If I lost enough weight I could walk. Of course I’d also be dead.

Before I start the tangent that this post is officially about, I need to sort this out.  I go to physical therapy twice a week now.  But I’m not sure what to call it.  Yes, physical therapy, got that part.  But is it the PT office?  No, that would be silly.  Studio? Gym? Those are wrong, too.  I ended up googling for the answer.  Physical therapists practice in hospitals, outpatient clinics, and private offices that have specially equipped facilities.  Um, okay. I’m clearly not going to a hospital or a clinic, so it must be that last one.

So at the private office that I go to with the specially equipped facility (nope, still doesn’t sound right) they have an anti-gravity treadmill.You put on a pair of special shorts that have a zipper at the top, then you step onto the treadmill, and they pull up what I keep referring to as the inflatable tutu, though now that I think about it, it looks nothing at all like a tutu, and more like a plastic bubble, as though the lower half of my body can’t survive if it is exposed to germs.  So then you are zipped to the tutu/life saving sterile environment, and the machine starts filling with air.  The air pressure floats you off the ground.

Well, not entirely off the ground.  You program in how much of your body weight you want supported.  Except for this one time two weeks ago, when the machine misfired (due to me being handed the wrong sized shorts which were to big and allowed the air to leak out) and I was pulled about six inches off the ground.  Which did get my heart racing.

But what is supposed to happen, and in fact normally happens is you plug in your number, and suddenly you experience altered gravity on your feet.  And you can walk and stand and feel oh so much taller than you do sitting in the chair.

Which is how I know that if I lost 60% of my body weight I’d be able to walk now.

But, since I’m not a candidate for the biggest loser, if I l lost that much I wouldn’t be walking for different reasons.  The skeleton alone is almost 15% of the average human body weight, and I’m pretty sure I need more than 25% of my body weight for things like organs and blood.

So while I’d like to lose some weight, pound loss isn’t going to be enough to get me on my feet again.

And actually, odds are the pounds aren’t going anywhere until my feet are able to walk them off.

 

 

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About woodenmonkey

Just your average solar powered, hybrid driving, organic eating, happily married, pro-choice, feminist Christian artist and writer from San Francisco.

Posted on October 8, 2011, in ouch. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. See, that’s the Catch 22. I need to lose weight but can’t go out walking. Frustrating, isn’t it?

    • Maybe we should form a long distance walking club. Because at some point you will have recovered from surgery, and I’ll be released from my rolling prison, and while most people won’t be impressed with athletic statements such as “I walked ten feet the the mail box
      ” or the bathroom or whatever, I will squeal with excitement. And probably be envious, because I’m guessing you’ll be in (unassisted) walking shape before I am.
      A long distance walking partner is also an advantage, because you could just lie to me, and I wouldn’t know, so you could get all the glory without any of the sweat. You could be lying on your new sofa months from now eating bon bons and telling me you just finished a half marathon, and complaining about how ugly the t-shirt is, and I’d be all “you freaking rock!” Oh, wait, supplying lies for my walking partner to use probably means I’m the worst support system ever. I withdraw my name from consideration.

      • hahahah! I’ve read some of your past posts but didn’t see how you broke your feet. Feel free to send me a direct message.
        When do the docs expect you’ll be walking again?

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