Ah, ha, ha, ha, Stayin’ Alive!

Since November, my friend Mitra and I have been trying to get back to our good ol’ gym routines. Routines we'd established in 2019 but that were disrupted in January 2023, when I started chemotherapy. At that time, the risk of infection was just too high.

After the last chemo in October, the doctor recommended exercise, but I was careful to avoid a parastomal hernia. Since the ostomy surgery in September, I have tried to avoid heavy lifting, overstretching, or using my abdominal muscles. However, I’ve continued my daily walks, a great form of exercise – but with another surgery in the pipeline, I feel I also need workouts that spike my heartrate more.

A year ago, the surgeon and the anaesthesiologist praised me for my excellent physical condition. I’m convinced that my shape helped me recover quickly from the twelve-hour surgery. But after seven rounds of chemo, considerable weight loss, covid and the last emergency operation, I had completely lost my hard-earned strength. Even carrying water to the chickens in the henhouse made me feel exhausted. More exercise was needed. 

 

November

“I’ll pick you up,” Mitra promises when I send her a message telling that we should go back to the gym. The fact that Mitra also stopped going to the gym while I was on sick leave made me realise that we need each other to develop strength and stamina.

Our routine starts as soon as I step in her vehicle. Late afternoon, in the cosiness of her or my car, we chat about the events of the day, our jobs, our scientific and somewhat nerdish husbands, and our families in Iran and in the Netherlands. 

The relatively new gym building is conveniently located 15 minutes from our neighbourhood, hidden in a courtyard and surrounded by businesses. It opened its doors in 2022. The sign on the wall says “EasyMove” in yellow white letters on a grey background. 

 

The lady at the front desk, Leila, is expecting us. She is a fountain of information and helpfulness. She knows the reason for my resignation a year ago and explains in detail which fitness equipment I shouldn’t use to avoid a parastomal hernia.

 

*

 

In the first weeks, we start with spinning for 20 minutes, twice a week. It is enough to keep me glued to the couch for the rest of the day.  After a few sessions, I manage to cycle for 30 minutes and in December I carefully add one minute of running on the treadmill to my program. Mitra, healthy and 12 years younger than me, has better endurance. With my battered body, things just don’t go fast anymore. Despite our physical differences, we aim straight for the same goal: back to Jaana’s dance classes.

We’ve known Jaana, an early childhood teacher by profession but moonlighting as a dance instructor, for quite a while. Years ago, when some brainless managers at our former gym had decided that Jaana’s group sessions were no longer profitable, we (approximately twenty women) resigned out of protest. We decided to follow Jaana to her new employer, – to Easy Move. 

Jaana is one of those rare teachers who not only sees her students (she makes eye contact), but also knows how to raise our spirits with her enthusiastic voice, her moves, her energy, and her smile.  Moreover, she is attentive and can easily manage a big group of participants. I ask Mitra why we like her classes so much. “She makes us feel like we can become great dancers,” Mitra says. But also, the choice of music (revealing she’s of my age) in combination with the way she moves, evokes admiration. Whether it is sensual Latin footwork to Smooth from Santana, energetic punching to a dance version from Take on me from Aha or some Dougie hip hop to Knock on Wood from Amii Stewart, it’s in her DNA. Jaana naturally seems to know how to move and stir up her audience. 

 

I ask Sari and Outi, two other regular participants, what they like about Jaana’s classes. “Her choreography,” they say. Jazz square, three-step-clap, your hands high then low, skating, Charleston, let your arms move, brush your tights – the figures are endless. Her choreography is brainwork. I always need to pay close attention to be able to follow the patterns Jaana shows us from the stage.

To finish off at a slower pace and lower intensity, we exhale and stretch to Someone like you from Adele.  We all feel encouraged to dance or move as graciously or energetically as Jaana. Without undermining other excellent trainers at the gym, Jaana just is of a different calibre. 

 

*

 

I’ve noticed that her classes are not only good for my physical condition but maybe even more for my mental health. The room feels like a safe and happy space for small, tall, overweight, thin, sporty, stiffly moving, unrhythmic, energetic, young, old, Finnish, and foreign women with the same passion for movement and music.  

