Every morning, I face my own private Olympic event: getting dressed.

Take compression socks, for example. Once upon a time, I could just stand, bend, and slip them on. Now, thanks to Parkinson’s and balance issues, that’s no longer the case. Instead, I lay on my back, curled up like a rollie pollie, wrestling with those tight little tubes of fabric. My arms strain, my legs twitch, and I break a sweat just getting one sock halfway up. If Fitbit counted sock-pulling as cardio, I’d be crushing my daily goals.

And pants? Oh, pants are a whole saga. Standing to shimmy them on is out of the question now. So I sit, tug, twist, and pray I don’t tip over in the process. Sometimes I end up tangled in denim, half-dressed and half-laughing at myself. Who knew a waistband could double as resistance training?

By the time I’ve managed shirt, pants, socks, and maybe even shoes, I’m ready for a nap. Forget the gym—my workout happens on the bedroom floor.

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My Daily “Routine”

1. Sock Curl Crunches

• Lay on your back, roll up like a rollie pollie, and wrestle with the compression sock.
• Warning: these socks are basically elastic boa constrictors.
• Extra points if you can get it over your heel without swearing.

2. Pants Power Pulls

• Sit safely—standing is no longer an option.
• Slide one leg in. Now the other.
• Pull, wiggle, twist. This is core work and balance training.
• Pro tip: pants may resist. Persistence is key.

3. Shirt Stamina Stretch

• Find the armholes. (Harder than it looks.)
• Thread arms through while keeping equilibrium.
• Lift overhead without toppling sideways—shoulder workout achieved.

4. Shoe Squat-n-Reach

• Bend, reach, tug.
• Bonus difficulty if shoelaces are involved.
• This doubles as flexibility training, assuming you don’t topple over.

Cool-Down

• Collapse on the bed. Breathe heavily.
• Congratulate yourself—you’re dressed!
• Consider skipping the gym. You’ve already had a full workout.

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Some days, I laugh at this routine. Other days, it frustrates me. Parkinson’s has stolen the easy rhythm of getting dressed, turning it into something I have to fight for. But here’s the thing: every pair of socks pulled on, every stubborn pant leg wrestled into place, is a small victory.

So does getting dressed count as exercise? In my world, yes—and more than that, it counts as proof that I’m still showing up for the day, one “workout” at a time.

And maybe that’s true for all of us. Whatever your version of “compression socks” is—whether it’s wrangling toddlers, tackling a long commute, or just making it out the door—those small, everyday victories are worth noticing. Strength isn’t only found in gyms. Sometimes, it’s found in the quiet triumph of simply getting dressed.