You Might Have to Put on a Red Light

Ep 56 Midlife Mixtape LIVE at Betabra... Ep 57 Leadership Coach Karen Walrond

You Might Have to Put on a Red Light

It’s come to this. I’m shining fancy lightbulbs at my knees, and that’s not a euphemism.

Last fall I was hiking on my regular uneven Oakland Hills trail, a 4.5-mile out and back walk I do a few times each week (sadly, no longer with my canine companion, but I do like to imagine his spirit cavorting alongside.) About ¾ of the way through the walk, something in my knee felt funny. Not painful, but not right either. “That’s weird,” I thought to myself. “I’ll ice it when I get home,” which I didn’t do.

Eight months later, I wrap an infrared light pad around my knee three times a day and microwave the still-swollen kneecap for 20 minutes at a go, praying for a miracle, or at least a fraction of the miracles promised by its overseas manufacturer. The theory is that the red light boosts collagen or gooses mitochondria or increases healing bloodflow or some such. I’m just here for the anti-inflammatory action, but it sounds like it does everything from clearing up wrinkles to cleaning out the gutters. I’ll test all that out later.

When I talked about my knee with a real live orthopedist back in February, he looked at the X-rays, sighed, and said, “Yup. That’s what 52-year-old knees look like. You’ll probably need them replaced at some point.” He went on to say that I could still do all the hiking I want; it just needs to be on flat, smooth surfaces. (Is that hiking? I thought that was called Mall Walking. Side note: what will Gen X’s version of Mall Walking be? At the rate they’re closing, there won’t be any malls left soon; do we all just wear Virtual Reality headsets on treadmills? Where are you supposed to get the Cinnabon reward?)

Over on my podcast I proselytize that being over 40 is a good thing, on so many levels, and I really do believe it. It’s just this one level – the one in which these mortal vessels we call our bodies operate – where it’s not so fun. And I know I’m not alone in searching for miracle cures for the weird chronic aches and pains that make us grunt when we stand up, or interrupt cocktail party conversations for a real quick quad stretch in the corner, the better to remain upright until the party ends.

So I pretend I never talked to that orthopedist and continue to pursue alternative approaches.

The other night I had a looooong phone call with one of my favorite people, my husband’s grad school roommate and the best man at our wedding, Joe. We caught each other up on family and work and whatnot. Then we compared notes on our physical decline, with me advocating intermittent fasting and a processed-food-free diet, Joe talking up red light therapy and keto. I would like to say I was horrified by it – after all, Joe and I used to be part of a group of youngsters who went to JazzFest in New Orleans every year, sleeping 93 people to a hotel room and kicking off our 19-hour days there with breakfast beer and a nice light fried oyster Po’ boy. The evils of processed food and benefits of standing desks were not part of our conversation back in the early ‘90s.

But I was too busy scribbling down “red lite? Paleo? Do I have to give up BEER?:( “ onto a piece of paper to take notice, and releasing all qualms about taking medical advice from a guy whose advanced degree focused not so much on medicine as on cross-cultural marketing and international accounting standards.

The red-light therapy band, applied for 20 minutes three times a day, has done nothing so far, but the packaging and my buddy Dr. Master of International Management says it takes a few months to work.

Another friend recommended sports massage, so I have a treatment booked this week with a woman I’ve seen once before. She is tiny and has two parallel bars installed in the ceiling of her treatment room, the better to hold onto while she walks on your back. When she did this to me the first time, I issued a noise the likes of which has never emanated from my body before. I think it was the unfamiliar sound of excess air being squeezed out of my spleen. When I give her permission to do whatever is necessary to release my knee from its stiffened state this week, I may be booking myself a one-way ticket to Relaxation, but with an extended layover at Staggering Discomfort. Hope my spleen is ready for the adventure.

You know what? Roxanne may not have needed to put on the red light in 1978 when the song came out.

But by now, she’s probably strapping them to her lumbar, both thighs, and a shoulder. And that’s not a euphemism.

***Hey Bay Area Peeps: Come out and hear my dear friend Mary Laura Philpott discuss her wonderful memoir-in-essays I MISS YOU WHEN I BLINK next Thursday, June 20th at 7 pm at A Great Good Place for Books in Oakland. It says I’m going to be “In Conversation” with her, but between us, I’m planning to say “Heeeeeeeeere’s Mary Laura” and then join you in the seats. Hope to see you there!

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