Puffing Away
by Caroline Hellman

It is always around this time of year that people get religion about going to the gym and exercising. The beach season, the pool season, and hence--the bathing suit season--loom large.

I'm just excited because with the warm weather comes a decrease in the frequency with which I have to use my inhaler. Don't get me wrong; I love my inhaler. It's gotten me through some rough spots--that mile run in gym, the 5 mile Turkey Trot my dad and I run every Thanksgiving, which is sometimes balmy and sometimes frigid...that asthma attack I had when I ate a cookie I was allergic to...etc. I certainly appreciate my inhaler. By now it's a trusted friend.

But at the same time, I have to admit to myself that I don't relish using it. It's never something I'm proud of or even ambivalent about. I do it reluctantly and only when it's absolutely, no doubt about it, necessary. I guess there's some sort of psychological impact of having asthma. Do I feel like a loser? No, but I suppose I feel flawed in some way. Perhaps people with other usually mundane diseases might feel the same way; we don't really want to take our medication, as it's an admission and acknowledgement that we're different from Joe Schmoe next door.

It's funny, because at the same time, every time I go out the door for a run, every time I dive into the pool for swim practice, I revel in my body's capabilities. I'm incredibly grateful for what I can do. I'm even contemplating some sort of long crazy running race in order to have a goal to work on throughout the summer. And so, even if I have to take my inhaler when I run my race in the fall, I'll do so with dignity.