The Dicky Ticker Diaries — Part 111

The Old Dog, Learning New Tricks!

This was supposed to have been a third blog, celebrating the triumphant return to normalcy -the follow up to my two previous blogs, which prompted several of my friends to get CT Angios and the resultant surge in stent sales! There were even a couple of cases of bypass surgeries following the tests, and I am quietly happy that at least a few people heeded to my unsolicited advice and possibly avoid some major cardiac event in their lives.

But … the journey to recovery is never linear. It’s more like an ECG reading a bad heart attack.

During the first few weeks of getting back on track, sleeping was a problem. I had to prop myself up on a hollow of pillows and stay on my back at over a 45-degree angle. Since I was drugged to the gills, I found comfort in just about any position. If I had to wake up to pee in the middle of the night, I had to wake Charlene to help me get vertical and roll gently onto my feet. Any sudden movement would result in a grimace and a shooting pain through my chest and multiple other areas of my body.

My body looks grim. Frankenstein’s monster came to mind. I avoid looking in the mirror. I avert my eyes from looking down at my arm and leg. I tell myself to suck it up and shuffle over to the loo.

My morning exercise routine would be to sit on my balcony and go through some very simple movements like lifting my arms and rotating my shoulder and sitting-standing on-off a chair.
I would then walk around the house, shuffling step but step. My appetite wasn’t great, and my mood was stormy, attributed to the drugs I was taking by the shovel load. I was still swathed in bandages and looked like some bizarre partial mummy (felt like one too). Even though it had been a couple of weeks now, I have to take it easy.

I start to set myself some ambitious goals. I am a little vague about what I want to do, but maybe a triathlon?! I connected with my old teammate and friend, Julian Bolling. I asked him about training for ‘older’ athletes. I try to find a running coach and make plans to get back on my bike. I write lists and goals, but I can still only sit on my balcony and rotate shoulders. I need to be assisted to even stand up. Going to the toilet is like an Everest expedition. Coughing, sneezing, and laughing are just sheer agony. I am given a baby pillow to clutch to my chest if either of those actions happen.

I start to think, if I continue physio at the pace the hospital has advised me, I would probably be senile before I could return to any level of normalcy. I decide to take matters into my own hands. I tried to do a push up on my knees. I wobbled, shivered, and managed one. I had tears pouring down my cheeks after trying a second. How f’ing far had I fallen back?!

This was not going to work, so I make an appointment with a physio, Dilini Manamperi, who came recommended by a friend. I decided that I am going to speed up my recovery. Dilini’s energy, humour and no-nonsense attitude meant, she set the rules. We start slowly and build gradually, one baby step at a time. However, when I was at home, unbeknown to Dilini, I would push 2kg to 5kg, 5 reps to 10, still working within the pain threshold. I was finally making what I thought was rapid progress.

Some alumni of my school had organised a 10k charity walk. Six weeks to the day post-surgery, much to the horror of Dilini, I did the 10k. And a few weeks later, I was on my bike. I was nervous to start, fearing a fall would crack my chest open like an egg, but did a 30k then a 50k and 60k and started to feel like I was getting back to normal in record time.

Then the universe clearly had a message for me. I got Covid. More than the actual symptoms of Covid, what was difficult was the recovery. I was constantly exhausted, could barely walk upstairs without taking a break mid-way, and was read the riot act by Dr Gota (heart surgeon), who told me no working out till I fully recover. Emotionally, this was a tough one.

I had been making what I thought was rapid progress and had planned a 10k run for my 6-month anniversary (of the surgery). Now, I was back to walking short distances and lifting 2kg dumbbells.

My weight started going up again. I started getting frustrated with everything from watching my alcohol consumption to eating food cooked in the damn air fryer, which seemed to have sucked all the happiness out of everything I loved to eat. The lack of exercise was making me feel sluggish and slow. It seemed that the odds against a full and speedy achievement of my goals were buried in a tasteless mountain of air-fried food, medication and Covid-related fatigue.

It was two steps forward, one step back, but I was despondent. I was struggling to maintain motivation. Having to deal with the economic crisis, work-related stress, and other life-related issues added to the frustrations. I was struggling mentally, and not feeling great physically. Something had to change.

I joined a gym and tried drawing up a program to work out alone. I found the gym totally unmotivating. There were too many gold-bangled aunties on their mobile phones, chattering at the top of their voices. I tried working out at home but struggled to motivate myself. Excuses mounted as did my weight. I needed a fresh approach.

I had some time to myself, as I was traveling on business. I sat down and tried to analyse where I was going wrong and what I needed to do about it. At 58, the tendency is to think you have seen and know enough about the approach to fitness, but what I realized was that I had been looking at things through the lens of hitting a target. I had been trying to strive to a point or marker I had set for myself. It was always about the big win.

What if I looked at things differently? What if I just enjoyed the process? Enjoyed the day’s work out? I had loved the workouts I was doing with Dilini. I then realized I needed a coach. I needed someone to motivate and push me while ensuring I was following a scientific recovery plan. I am fortunate that I have access to, and I am able to get the services of personal trainers. With the unbuckling of Covid restrictions, many trainers were back at work. I decided to have some fun while building back better.

My diet is still a drama. This is my last big barrier to good health, and I have to address that too. In that space too, I decided to allow myself to celebrate the ‘little wins’ rather than be jaded by the failures. I have given up on my addiction to hot butter cuttlefish and have curbed some of the bad habits my diet was built around. Most fried food I eat doesn’t even qualify as fried anymore thanks to the f’ing air fryer. I continue to be a grazer, and clearly eat more than I need to, but at least more home-cooked ‘healthy’ food, and less junk.

I signed up to work with a kick-boxing coach, Praveen Muttukumaru. I am put through drills, shadow box, punch bags, and pads, and kick the crap out of various lumps of padded rubber. I learn punches, kicks and body movements and work up gallons of sweat. I can now do several 3-minute rounds without feeling like throwing up and the little wins in improving every day are mounting.

In addition to this, I returned to CrossFit Ceylon and signed up for personal sessions with Coach Nirash Perera, a powerlifting specialist who’s helping me with getting my mobility and strength back. We focus on technique rather than weight on the day’s workout and the tiny gains I make every day rather than massive jumps. I have stopped measuring against my ‘best’ lifts, and achievements and just measure myself against the day before.

It’s amazing how when we focus on the positive aspect of what we are doing, everything becomes more fun. When we start thinking… ‘but I used to be able to’… then, things always seem bleak. Now I need to add some biking back into the equation and maybe a few runs soon. I think my workout combinations are now more fun and sustainable and are already starting to show some results.

Along the way, many well-meaning folks would give me advice, generally in the tone of, you are a recovering heart patient, and you have to slow down. This, while appreciated, is rubbish. Tomorrow I could drop dead while taking a piss, but there is no reason whatsoever to start thinking in terms of switching to a sedentary lifestyle, post heart surgery.

Each one of us makes a choice on how we want to live our lives. I want to live mine active, energetic, agile and strong. This is the investment I am making in getting there, one small improvement at a time.

Recovery needs to be paced out, and monitored, but recovery can be full, and you can return to levels of strength and endurance as good, or better, than before. How you want to live the rest of your life is a very individual thing. This is how I wish to live mine … one small win at a time.