When I was well (i.e., prior to 1986, my last good year**), every holiday was spent backpacking (a sport which has nothing in common with gap-year oiks), as were many weekends, and when I wasn’t doing that I was out every available Sunday with the Ramblers. I also, more often than not, walked to work and back – I covered almost 3,000 miles a year on foot.
**Partial year anyway, In Spring and early Summer I was in remission (ME), but by late Summer I’d crashed irretrievably.
That was then, this is now, and there are many days when I find walking as far as the bathroom a major challenge, and that’s all of 6 yards away. While I no longer believe I’m in imminent danger of death – and what the consultant’s motives for dumping that load of bovine ordure on me was, I have no idea – that doesn’t mean I am any less disabled. I still have ME and arthritis, and my lungs and heart are still buggered.
Any doctor telling me I need to exercise more will be treading on very dangerous ground indeed,** and I strongly recommend that those of you reading this who are chronically sick take a very firm stand, and resist being bullied into any activity which might harm you.
**It’s fair to say that GPs are vehemently opposed to this idea – doesn’t mean it won’t be foisted upon them, or that some zealots won’t willingly embrace it.