Tag Archives: Marlo Thomas

TMSW Hall of Fame Inaugural Inductee: Marlo Thomas

18 Sunday Mar 2012

Posted by in Second Wife Hall of Fame

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One of the great satisfactions of writing this blog is the chance it gives me to explore subjects that mean a lot to me, and to share with you information that I think you’ll find useful, uplifting, or inspirational. I know that there are many among you—midlife second wives, like me—who are learning to navigate the waters of midlife or of second wifedom—or, heaven help us—both. (Incidentally, for anyone unsure of the exact definition of a “second wife” in the context of this blog, please see the penultimate question in the FAQ.) As a writer, I’ve always found inspiration in the stories of others—in how they create their lives and how they contribute to the world. When I started writing a blog about “the real and true adventures of remarriage at life’s midpoint,” I knew that I wanted to have a section that honors other second wives— women who have walked a mile in those stilettos, sandals, or running shoes. Today it gives me great pleasure to introduce the blog’s newest feature—The Midlife Second Wives’ Hall of Fame. I can think of no more deserving inductee to inaugurate the Hall of Fame than actress, author, activist, producer, philanthropist, and social media guru Marlo Thomas.

Marlo married iconic television journalist Phil Donahue 31 years ago (it was her first marriage, his second), and they put a whole new spin on meeting cute—she was his guest on The Phil Donahue Show. When they married, she gained five stepsons. Talk about a life change! She recently shared one of the secrets of their successful marriage when she appeared on The View:

“We share each other’s passion for each other’s dream.”

Regular readers of the blog won’t be surprised by my selection. Marlo Thomas has been an important touchstone throughout my life; it was an honor to finally meet her last November in New York City.

Backstage at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre following Marlo Thomas' performance in Relatively Speaking. Photo credit: John Rich

The daughter of beloved entertainer Danny Thomas, Marlo grew into her birthright as Hollywood royalty by making her own mark in show business, winning honors and acclaim for her groundbreaking role of Ann Marie in the ABC series That Girl. The mid-1960s sit-com depicted, for the first time, a single woman living on her own. Yes, she had a boyfriend, but that’s not what defined her; it was Ann’s career, and her quest to make a name for herself as an actress, on her own terms, that made her a role model for countless young women. I was too young to realize it, but Marlo also created and produced this series—until that time, Lucille Ball was the only woman to wield that kind of power in Hollywood.

I imagine every woman of a certain age has a That Girl story to share. Here’s mine: When I was a freshman at a Catholic high school in Ohio, a boy in my class had a bit of a crush on me. He and many people, including my own mother, thought I looked like Marlo Thomas. I suspect Mom’s reason was because, like Marlo, I’m also half-Lebanese and half-Italian. The boy in my class used to go home after school and watch reruns of That Girl because Marlo Thomas/Ann Marie reminded him of me. Those were such wholesome, innocent times! He became my first and only high school sweetheart.

I identified with Marlo and her character not because of any physical resemblance, but because of her passion—her belief in her ability to create her own destiny. That was a new idea for me, and one that would take me years to embrace as my own. But here’s the thing: I never lost that dream. Not once. Even when it seemed that I was as far from it as one could possibly be. The dream was to become someone, which is, in truth, what every person longs for. And for most of us, myself included, that dream is not about fame or celebrity, but about living an authentic life.

Marlo would go on to influence future generations with her inspirational Free to Be book, recording, and television special. Her influence continues today in myriad ways. She carries on her late father’s work as a fundraiser and awareness-builder for St. Jude’s Childrens’ Research Hospital. And as if acting, writing books, and philanthropy were not enough, she curates MarloThomas.com at The Huffington Post and contributes to the website wowOwow.com. She welcomes visitors to her Facebook page with this mission statement:

This is a place where we can share our thoughts and dreams, vent a little, and — hopefully — laugh a lot!

Laughter is an important part of who Marlo is—she is not only an endearing comedienne, she is also a connoisseur of comedy, as evidenced by her latest book, the memoir Growing Up Laughing: My Story and the Story of Funny. It features her interviews with such funny people as Elaine May, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Lily Tomlin, and Joan Rivers. Laughter is the glue that often keeps me together, and I found her book filled with wonderful insights and life lessons.

