The Restoration of the Temple of Lady Cheena

It has been damn near a month since I started this restoration movement. I cannot tell you how much of a difference this has been for me. Hell, there are days now where I wake up and cannot believe I only have a minor pain or a stiff foot or two. I can't tell you how scared I was when Jay (my trainer) first came through the door with all those do-dads and said, "Let's get started."

I had let my fear and depression over my post-pregnancy, RA crashes get the better of me and pretty much let the temple of Lady Cheena fall to ruin. And I mean, ruin. It had become the most uninviting place on earth. The foundation had become this sloppy mass of deflated skin draped over stumps of spindly, ashen legs. The valley that had sat supple between the nethers and mountains was in a sad, post mudslide state. The mountains. Let's not even discuss this, only to say that the peaks were no longer high. The facade had grown gray and lifeless with an ever present furrow locked in place.

The exterior was not the only place that had fallen victim to the dilapidation. Interiors began to crumble with the mold of pity, anger and self-loathing. It was like I had no happy internal thoughts or nothing that could restore the hope that kept eroding with each passing rumble of pain. I didn't like me (and sadly, no else did either). It was becoming a pretty lonely existence and I was scared to live in it alone.

So, having gotten dun fed up with myself, I began to look into the possibility of restoring the old temple. Even with the fear was holding me back, my desire to be shiny outweighed it. If you've ever listened to the intro to Alicia Key's The Element of Freedom, she recites a poem that reflected my sentiments exactly. She stated:



And the day came when the risk it took to remain tightly closed in a bud
was more painful than the risk it took to bloom. This is the element of freedom.

This was the restoration of Lady Cheena. It was right painful being this ruined temple. It was getting so hard to lug it around back and forth everyday. My worst moments were when my 72 year old, oxygen-tank inhaling mother carried my son to my car, because I had no strength to do it and, of course, that moment when I had a horrible RA crash post-nodule surgery, when my husband had to clean me up because my "good" hand hurt me so much I couldn't even clean myself.

Ugh!

So, we are into week four of this process, let me give you a tour of the temple. After sweeping out the pity and shame, the interior has been bolstered by a new sense of self-confidence and strength in joy. That rotted flesh smell is fading away, giving way to a fresher, almost lemony scent. This was due impart to the new intake of veggies and fruits and good ol' H2O. The exterior has had some resurfacing and restructuring as well. The ashen, furrowed facade has been replaced by a bronzed and rosy face. The spindly legs have become more defined and stronger (and less dimply, I might add). I actually get up in the morning with barely a wobble. Yay! And that sloppy valley is starting to shape up. Hell, even the mountains are rounding out just nice.

Let's see what the next four weeks bring.