“The atmosphere is livelier than in other classes,” Mitra pointed out. Indeed I’ve never seen people leaving with a grumpy face. On the contrary, we depart satisfied, chatting, and smiling, eager to sign up for the next session. Her classes are always fully booked so you need to make an online reservation a week in advance. Once hooked, her students seem loyal. The same people keep coming back. 

 

Late January 

A year after I had resigned, Mitra and I sign up for Jaana’s classes again. It would be our first group activity after what feels like a long break. I feel cold and uncomfortable when we enter the room. Not knowing how my body will react, if I can ride out a 45-minute workout, anxious about my stoma, sensitively aware of my 2 cm long fluffy hair and wondering what people will think of my long absence. But the worries quickly disappear. Jaana hugs me and tells me to take it easy. Other women smile, greet me, and ask how I’m doing. The atmosphere feels like a warm bath, and I immediately realise how much I’ve missed exactly that.

Easy Move Dance Crew. February 2024

Still somewhat cautious, Mitra and I take the places in the farthest corner of the room. Marching on the spot, going to the left, to the right, loosening our hips, and warming up with music from The Weather Girls seems like a good start. We look at each other and smile when we recognize the vocals and try to follow the up tempo beat.

I pay careful attention to the movements, my body and the sensations that follow. The tempo is fast, I can barely raise my legs and the boxing punches in the air make my shoulder muscles ache.

Then halfway, when Hullut Päivät from Kaija Koo starts it hits a nerve in me. It’s not the kind of music you’ll find on my Spotify list, but the energetic chorus works well at the gym. You simply feel you must go full in, and for some reason the words and the moves make me forget my battered body. The upbeat rhythm raises my spirits, and all of a sudden a wave of emotions comes over me while I try to follow the group. I swallow to get rid of the lump in my throat and blink my eyes. In vain. When I, in line with the others, jump backwards, I feel tears rolling down my cheeks. 

It hits me that I’m alive, that my legs  can still move rhythmically and that I’m surrounded by happy women all simultaneously waving their arms. I also realise that I’m back to the place where Mitra and I looked in the same mirror at my swollen belly a year ago. I didn't think I would ever make it back, and see me now, bending, stretching, jumping, turning, and spinning in my purple Lycra. Tuodaan takas ne hullut päivät. Niin kuin ne ei olis koskaan loppuneetkaan. 

I feel like a fragile snowbell facing the sun after a long and dark winter. Spirited, vulnerable, and incredibly thankful to be alive.

 

 

 

 

My Female Friends Have Always Carried Me

 

“I want my female friends to carry my coffin,” I say over dinner. My husband, eagerly looking at the smoked salmon on his plate, doesn’t seem surprised, but I realise how illogical it is for a mother of three sons to say such a thing. The four men in my life are strong enough to carry my 72 kg and my cardboard coffin (roughly 20 kg) to their final resting place.

*

This conversation took place a year ago after I was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. At the time, thinking of involving my friends in my funeral seemed an emotionally driven idea, but my gut feelings are often based on deeper thoughts. Now, more than a year later, I am certain that I would like my female friends to escort me on my final journey. It’s not that I’m constantly thinking about my death or that I want to sideline my children, but I’m aware of my chances of survival. I might die within a year, or it could take another 10 years. Regardless, I anticipate that my husband will be clueless about how to organise a funeral in Finland, so I better be vocal about my wishes. Moreover, the men in my family know darn well that I’ve been carried by women throughout my life.

 

Invaluable Support

Since early childhood, I’ve always surrounded myself with female friends, but it has been during the past few years that I’ve become especially aware of the role women play in my life. For instance, without female friends, I wouldn’t have survived the first four years in Finland. My husband had a job; the boys went to school, and there I stood every morning waving them goodbye from behind the window. Starting the Oulu International Women’s Club in 2000 was a lifesaver, and I know it was the same for many other women. Also, it was an alto in my choir who reached out and introduced me to my first employer in Finland. It was a female deputy mayor who sincerely listened to my unemployment frustrations. It was a trustworthy woman who supported me during a period of burnout. Years later, when I’d had enough of my job, a female scientist gave me the opportunity to lecture at university. Unlike the male managers I encountered throughout my life, it was women who boosted my confidence and helped me grow.