The book includes her bio, which provides another window or two into her life:

Marlo Thomas graduated from the University of Southern California with a teaching degree. She is the author of six best-selling books, Free to be … You and Me, Free to Be … A Family, The Right Words at the Right Time, The Right Words at the Right Time Volume 2: Your Turn!, and Thanks and Giving: All Year Long. Ms. Thomas has won four Emmy Awards, a Peabody Award, a Golden Globe and a Grammy, and has been inducted into the Broadcasting Hall of Fame for her work in television, including her starring role in the landmark series That Girl, which she also conceived and produced. She is the National Outreach Director for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. Ms. Thomas lives in New York with her husband, Phil Donahue.

Marlo, thank you for a lifetime of inspiration. It is my distinct honor to induct you into  the Midlife Second Wives’ Hall of Fame. Please accept the virtual TMSW Hall of Fame Crown as a token of my esteem.

Related articles:

“Secrets of a Successful Marriage: Marlo Thomas and Phil Donahue”

“Marlo & Me: Prologue”

“Wherein I Win an Essay Contest and Populate One Blog Post with Several Diverse Celebrities”

“Marlo & Me: Act 1”

Marlo & Me—Act I

18 Friday Nov 2011

Posted by in Relationships and Family Life, The Cultured Life, The Writing Life, Well-Dressed

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“COMPLICATED HAIR”

Had fashions in the late 1960s been otherwise, I would not have the strength of character that I possess today. I was born with complicated hair—thick, unmanageable, impossibly curly hair. And not the good kind of curly, either—the Andie McDowell/Julianna Margulies-kind of curly—just coarse and wiry and frizzy hair. This frizzled look would be en vogue today, when stylists spend considerable time crafting the look for runway models—a look that used to send me reeling in horror from the bathroom mirror. No, mine was the era of Carnaby Street, Twiggy, and the Summer of Love, and I had complicated hair. The fashion at the time was either cropped short, like the iconic pixie cut Vidal Sassoon created for Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby, or long, sleek, and straight, like Jean Shrimpton or Julie Christie—all blondes, I might add. Relief came for a little dark-haired girl in the form of a beautiful brunette named Marlo Thomas, who, in the landmark television series That Girl, wore her straight glossy hair in a flip with bangs. The fact that Marlo was Italian and Lebanese, just like me, and had a father with whom I’d been photographed earlier in the decade, clinched the deal. She—that girl!—would be my role model. God knows, I needed one. I had complicated hair.

Credit: Marlo Thomas' Facebook page

“You have to suffer to be beautiful.”

That’s my godmother, “Aunt Fannie,” speaking. It’s 1968, and I’m in the seventh grade at St. Mary’s School in Elyria, Ohio. We’re having our class pictures taken in a few days, and my parents have driven me to her house to have my hair done.

Perhaps I should explain.

Aunt Fannie was a licensed beautician. (That’s what they called hair stylists in those days.) My godfather, Uncle Bill, was a gifted carpenter, and although he was not a professional contractor, he built their lovely ranch home in a rural part of Elyria from the ground up, and turned one of their basement rooms into a hair salon for my godmother. My father drove my mother there to have her hair done each week, and I was always in tow. With school-picture day looming, I begged and pleaded with my parents to let Aunt Fannie cut my hair so that I would have bangs and a flip, just like That Girl.

I finally wore them down. It wasn’t long before I was seated in the chair that swiveled around like a carnival ride. Aunt Fannie’s fingers wielded the silver scissors like some magician’s wand—snip! snip! snip! I had been turned away from the mirror the entire time, and couldn’t wait to see my idol’s impeccable hairdo in place of my tangled Medusa mane. When she spun me around, I was shocked.

I looked awful.

None of us had really taken my thick frizz into account when calibrating the outcome of my longed-for flip hairdo with bangs. The flip flopped, and I looked like a Labradoodle.

An Australian male Labradoodle at 9 month of age.I hesitate to say this, because you’ll think that I spent my entire childhood in tears, but I have to tell you that I cried. Not a full-throated cry—just a whimper, with a steady stream running down my cheeks.

