Atrophy, at a glance

I suddenly realized, yesterday, that I have let myself go, in a very specific way that had utterly escaped my attention. The background for what happened is this: I currently live in a house essentially without mirrors. We have small mirrored cabinets in the bathrooms, so I can watch myself think as I brush my teeth, but there is not a single spot where I can get the whole impact of myself such as the world does when I am out and about. On moving day, back in June, I gave away my scale to a friend who stopped by during the final hours of packing, so I have also not weighed myself since moving to this house. I have been held accountable only by my clothes, occasional photographs, the mirrored wall in the Bikram yoga studio, and randomly occurring glances and comments. It's a big change, having neither a three digit number or a reflected image to help me gauge how I am doing each day. But I walk the dog daily, or hike through airport terminals, and I try to get to yoga class on a regular basis. The waistbands of my clothes are tighter and then looser, then a bit tighter again, back and forth, within a moderately fluctuating range that I consider normal and healthy. As a person recovering (for the rest of my life) from an eating disorder, I've been very grateful to feel strong, flexible and healthy and I have tried to focus on all the wonderful things I am able to do with my body and not what it looks like or what it might weigh. So yesterday, I show up to teach the AromaTouch technique to a room full of women and I'm confronted by a solid wall of mirrors, illuminated by florescent bulbs, no less, and I avoid my reflected image, not intentionally, but just because I want to focus on my students. Until, at one point, I face the mirror to demonstrate part of the technique to three students standing behind me, because for a confused moment I think that by facing the mirror, I will give them a better chance to see both sides of me at once. (Of course, they have been seeing both sides of me all day long, but I have been avoiding the mirror, and with it, any awareness that I have a reflection) Now, I lift my hands high in the air to simulate reaching for the base of the spine, and then, I lower them slowly, my arms bending at the elbows as I do so. What I see in the mirror as I do this shocks and appalls me. There, on the underside of my upper arms are large, soft flaps of flesh swinging loose below the bone. I have to demonstrate this motion two more times, and as I do so, briefly overcome by the trauma of my soft, dare I say flabby, arms, I try to focus my gaze on anything other than that particular anatomical feature. The one glance was enough information to last a lifetime; I never want to see that much atrophy in a mirror again. More background: A Mother's day concert, two years ago: I finish playing music in a chamber ensemble, put my instrument away and come out to meet the audience at a small reception in the lobby of the church where we have just performed. Several older women approach me eagerly and ask about my toned, shapely, muscular arms. How do I get them to look like that? They simply must know. At the time, I was disappointed that they did not comment on the music, but now, I miss having arms worthy of admiration. Today, as much as I miss playing chamber music, I really just want my muscle tone back. My eldest son paid me a compliment, not too long ago, by asking what exercises he could do to improve the definition in his upper arms, and when we were together again, just weeks later, I could tell that he had taken my advice. When we saw Pippin on Broadway for his most recent birthday, he said, about the lead actor "Wow, Patina Miller has the most amazing arms. Mom had arms like that, not too long ago." My arms were never that luscious shade of brown, I think, but other than that, gosh, perhaps he is right. When was that? I wonder. And exactly when did they go away? Macho Mommy muscles, the boys used to say, referring to my arms. I haven't heard that in a while, but still, I was genuinely shocked yesterday to see what has happened from the extended cessation of downward dog, handstand, and forte tremolo. I mostly blame Bikram for this state of atrophy, or rather, I blame myself for not noticing that my arms haven't done any weight bearing exercise since I abandoned my vinyasa practice in favor of the purifying sweat room that is the Bikram studio. But not playing the violin much lately hasn't helped either. My bowing arm, at least, got a daily workout, when I practiced, when I had something to prepare for. But sadly, I have left my piano trio back in Cincinnati, along with my scale and all those mirrors. So today, I rise with the first light, awakened by the pleading meow of my hungry cat. I go downstairs to feed both pets, and then, rather than sitting at the computer to check my email and Facebook, I descend another level to the basement to find the free weights and do some tricep extensions, some bicep curls, a few other exercises for my arms. When I grow tired of this, I do a handstand, resting the toes of one foot against a beam in the low ceiling of my basement, and hold this pose for a count of 20 before letting my legs drop back to the ground. I'm going to get my macho Mommy muscles back. Just a little bit of work, every day, the reverse of how I let them go. I don't need a mirror. I have a feeling someone will let me know when they're back. I'm not trying to be skinny. I truly believe that I have sworn off that compulsion for life. But I do want to be healthy, and part of that means being fit and strong. As a natural wellness advocate, I care about maintaining good muscle tone just as much as I care about being clean and well groomed, if not more so. Meanwhile, let me know if you hear of someone looking for a good, amateur violinist in the DC area. I need to rosin up my bow.