Navigating menopause is challenging enough without having to add exercise to the mess. With the constant threat of overheating looming over my fuzzy head, I have to choose my activities wisely. Power-walking before sundown is a pointless venture – I need a cold shower before I’m even out the door – and the very thought of SoulCycle (admittedly, I’m still a bit unclear on the concept) induces enough hot-flashing to burn off my lunch without getting on a bike.
I’ve managed to vehemently deny getting stiffer with age, challenging friends who suggest “It’s just part of menopause” until suddenly – what on earth? – I can’t touch my toes and I’m hobbling to the loo in the wee hours, hunched and grumbling to myself about why the hell at 53, I’m hobbling.