“Isn’t–isn’t there anything you can do?” I asked my godmother, sniffling. Flat irons had not yet been invented. She thought a moment, then brightened.

“We can straighten it!”

My father, who had been watching television in the other room, walked by just in time to hear this. “Not if I have anything to say about it!” he thundered. “She has beautiful hair. You never should have cut it in the first place.”

“But George, look at her,” my mother said. “She can’t go around looking like this!”

“I can’t go around looking like this, Daddy.” I thought he should know where I stood on the matter.

The tension in the air was palpable. My parents exchanged words. Aunt Fannie busied herself by rearranging her hair clip drawer. I escaped upstairs to soothe my nerves with a tall glass of 7-Up. When I came back down, the charged atmosphere had eased. I’ll never know who convinced him—my mother or Aunt Fannie—but my father had backed down. Aunt Fannie was mixing the chemicals that would solve the crisis and turn me into “That Girl” for my school pictures.

“This stuff stinks!” I cried when she began stirring the mixture near me. And when she started combing the goop through my hair, my eyes began to water—and not from tears. “It burns!”

“You have to suffer to be beautiful,” she replied sagely.

I don’t remember how long I sat in that chair. It seemed like months. But I finally was directed to the shampoo bowl, and felt the cool relief of water soothe away the stinging, rotten-egg smell of the straightener. Aunt Fannie washed and conditioned my hair and combed it through. I was entranced! When I touched it, it felt smooth and sleek; I had never experienced such a sensation in relation to my own hair before. My head looked smaller, too. It wasn’t my hair anymore; it wasn’t me. It was better. New and improved, as the commercials used to say.

Aunt Fannie set my hair in rollers and sat me under the dryer, where I perused the latest movie magazines. When I was dry—cheeks red and hot from the heated air, rolled hair crisp to the touch—Aunt Fannie set me back in the swivel chair, where she began unpinning the rollers, vigorously brushing out my new hair.

It gleamed. It shined. I had never seen anything like it. She sprayed hairspray all over me—the air was thick with it. I sneezed and coughed. But I looked beautiful.

You have to suffer to be beautiful.

And you are! Look at that girl!

To be continued …

Marlo & Me—Prologue

16 Wednesday Nov 2011

Posted by in Relationships and Family Life, The Cultured Life, The Writing Life, What's the Buzz?

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It’s only taken 50 years, but last night I was photographed with another member of the famed Thomas family: Danny’s daughter Marlo. Photo credit: John Rich

The Scene:
Backstage at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre on Broadway.

The Time:
Present day. An evening performance of the Ethan Coen/Elaine May/Woody Allen play Relatively Speaking, and immediately afterward.

The Players:
Marlo Thomas (Award-winning actress, author, producer, and activist); Marci Rich (The Midlife Second Wife); John Rich (The Midlife Second Husband)

Synopsis:
A writer and blogger from Richmond, Virginia, learns that an essay she submitted to a  contest sponsored on Facebook by Marlo Thomas was selected as a winner. Her prize? Two free tickets to see the actress perform on Broadway in a one-act comedy, George is Dead, written by Elaine May—part of a three-act play called Relatively Speaking. The writer and her husband embark on a whirlwind, 24-hour trip by train to New York City to see the play and, hopefully, meet the actress. Waiting backstage after the performance, the writer reflects on significant moments in her life in which either the actress or the actress’ late father, famed entertainer Danny Thomas, played an off-stage role.

Prologue: The Writer Remembers

It must have been 1960 or 1961. I was five or so. I remember because the dress I’m wearing in the photograph was my favorite dress when I was in kindergarten. The famous entertainer Danny Thomas had come to Cleveland, and I had my picture taken with him for a Cleveland-area newspaper. My father is also in the picture; he’s the one holding me, hoping that I’ll stop crying long enough for the man with the camera to get his picture.

I remember the evening well. My father, George Abookire, had been a regional volunteer for ALSAC, the fundraising organization that Danny Thomas had established to help him realize his dream: a hospital dedicated to children who were suffering from cancer. ALSAC had benefited from the work of volunteers such as my father, who helped raise money for what would become St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. A keynote ALSAC event was taking place at a ballroom in a Cleveland hotel, and the guest of honor was Danny Thomas himself.

