Not every day is great at Rock Steady, which is a big reason why I love the program. Every day my 100% looks different, and I have come to accept that some days, my 100% is sitting for most of the class. I’m learning that a 5 lb. weight today takes the same energy as a 20 lb. weight did yesterday. In our little gym, we can truly be ourselves. With our varied political views, life experiences, financial statuses and cultural differences, we all are united by Parkinson’s. We can tremor without people staring. We can forget a combo as soon as our coach calls it without embarrassment. We can be frustrated by slow feet. We see how hard each of us is trying, and are a tight support system for wins and losses. After a difficult morning, a friend saved “the good bag” for me, knowing I’d want to hit something hard. We have supported each other while recovering from surgeries. I was patted on the back for continuing to work out as I lost my vision during the course of a summer. We were so impressed when one of us walked the entire length of a balance beam for the first time, knowing how hard he worked for it. We cheered when one of us had success with a dysrhythmia device and chased him as he happily ran around the gym. It is incredibly motivating to see the more advanced ages and stages working as hard as they can. Recently, a new member told me he couldn’t work very hard, he’s just an old man. Remembering the tough love approach that attracted me in the first place, I challenged him.
“You’re wearing a veteran’s hat. You went to Viet Nam.” I pointed it out.
“Oh, well, yeah, but that was a long time ago…” he said sheepishly.
“Don’t give me that. You were tough then, you’re tough now. You’re the same man, with less hair. Put your gloves on.” I dared. He smiled and gave it his all the entire class. I struggled to keep up with his pace.
The benefits of Rock Steady go way beyond balance, strength, cognition, agility. This community sees a future for us at a time when we are frequently “put out to pasture.” To have personal goals that no one can reach for me is monumental. To have a room full of people know specifically what I am battling when my foot won’t lift, or my meds stop working is validating. We share tips and information, support and camaraderie. We challenge each other, tease each other, make some dark humor jokes at our own expense. We collectively harass our coach, telling her she’s bad at math and the clock must be broken.
I’m very aware of the life raft Rock Steady is to my loved ones. It is a positive touch stone for them, too. Parkinson’s is an incurable, degenerative disease. Maintenance is all we can hope for. My friends and family see me fighting it with all that I have, and it provides comfort for them to know I’m making my days as good as they can be. There’s a shift in acceptance and attitude when I’m thought of as a boxer before a patient.
I still have days that I really don’t want to go. As much as I love it, and the results, I often feel like Sisyphus, pushing the stone of Parkinson’s until the end of time. There are days that I cry as I get dressed, from pain, exhaustion, and frustration. There are weeks that the steady rhythm of class is all that propels me. Sometimes it’s all I can do, get to the next class. On days I would have called out of work, I’m at the heavy bag. I’m afraid of missing classes and not returning, that my discipline will wear off. I know that my disease is progressing, there has been plenty of evidence of that.
At the same time, I know that the work is paying off, and I can’t deny I’m better at going. My attitude and outlook are much more positive than when I was first diagnosed. I’m currently at my lowest medication dose ever, 9 years after starting them. As I type this, it has been 11 hours since my last dose, because the dopamine I produced naturally has replaced what I would have taken medication for. I’m a proud Rock Steady Boxer. Giving 100% consistently for so long is quite a feat, I’m more energetic on my good days, and can get through the bad days knowing that I have before. It’s so much hard work; no class is easy. I am tired but proud knowing that I gave it my all. I know now that there is no finish line, that I will never master Rock Steady. It’s a good thing I like that challenge.