Tag: fitness

At My Heaviest

On By amandalgoodwinLeave a comment

Recovery, I’ve found, is full of strange surprises.

Yesterday, for the first time in a while, I experienced floaters—those tiny, translucent shapes breakdancing in front of my eyes for most of the day. Later, the sliced mango from Market Basket and even the dogs’ food appeared to have white stripes running through them (which I knew wasn’t the case).

This morning, the floaters and stripes are gone.

I’ll call my ophthalmologist, oncologist, and endocrinologist on Monday to leave updated messages. This is now my normal: sharing every unusual or shifting physical sensation with my medical teams and treating each as evidence of something that might be happening, returning, building, or leaving. Sometimes it’s comforting, sometimes it’s crazy-making, and often, it’s both.

These observations and feelings seem to ping-pong alongside my yo-yoing weight. I’ve fluctuated by 27 pounds in the last four months, sometimes rising or dropping as much as 10 pounds within a week. Right now, I’m up—something that doesn’t feel fantastic—but I’ve learned to pause, breathe, and see how things shift over days and weeks.

I’m also finally on the lowest dose of steroids I’ve had since October, and my body is back to craving fruits, vegetables, and lots of movement. Lately, that’s meant at-home Pilates, sessions with my trainer once a week, and long walks with Zara.

I’m still working on fully accepting and loving every iteration of my body. I look back at photos taken just before brain surgery and immunotherapy, and I’m stunned by how healthy and lovely I looked—and by how, at that moment, I also remember wishing that I looked different.

I wish cancer had evolved me past vanity, that gratitude for being alive would supersede superficial desires for a defined jawline, toned abs, or my old thigh gap…but it hasn’t.

Sadly, I’ve come to accept that I can be both grateful and shallow, all in the same breath. Perhaps recognizing this contradiction openly is its own kind of growth, a small step toward making peace with my beautifully imperfect self.

When I’m not so keen on staying positive about my body image, I do my best to focus on the good parts—like the peace of waking up at home (and not in a hospital), the love of so many good people, and the dogs, who honestly provide the most unconditional support I’ve ever known. Life is good even when I feel a bit out of my body.

Street Pickle

On By amandalgoodwinLeave a comment

Most nights, when my son is at my house, we play between one to three “street pickleball” games before dinner. We live in a lovingly congested neighborhood where kids, pets, and adults still make space for one another.

We don’t set up a net; our equipment came from Dollar Tree, but we both get pretty into it. Zara likes to watch from the living room’s big picture window, and more than once, we’ve given neighbors, dog walkers, and other passer-byers a fairly decent show.

A few weeks ago, after Briggs started a pickleball unit in gym class, we asked the kids next door for a piece of chalk to outline an “official” court. They obliged, and Briggs and I confirmed the dimensions with old man Google, mapped them out with the appropriate number of steps, and put the chalk to the pavement.

Then we played.

I won that best-of-three series, but neither of us got our typical dopamine rush from going after long shot balls (which on an official court were 100% out) or sprinting after the tiniest pop of a return (which absolutely would not make it over a net).

On our way into the house, I told him:

“Even though I’ll take the W, I think I like it better when we just guess on the boundaries and don’t play on an actual court.”

He responded:

“I would rather take the W, but you’re not wrong.”

The next time we played, Briggs mentioned that he learned in gym class that scoring only happens when you serve, so we decided to apply that official rule and return to eyeballing the boundaries.

This time, the game time doubled (which we loved), and the dopamine rush returned (which we really loved).

By the end, we were both sweaty, happy, and satisfied—Briggs because he earned the W, and I was struck by the benefits of changing, bending, and even abandoning the rules.

At other times in my life, I can imagine myself experiencing this moment and taking it as a sign from the universe to break the chalk, eff the boundaries, and have more fun doing most (if not all) things the way I want.

I think time changes things, mainly how I think.

Because this time, the lesson felt far more specific:

Pay attention. Know when you’re playing street pickleball with the human you grew, and the goal is staying connected now that he’s out here living. Know when the rules don’t matter. Know when the game isn’t what you’re playing. And know when they do, and it is.

Also, have more fun.