I knew who Danny Thomas was; he was revered in our house for several reasons. To begin with, he was a first-generation American born to Lebanese parents, just like my father. Danny Thomas was born in Toledo, Ohio; my father was born just 90 miles east, in Elyria, Ohio. Danny Thomas had married a woman of Sicilian descent; so had my father. There is family lore, possibly apocryphal, that it was a first cousin of Danny’s, Ralph Jacobs (also from Toledo), who had married my father’s first cousin, Renée Mady of Windsor, Canada.

Even more important than these connections was the fact that Danny Thomas’ great success in the entertainment industry—in films, nightclubs, and as the star and producer of his own television shows—brought tremendous pride to the Lebanese community. At a time when minority ethnic and racial groups were not represented on television, Danny Thomas, a man of Lebanese heritage, brought a slice of our culture to millions of homes across America. The importance of this cannot be overstated. This meant everything to a little girl growing up in Elyria, Ohio, who looked different from everyone else because of her thick, dark curly hair; a nose that was decidedly not Anglo-Saxon; and an unpronounceable last name. Danny Thomas’ presence on television validated my ancestral identity. My parents and I adored Make Room for Daddy and watched it religiously; the episodes featuring Danny Williams’ Uncle Tonoose, played by Hans Conried, were especially beloved. Uncle Tonoose reminded me of my grandfather.

There was one small problem.

Like most children, I was highly impressionable, especially when it came to visual images. My first infant memory is of a male relative carrying me in my grandmother’s house; I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. So much of what I would later see on television as a child remains as vivid to me now as that first mirror image; they are imprints, effortlessly recalled. A nightmare that I had when I was still a baby forms my second memory. The eye logo employed by CBS turned menacing in my dream. I awoke crying in my crib, frightened and inconsolable.

And so I well remember the little girl who played Linda, Danny Thomas’ daughter in his television show. Like me, she had dark hair. Like me, she had a slightly mischievous spirit. And, like me, she could sometimes exasperate her father to distraction, eliciting a reaction from him that, like the CBS eye, suggested menace: a raised voice, a sprint across a room to chase the little imp.

I had been told that I would be meeting Danny Thomas that evening in Cleveland. And as the evening wore on, I remember growing tired and cranky. It was a school night, and the back of my legs itched from the rough velvet seats on which we’d been sitting for what seemed like hours, waiting for the star to make his entrance. These feelings, then, combined with the growing awareness that this man could very well begin yelling at me as he occasionally yelled at his television daughter, filled me with apprehension.

The room darkened, and a great spotlight appeared. Danny Thomas was entering the ballroom. My father grabbed my hand and ran with me over to the photo op.

“You’re going to have your picture taken with Danny Thomas,” he said, smiling. My reaction surprised him. I started to cry.

My poor father. Poor Danny Thomas. My father tried to comfort me, and Danny Thomas—no doubt disappointed by my tears—nevertheless rose to the occasion and posed, smiling, behind us.

Years later, reading the newspaper clipping, I learned something new. After the picture was taken, I apparently stopped crying, clambered into Danny Thomas’ arms, and gave him a kiss.

Strange phenomena, memories. I don’t remember doing that at all. But it was in the paper, so it must have happened.

To be continued …

Outliers of Out-Loving

06 Sunday Nov 2011

Posted by in Midpoints, Relationships and Family Life, Remarriage

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The other day I posted an essay about the secrets to a happy marriage, sharing insights gleaned from a Marlo Thomas/Phil Donahue interview on the actress’ Huffington Post site.

Although John and I are nowhere near the 30-year partnership shared by Thomas and Donahue, it occurs to me that I nevertheless learned a fundamental secret to a happy marriage—or relationship—soon after meeting John. I keep these words close to my heart and even closer to my consciousness, because they map an objective I want to reach every day:

I want to out-love him.

John and I both divorced after long first marriages. We know that the statistics for successful second marriages aren’t great. But we are determined that ours be a union that will not only survive, but thrive. The notion of out-loving one another comes from John. He sets the standard. I just try to catch up.

