adult years and in the short time before I became a mother myself, I was Rachel and Jacqueline. But, I think I was still running away from myself as I was never really 100% happy with either of them. Of course, when I had my children, I kept my name, Jacqueline (although often abbreviated and then the spelling altered from time to time), more for their benefit than for mine and did so until they grew up and were no longer living at home. My life altered again then as I got used to living alone without a partner (I wad divorced by then) and without my children with me.

And so, as the subsequent years followed, I changed as we all do throughout the different stages of our lives. Then, finally, in 2014, I began writing this blog, and through the course of writing, I’ve discovered who I am inside. I’m Ellie. I should have always been Ellie – I’ve never felt so comfortable in my own skin. I love my ‘WordPress blog world’. I still don’t share it with people in my outside life. This is my reality; where I can honestly express myself freely. This is where it’s safe to share my secrets. I can write about what’s in my heart and what’s in my mind, and that’s exactly what I do.

At times like this, when I feel truly free, freed up in the course of my writing – in fact, then I have wings. I have wings and can fly. Perhaps, my next name (if I were going to have one), should be Tinkerbell! x  😉

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(Photo credits – imarcade.com and cartoonbucket.com)