My father, my brother, and I have all woken up by cramps in the middle of the night. This is the gene of not drinking enough water or retaining minerals, I guess. It’s usually in my feet or calves, calves making me the most helpless.
The men in my house are sportsmen: my dad is an ex-boxer, and my brother is a loyal rower, an ardent gym-goer and triathlete. The women in my house are not so much. My mother used to walk, and I never took on sports growing up, although I did get into running long distances when I started working at Nike (How could I not?).
I don’t always get cramps in the middle of the night. Once, I had gone for a long walk and wanted to swing on the kids’ swing in the park because the play area was empty. But being the height that I am, the swing was still a little high. I had to plop myself up on it. But the wood chips below the swing weren’t firm enough for my tender feet, and I got the world’s most intense cramp. I had to limp away to a bench and sit there until it subsided. I still got another bout when walking back home and had to take off my shoes and stretch my feet on the side of the road. I almost called for help.
When I’m drinking more water and doing more yoga (meaning, when I’m loving myself more wholesomely), I don’t get as many cramps. But whenever I’ve had a man in my life, I’ve always gotten cramps. My ex-husband, no matter the time, would wake up and bring me a glass of salt water. That does the trick quickly. Another ex that came after my ex-husband once told me to massage my feet with a tennis ball regularly. I still do this when I remember.
Every time I get cramps and feel like I might die from it, I wish there was someone to bring me salt water or advise me. But I take a few deep breaths and walk to the kitchen, holding onto whatever furniture I can on the way. And I promise myself that I will take better care of myself. I fully intend to.