He learned about out-loving from a premarital counseling class he took, ironically, prior to his first marriage. An older couple, married for decades, was advising the neophytes. The man was asked the secret to a happy marriage. He replied:

I can’t and won’t speak for my wife, but I can tell you my secret to a happy marriage: I just try to out-love her.

Wow. Who was this man? And is it too late to harvest his DNA?

Given the grim statistics of divorce in the U.S., it is apparent that not too many partners are trying to out-love their mates. But John shared this anecdote with me soon after we started dating. And boy, does he live up to it.

I call him an outlier of out-loving, to borrow Malcolm Gladwell’s term. An outlier is one who possesses characteristics outside the norm of the majority. The ability to out-love another can seem as rare as a pink diamond.

I sometimes have to remind myself that this is not a competition. Love—and the gestures, kindnesses, and consideration that stem from love—should come naturally, no? And it does, but to a point, and that point is usually when one partner is over-tired, over-worked, or over-stressed. It is human nature for patience to run ragged. It is human nature to become preoccupied and distracted. It is human nature to sometimes lack mindfulness.

It takes mindfulness to out-love one’s partner. Mindfulness of the bond that holds you close, mindfulness of the trust each of you places in the other, mindfulness of the fragility of life.

My objective in finding my soul-mate was to find the one man whose face was the last thing I want to see before taking my last breath. I’m one of the lucky ones; I found him. At our wedding, my friend, the wonderful poet Lynn Powell, read Wendell Berry’s “The Country of Marriage.” Here is an excerpt:

…                              We are more together
than we know, how else could we keep on discovering
we are more together than we thought?
You are the known way leading always to the unknown,
and you are the known place to which the unknown is always
leading me back. More blessed in you than I know,
I possess nothing worthy to give you, nothing
not belittled by my saying that I possess it.

More than any pink diamond, the gift of John’s love is more precious to me than any possession. I have no idea how many years we will have together, and so I want each day to count. This is especially true, I think, for couples who marry later in life. We are more aware, I think, of our mortality. I therefore want to spend what time we have together out-loving him. Every precious day.

A Talk With Physical Therapist Dr. Amanda Miller

03 Monday Oct 2011

Posted by in Monday Morning Q & A, The Healthy Life

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Welcome to the “The Midlife Second Wife’s” debut feature—Monday Morning Q & A. In the months to come you can expect to read interviews with experts on a wide range of topics. Among those with whom I’ll be speaking are financial planners, authors, fashionistas, relationship and dating experts, life coaches, artists and artisans, lawyers, therapists, doctors, cooks, butchers, bakers, and even a real honest-to-goodness candlestick maker. Who knows? I might even snag an interview with my hero (and, some have said, doppelgänger), Marlo Thomas. At least, I’ll try! And although these interviews won’t appear every Monday, at least not at the start, I do want you to know that on select Mondays, we’ll be learning from others.

Incidentally, that’s one of the things I’ve come to love about writing this blog. I’m not an expert on anything, really. Well, maybe on life. Because, like you, I am living it. And as Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist Connie Schultz wrote, Life Happens. It happens to me, to my loved ones, to you, to all of us. I want to understand it, learn from it, and move forward—with as much grace and grit as I can muster. Do you know what I think is really cool? As followers of this blog, you get to join me on the journey.

Why does this matter to me? Well, for one thing, I don’t like pain and I don’t like trouble; yet I’ve had plenty of both. And so have you. No one among us gets a free pass. But if even one sentence that I write in this blog helps you avoid either, I’ll be able to consider mine a life well-lived.

So, on to today’s inaugural interview. A suggestion before you start: You might want to take another look at “There Was a Crooked Woman…,” parts one and two, for some context. To recap, Dr. Miller treated me (quite successfully) for severe lower back pain, and I am eager to share with you what I have learned—and continue to learn—from her.

I came to see you for treatment of lower back pain, and you determined that I have limb-length discrepancy—my left leg is slightly longer than my right. Do you see many such cases? Would you say that it’s a common occurrence in the general population?

