Digging ditches. . .

(After some medical issues accompanied by my medical history and my family medical history I had to visit a cardiologist and have a stress test.)
On Monday morning I psyched myself up for the big event. I put on some "loose fitting clothes" per my instructions then packed up the kids and dropped them off at a friend's house. I drove the Dr.'s office thinking "I can do it, it's no big deal." I sign in, got called back and immediately given my 1st task--take off everything from the waist up and put on a pitiful excuse for a top. Then I lay down on the table and had sticky, itchy leads attached to me to monitor my heart rate. Once again, no big deal. Then the nurse starts doing the echo cardiogram and smearing goo all over my chest in the process. Finally she gets the pictures she needs and we move to the adjacent room. Then she hooks me up to even more leads which makes my torso look like a bad sci-fi movie. Anyway, more echo pictures, then she proceeds to tape the top together (yes, it opens in the front) with 2 tiny pieces of not very sticky tape. It is a medical facility and I know they have that tape they use when you get an IV that rips the whole 1st layer of your skin off but nooooo, she uses the scotch tape. The Dr. comes in, I shake his hand and chat for a minute about what is next. Then I get up, careful not to trip over the many wires attached to me, tackle my 2nd task--walking on the treadmill. This whole time I am truthfully thinking that it will be easy as pie. I've taken my Grandma to have these tests so it can't be that hard, right? I thought, "I'll get up on the treadmill walk 10 minutes, break a little sweat and sit back down, no problem". Boy, was I in for a surprise. They started me off at a walk that I would consider brisk (it was 3.something miles an hour). Then the Dr. tells me that he will increase the speed and incline every 3 minutes. At this point I'm still talking and joking with the Dr. and nurse because I can walk like this for 10 minutes. Three minutes passes by and my heart rate is still low and BP is great and so the Dr. increases the speed. Now, this is when I get a little worried. I thought he used the word "gradual" when he talked about the increase but I must have misheard him because now I was in an all out legs stretched, hips swinging walk. I looked like one of those "overly fanatic about working-out" middle aged women who walk through downtown with their CD players and sweatpants walking faster than you can drive. My talking/joking began to subside as the minutes crept by and as breathing was taking precedence. As the next "gradual" change grew closer so did my anxiety about how I was going to survive this test. Once again they checked my BP and upped the pace. By this time I'm seriously thinking that I can only do this for 3 more minutes at this rate. My heart rate was only moderately up though so the Dr. continued to push me. As minutes 7 and 8 go by I'm thinking "if he ups this thing again he better bring in the code cart". Well, the point of the test is to push you to the limits and see what your heart does so that's exactly what the Dr. does. (I'm sure they have some guidelines for this based on your statistics because goodness knows that if the average 80 year old person had to walk this fast then let's just say they might be leaving on a gurney.) Those three grueling minutes end and the Dr. ups the pace again. Now, this is the point in a work-out where I would think I had pushed myself far enough, my plateau. Keep in mind that not only is the pace increasing but so is the incline of the walk. The bar that I was loosely gripping in the beginning now has indentions from my fingernails as I clutch it hoping that I won't lose hold, fall and break my neck as the machine zooms me across the room. I actually say (or pant) to the Dr. at this point "3 more minutes, are you serious?". He says (in his very thick Indian accent) "yes, you can, come on, just 3 more minutes, you can do it." Now, this Dr. is a very nice guy. He sounds so genuine and encouraging that part of me starts believing in myself a little more. I end up having to jog, body parts jostling to and fro, to keep up with the pace, which he had increased to almost 6 miles an hour. I continue to trudge on, leaning forward on the bar a couple of times thinking my legs might fail me. I'm breathing so heavy that I think my lungs might explode and my heart is beating so fast that it feels like a person trapped inside my ribcage trying to free himself. Finally I achieved my target heart rate of 164 and it continues to climb to 176. At this point I don't care about the numbers or anything other than my body screaming to myself "stop, death is imminent"! Just when I think about what song I want at my funeral the Dr. says "only 1 more minute. . .40 more seconds. . .30. . .15. . .10. . .okay STOP." You know how when you work out you're supposed to cool down when you're done so that your heart can get back to its resting rate? Well, that is not the point of this test. They want to get me to my breaking point then immediately stop me and put me back on the table to do more echos on my heart so they can see exactly what my heart is doing under extreme exercise. So, I go from jogging to laying down in a matter of seconds. I was seriously so worn out that the Dr. and nurse both grabbed an arm and led me to the table (only a couple feet away) and I lay down as they got the shots. During the middle of the walk I can remember thinking "oh great, the tape is coming undone and I'm about to flash this Dr. mid-walking, poor guy!" but when I was laying there when it was done I was so exhausted I didn't even think about the paper shirt gaping open or the sweat rolling down my face or the completely limp posture I had as I lay there recovering from the walk. Instead I was thinking about how pitiful it was that I was so out of shape. I mean, I was drained! I felt like I had just run a complete marathon and all I had done was walk on a treadmill. To be honest it was a little embarrassing to feel so out of shape. Knowing you're out of shape is one thing, but looking it in front of strangers is another. Several minutes pass, the nurse gets her pics and the Dr. looks at them. As I'm regaining composure the Dr. begins explaining the results of the test to me. He shows me the different angles of the heart and compares the resting to exercise then he shows me the EKG and then at the end shows me some numbers that mean something to him (nothing to me) then interjects in his very thick accent, "see, this shows the amount of work you did, it's equal to if you had just dug a ditch." I say "dug a ditch?" because I think that I may have misunderstood. He says "yes, same amount of work you would do to dig a ditch 2 feet wide, 2 feet deep and 6 feet long." A smile breaks across my face because just when I'm feeling horrible about my lack of physical endurance he tells me I just did a work-out comparable to "brute strength, sweaty men", hard manual labor. This helped renew my hope that I could get back into shape and be strong again. And of course I will never again look at a treadmill the same way! The best news was that the Dr. was encouraged by my results and sent me on my way with a happy report that my heart was doing exactly what it was supposed to. Now maybe I'll train for a marathon. . .don't laugh, it could happen! :)