a dysautonomiac continues exercising at home…

Disclaimer: Discuss all workout plans with your doctor prior to commencing.

I can’t believe it has been almost two years since we discussed exercise here and here and here. That’s a travesty, not because exercise is so important, but because I enjoy getting sweaty and grunting. So grab your weight gloves and chalky protein bar, and let’s hit the showers. I mean get started.

When we last left off on my exercise journey (or, as I like to call it, operation: look good naked), I had just quit the gym and was beginning to ride my exercise bicycle, Indiana Jones, at home. I’m pleased to inform you that I have come a long way, baby, in the passing months.

Last August, at the encouragement of a fellow POTS friend, I signed up for an exercise program at home. It’s like Netflix for exercise, where you can choose from a variety of workout videos at any time in the convenience of your own home. There’s weightlifting, yoga, pilates, cardio, tai chi, cardio, and some ridiculous dance workouts to remind you that you’re almost 40 and still have no rhythm.

The pros of the workout program are that you can do it at 3 a.m. in your underwear and, if needed, you can pause at any time because it’s getting too intense, or your dog suddenly has the smallest bladder in the world anytime you’re not paying attention to him. You can start a workout in the morning and finish it in the afternoon. You can try a 10 minute low impact workout one day, and an intense hour long cardio session the next. The cons, I suppose, are that your judgmental dog who apparently learned some sweet dance moves in the shelter will criticize your every move, and every workout video features way more sports bras and waxed chests than I’m used to seeing in my house.

I obviously need to expand my social circle.

I also enjoy that, if you choose to do a multi-week workout program, they provide an optional schedule of which workouts to complete on which day. I find that’s much more appealing than my standard gym M.O. of walking aimlessly around the gym and choosing which equipment to use next based on how sexy those little person diagrams that show you how to use the machine look. To be honest, I never understood the concept of glutes day, or triceps day, which is probably why I have never had either. It turns out that I actually respond well to being bossed around.

Please don’t tell the BF I said that.

On average, I exercise six days a week. And on the seventh day, like God, I rest and wear yoga pants, which still technically counts as a workout. I have been working my ass off, except that I never had an ass to begin with. If anything, I’m exercising my ass on. Getting a new ass. Bigger, better. Ass 2.0, if you will.

It didn’t start like that. As exercise always is with POTS, it has been a slow process. I began with a simple workout a couple times a week. Many I had to pause and rest for 20 minutes, or couldn’t complete. It took weeks before I could finish a thirty minute workout. And I only did the easiest workouts I could find.

And then something started to happen. I started getting in shape. Gained a bit of muscle. I certainly don’t have a six pack, but I have maybe a two pack. A baby two pack. Maybe it’s more like one of those long 16oz beer cans. Or a pint glass. I have pint glass abs.

My resting heart rate also started dropping. Bradycardia (slow heart rate) is defined as anything below 60 beats per minute, and I was dropping into the 40s. I was already taking the smallest dose of a beta blocker every day, and as beta blockers lower heart rate, I began to skip the occasional dose. Then I skipped more.

I’m now at a point where I take, on average, 6 mg of atenolol per week. There was a time not that long ago where I was on 25mg per day. My heart rate still increases quite a bit when I stand, and I certainly still meet the definition of POTS with an increase of at least 30 bpm when going from supine to standing. If I skip even just a few days of exercise, I quickly revert to beta blocker dependency.

And frankly, it’s exhausting. After every single workout I lie on the floor for 20 minutes, a sweaty immobile mess, while reciting love poems in gratitude to my heart. I traded the fatigue caused by the beta blocker for exercise-induced fatigue. I am always sore. And while exercise has helped lower my resting heart rate, it hasn’t done much for my palpitations, nausea, pain, light/sound sensitivity. But my goal has always been to reduce my dependency on medication, and I’m very comfortable with my current usage. Because my heart is stronger with regular exercise, it pumps blood more efficiently. Which means I can stand for 3 minutes longer than I used to be able, until the lightheadedness sets in and I teeter towards fainting.

Those three extra minutes may not be much, but that’s three extra minutes of petting dogs. A three minute longer hug (which as I was kindly informed last week, is 2 minutes and 58 seconds too long). Three extra minutes of waiting in line for good food, or watching the sunrise, or playing with a friend’s kids, or getting to know someone new. That’s three extra minutes of challenging my dog to a dance off and finally wiping that smug look off his face.

Friends, that’s three extra minutes of life. I’m willing to work for that.

“If you were born with the weakness to fall, you were born with the strength to rise.” – Rupi Kaur

Disclaimer the second: Not everyone with POTS is able to exercise, and exercise isn’t a cure. If you have a loved one with POTS, and you came across this post while researching it, I’m going to smack you across the face if you tell your loved one s/he just needs to exercise to be cured.

Smell ya later.
– Linds