Leg-length discrepancy is a controversial topic, especially when it comes to treatment. There is a difference between true leg-length discrepancy and apparent leg-length discrepancy that results from other postural anomalies. I think the estimation in the literature is anywhere from a 40-percent to 70-percent prevalence in the population.

That’s around half of the population! To be clear, we’re speaking only about the United States, correct?

Correct.

What makes it controversial? What treatments are considered “controversial?”

The effects of LLD on function and the magnitude of LLD that warrants treatment are controversial. There is disagreement regarding the role that LLD plays in musculoskeletal disorders. There is also not a “gold standard” or most preferred way of accurately measuring discrepancy.

As you know, I broke my left leg several years ago—that’s the leg that’s out of whack. In my case, did the fracture lead to true, rather than apparent, leg-length discrepancy? I guess I want to know the meaning behind the terms “true” and “apparent.” And when you say “postural anomalies,” what do you mean? Can you give me some examples?

True—or structural—LLD can be caused “traumatically” by fractures and repairs, fractures affecting the growth plates in children before they have finished growing, and total hip replacements. They can also be congenital, such as congenital dislocation of the hip, or other skeletal disorders. Postural anomalies include impairments such as scoliosis, and muscle imbalances causing changes in standing/sitting posture. For instance, if you are a swimmer and breathe only to one side during freestyle, you may develop shortening of your oblique muscles—the the trunk muscles that do rotation and side-bending—on one side. That shortening can lead to a slight sidebend/rotation at rest in standing or sitting.

Do fractures always lead to LLD? Would the fact that my orthopedic surgeon had to install a plate in my leg (at the knee joint) have contributed to the problem I’ve been having?

Fractures and other surgeries don’t always cause leg-length discrepancies, but it’s something to be aware of, certainly. And again, leg-length discrepancies don’t always cause pain or dysfunction.

Might either osteopenia or osteoporosis cause LLD?

Changes in bone density can be a factor; muscular asymmetries that change the way the spine, pelvis, and hips move are also factors. For instance, if someone is prone to standing on their left leg with hip cocked, they can cause asymmetric muscle shortening that can appear as a pelvic obliquity or leg-length discrepancy.

Pelvic obliquity. You referenced that when you were treating me; that’s when I discovered you are a pelvic-floor specialist. Could you please talk a moment about what you mean by “pelvic obliquity”?

Pelvic obliquity refers to an apparent change in the bony alignment of your pelvis, often caused by muscle imbalances. The contributing muscles may be of your pelvic floor, or back/hips/trunk.

If LLD can lead to lumbago, or lower back pain, to what other medical issues can it contribute?

Anything from ankle, knee, and hip-dysfunction, all the way up to neck and shoulder pain. Leg-length discrepancy, or any postural dysfunction, can change the way you move and carry out normal activities of daily living, as well as recreational or athletic activities.

How does one even know to check for LLD? If a person is suffering from chronic lower back pain, is LLD something for which a doctor should check?

Your basic primary care doctor—and even most orthopedic doctors—will look for postural dysfunction, and, hopefully, refer you to a musculoskeletal specialist for further work-up. If you are having any dysfunction, and a possible leg-length discrepancy may contribute, make an appointment with a physical therapist

Let’s talk about appearances. You initially thought I would need to wear a heel lift, but determined that my discrepancy was subtle enough that I could do without one. If a person does need to wear a heel lift, does that mean he or she can no longer wear certain styles of shoes? It gets awfully hot in Virginia in the summertime; must a person forgo flip-flops and sandals? And what about high heels?

If a patient needs a heel lift for a true discrepancy, as opposed to an apparent discrepancy, then they will need to wear comfortable shoes that they can put the heel lift in whenever they are doing a significant amount of standing or walking. Flip-flops are inadvisable for anyone who has back pain, unless they provide a lot of support. Some sandals have removable inserts that heel lifts can go under. High heels are dependent on the height of the heel and the width of the back of the shoe. Of course, if all you do in your shoes is walk from your car to your office, and then you sit all day, shoe choice is not as big of a concern.

A friend of mine has a name for the high heels you just described. She calls them “curb shoes”—as in: “I’m wearing high heels, so please pick me up/drop me off at the curb.” But what about a situation where your job has you sitting all day; that’s not good, is it?