 

2023: Cancer Year

Last year, it was women who dropped off meals at my door during the days of chemo; who visited me in hospital; who came with me to the store to buy a wig; who sent me body lotion, books, magazines and poems; who joined me for walks; who encouraged and supported my blog writing; who checked in on me during low moments; who volunteered to volunteer on my behalf; who kept me posted about their daily activities; who visited me, even from places as far away as Helsinki; who gave me the opportunity to talk about my fears; and who sent me postcards (I received over 100 cards, sometimes from families, but the handwriting was always feminine). Breast cancer survivors in Canada, Finland and the Netherlands gave me tips, but they never overloaded me with advice. It was women who sent me flowers and chocolate, who knitted woolly socks and mittens for me and who invited me for coffee at their places after the last chemo session. Again, it was a woman who carefully guided me during my first steps back to the gym.

During my chemo year, I was surrounded by a pink cloud of female care and friendship. As someone without family in Finland, I consider myself unbelievably fortunate to have had so much support, and I am immensely thankful for it.

 

Female Friendships Are Essential for My Well-Being

I don’t want to downplay the role of my husband, sons and male friends; they certainly are dear to me. My husband, took time off from work to drive me to the lab and the hospital. He bought groceries, took care of our cats and chickens, and worked from home just to keep an eye on me. My sons called almost every week, and my male friends regularly messaged me, but for one reason or another, the girls instinctively knew how to lift me up when I was down.

I’ve long been pondering why female friends are important to me. I’m not a girlish kind of woman. On the contrary, I never talk with friends about make-up, and I don’t like shopping with (or without) friends. My friendships are partly based on the willingness to show vulnerability. For example, “I’m doing OK” is not an answer that is uttered in our circle. Besides, we don’t need to brag about our jobs, our travels or our incredibly smart, sporty, social and sweet children. We’re simply OK with being honest with and accessible to each other.

Also, without wanting to turn this into a political discussion, I think women face social problems that men may not always understand. I vividly remember a discussion with my husband, years ago, in which I had to explain the concept of the glass ceiling. It was a new idea for a man who reads the newspapers but who never had to apply for any of his jobs. Mind you, he is not a typical alpha male; he just never had given it a thought.

My husband, my solid rock, understands my struggles, fears and worries on an intellectual level, but my female friends intuitively know how to fill my emotional gaps. They are my sounding board in times of stress.

 

My Role

I’ve always considered myself reasonably loyal to my friends, but after a burnout in 2011, visits to psychologists and a master’s degree in loneliness, I understood that you can’t take friendships for granted. On the contrary, friendships need nurturing and care. I hope I have become a better friend over the years.

At the same time, having limited energy levels, I no longer want to hang out with people who constantly brag about their achievements. Knowing that there is often insecurity behind this sort of behaviour, the old Ata would be patient and kind, but at this stage in my life, there is no longer room for nice-weather friendships. I need people who dare to show their genuine, true selves.

The best lesson I’ve learnt has been to become good friends with myself. Nowadays, I enjoy my own company; my thoughts matter to me, and I know what I need to do to meet my needs. There is no shame in asking for help or inviting friends for a walk; rather, it creates a bond.

*

My female friends have always given me a sense of belonging and security, and that’s why I want to give them the honour to become pallbearers at my funeral. It’s a role that is often given to strong men. Each pallbearer needs to carry 25 kg, but hey, I’m sure there will be more of us during the ceremony. Also, I promise that from now on I’ll reduce my chocolate intake.

To look on the bright side, research has shown that female friendships can extend a woman’s life expectancy. For our own sake, we better stick together girls!

 

Wishing all incredible friends out there a very happy women´s day!