[After chemo, Magaly] “grew to become a wise old Kelda, [to whom] the word ‘belt’ would no longer signify something to hold up her kilt but just something to mark her equator.” ~ Terry Pratchett [and moi]
My waist lies
(between hips and ribs)
waiting to be baked
on a trampoline.
As always, my Luvs, if you are visiting from the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, and are here for the poetry alone, then your fantastic selves are already done: the rest of this post is all about finding my waist after cancer treatment.
the wee notes:
I have started exercising a bit harder. Not as hard as I wish I could (yet), since as soon as I was given the go ahead (after radiation therapy), I was visited by an eye infection that refuses to go away. As eye infections go, this one isn’t terrible. Just irritating. But compromised immune systems require extra help, when it comes to healing even the tiniest things. So, I’ll wait until Beltane (May Day feels perfect).
In the meantime, I’ve been readying myself for the epic journey that will be the search for my waist (a mythological creature that tends to hide under peach pies and the steroids used to help with the side effects of chemo). I am already at the point where powerwalking no longer takes my breath away… My next move is running on my trampoline and doing easy hikes, in the company of my walking staff (my neuropathy-induced lack of balance still suckeths very mucho).
This stunningly red piece of shoelace measures 35.5” (the circumference of my equator). I will enjoy marking off the inches (maybe with a black stitch) as I go.
I am linking this to Blogging around with Rommy, where she invites us to chat about exercise. So, I did. You should, too, if you like. Really, give it a go.