She Plunged into a Healthy Lifestyle

A Nebraska woman uses prayer and faith to overcome her aversion to aquatic exercise.

By Pam Hanson, Kearney, Nebraska

As appeared in

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My friend Jo nudged me on our way out of church. “Hey, Pam,” she said, “want to come to Aqua Fit with me?” Jo had been talking up her water workout class for weeks. A true believer.

“Um...no thanks,” I said. “Maybe some other time.”

Make that never. I could swim but I didn’t like it. Not even a little. And Aqua Fit was for older ladies.

I’d been friends with Jo for a couple years—ever since my husband, Ralph, and I left our teaching jobs at West Virginia University and moved to Nebraska to be closer to family.

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Ralph has diabetes and even though I’m active I’ve always struggled with my weight, so right away I signed us up at the YMCA.

Right after that, we found a church. That’s where I met Jo, who told me she went to the Y too. I started taking classes with my neighbor Peggy and another friend Franny—Zumba, step aerobics, Pilates. We were all about the same age and fighting the physical battle against getting older.

I’d lost close to 25 pounds and was in the best shape of my life. Five more pounds and I’d be at my goal weight. I’d never felt so motivated, and grateful to God for giving me the strength to persevere.

So why would I want to join some water workout class? I was doing just fine on land.

Then, one day after step class, my right heel started throbbing. Much worse than the usual post-workout foot aches. But I sure wasn’t about to let anything derail me from the progress I was making. So I tried to ignore the pain in my heel.

But the next morning I woke up in agony.

“Honey, you should really get that checked out,” Ralph said. “If it hurts too much to drive, I’ll take you.”

The doctor diagnosed me with plantar fasciitis—an inflammation of the thick tissue on the bottom of the foot and referred me to the sports medicine clinic for further evaluation.

I’d heard of plantar fasciitis. With some shoe inserts and a few stretches before my workouts, I’d be as good as new, I figured.

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I was wrong. “In addition to the fasciitis, you’ve got two hammer toes and possible nerve damage,” the physical therapist at the sports medicine clinic said. “Eventually those things could cause a serious mobility problem.” Seriously?

The therapist sent me to an orthopedic surgeon. The news only got worse. A specialist confirmed nerve damage. The surgeon said that if I wanted to stay active, I’d need tarsal tunnel release surgery and hammer toe correction.

I was afraid to ask. “How long will it be until I can get back to my classes atthe Y? Like, a couple weeks?”

The surgeon shook his head. He told me I’d need to stay away from high-impact exercise for several months. I was looking at about 18 months until my nerve endings healed completely.

What?! I was only five pounds away from my goal! This would totally set me back. Couldn’t I just push through the pain? No pain, no gain, right?

Ralph tried to talk some sense into me. “I want us to be able to take long walks together when we’re in our nineties,” he said. “A few months off will be worth it in the long run.”

“Okay, okay.” I knew he was right, but I still didn’t like it.

The surgery went well.

But back home I fell into a funk. I wasn’t used to being sedentary. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, I thought. So many people have it worse.

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Still, the more I dwelled on my recovery time, the more depressed I got. The more depressed, the more I ate.