The sitting or the shoes??? Neither are great. If you can’t walk comfortably in your shoes, you should probably not be wearing them. If you have to wear them, keep your flats in your purse, and use those for walking.

Other than heel lifts, are there other things a person can do to alleviate not only the leg discrepancy, but also its symptoms? Short of stretching with a medieval torture rack?

Exercise!! If your muscles are stronger, they are better able to control motion and transfer load across your lumbo-pelvis, which means improved stability and decreased pain and irritation across the joint. Appropriate shoe wear and good body mechanics are also essential.

Let’s talk about exercise, then. The first thing you had me doing were exercises to strengthen my core; in fact, I shared your exercise for “setting” one’s TA, or transverse abdominis, in part two of “There Was a Crooked Woman…” Why are these exercises important? And can you talk a moment about what it means, exactly, to strengthen one’s core?

Sure. The core is made up of four muscle groups: the transverse abdominis that you mention, which is the deepest abdominal muscle; the pelvic floor muscles; the multifidus, or the deepest back muscle, and the respiratory diaphragm. These muscles work to optimize intra-abdominal (inner abdominal) pressure in order to help stabilize the spine during load transfer or movement. We often see core dysfunction in people with back, pelvic, or abdominal pain. I believe that the first step in treating this kind of back pain is to improve the function and use of core muscles, along with pain management techniques and lifestyle modifications such as body mechanics—for example, how you transition from a sitting to a standing position.

Yes! Another thing you had me think about was how I’ve been getting up from a chair. I must first “engage my core” in the manner of the exercise I published last week, right?

That’s right. This is something that should happen automatically but often doesn’t in people who have pain.

As I recall, when I was in pain it really wasn’t all that easy to “engage my core,” but I see how important it is. What other exercises are helpful in alleviating lower back pain? And isn’t that something of an oxymoron? If one is in pain, won’t exercise lead to more pain?

Actually, oftentimes movement helps decrease back pain, especially once you are out of the acute phase. A gentle walking program, strengthening and stretching exercises, core work, are all helpful. Avoid a lot of high-impact stuff at first, and make sure motions and activities that you are doing are comfortable and controlled. Never ever hold your breath with exercise, remember to exhale on exertion, and don’t forget to engage your pelvic floor!

I’ve started walking three mornings a week with a friend; I’m up to two miles a morning now.

That’s good! Keep it up.

What about core work? You have Pilates reformers in your exercise studio, and I really enjoyed trying them out. Pilates is all about core work, isn’t it?

That’s right. Pilates does a great job of incorporating all components of your core, including your diaphragm and pelvic floor.

You mentioned pain-management techniques earlier. There’s always some confusion about this when I speak with my friends. Does one apply heat at the immediate onset of pain, or ice? At the end of each session at Progress Physical Therapy, either you or one of your assistants would apply ice to my back, and you told me to ice my back after doing my home exercises. Is there ever a good time for heat-therapy?

Ice is better for inflammation; heat is better for muscle tightness. Always try ice first if you are unsure which category you fall into. Heat can, at times, make inflammation worse.

Hmmmm. “Fall into.” Not the best choice of words when speaking with someone like me! Is there anything I didn’t ask you that you wish I had?

Nothing that I can think of! The moral to the story is keep active. And if you have any specific questions about your core, or specific limitations, please see your physical therapist.

I will, Dr. Miller. Thanks so much for being my first guest on the blog.

You’re welcome!


Dr. Amanda Miller is a member of the clinical staff at Progress Physical Therapy in Glen Allen, Virginia. She earned a Doctor of Physical Therapy degree at Virginia Commonwealth University’s School of Physical Therapy in 2009, and, in 2006, a Bachelor of Science degree at Virginia Tech, where she majored in human nutrition, foods, and exercise and minored in psychology. Dr. Miller is a member of the Women’s Health and Orthopedic sections of the American Physical Therapy Association, and serves as Central District chair of the Virginia Physical Therapy Association. She is also a member of the National Vulvodynia Association and is a clinical instructor at Virginia Commonwealth University.