I was talking to my doc (read: whining about how long this is taking and when can I ride again.) and she said, “No riding, but you do need to move as much as you can to expand your lungs. Power walking would be good”, she pauses, “we want to prevent adhesions.”
She must have seen the look on my face. “Bluntly”, she says,”we want to keep your lung tissue from permanently attaching to your ribs. Breathing deeply and consistently will break that up. Adhering would cause problems down the line.”
Ew. My lung is stuck to my ribs?
“Walk”, she says, “walk till you are out of breath and keep going. Aerobic breathing will help.”
She warns me, “It’s going to hurt.” But we’re all horse people, right? Pain goes away. Eventually.
This is how I came to acquire a personal trainer. She totally kicks my butt. I can hardly keep up with her.
She’s 90. Tiny little thing.
My thoughts after Doc visit: EW…gross gross gross…no guts sticking together! I’m walking. Why don’t I hand walk one of the geriatric horses? win-win. We’ll both move.
It’ll help me start slow.
Her back fits under my armpit, and she out-walks 17 HH Pops. Huge walk stride. HUGE. Not fast. (For her at least.) I’m huffing and puffing trying to keep up with her. So much for my kind-hearted win-win scenario. She’s a drill sergeant. She’s also much prettier than this photo shows, with that giant ugly halter on her delicate little head.
It’s truly a bad photo, but the only one that turned out. I’ll try to get better ones.
Off to get my butt kicked!