1.8 and counting

Sweat fest of August 1st is in the books happy campers. I worked myself hard to eek out more on the road today. Completed 1.8 miles. I know to look at that number represents a LOT of hard work over a few weeks to get here.

I'm not done.

Not by a long shot.

It still hurts. Every single day.

But I have dealt with pain for almost 29 years. I laugh in the face of pain. Well, sometimes I cry in the face of pain, but I try my best to not let that be an excuse.

Diligently applying the philosophy of "some pain okay - lots of pain take a break". It  has been kind of interesting as I think of people who were in much worse circumstances that I am trudging across the plains in their old fashioned shoes or worse their bare feet over unbroken sod and sage grasses. They didn't even have an iPod of tunes to help them find a beat and march to its tempo. They didn't have New Balance shoes or Dr. Scholl's insoles. Fact is, most of them were really lucky to even have shoes at all by the time they reached their destination.

As I sweat the drops of water down my face, chest and back, I am often reminded of the promise I made myself lying in the  hospital with tubes and IV's jammed through me. I told myself that I could make it through this. That I had survived for a reason. And that it MATTERED that I was still here on this earth. So, like that 18 day old baby decades ago who threw her little fist up into the air as if to tell the doctor "I AM STILL HERE!", I resolved that though this may be a pretty big pill to swallow, I would hammer at it blow by blow and take it down in incremental doses until I manage with the help of Almighty God to endure it.

I don't just want to endure... that sounds a lot like eating rutabagas and pretending you like it. I'd rather come out of this all with some kind of physical and spiritual trophy. That's not a good word for it, but I hope you know what I mean. Come out of this circumstance not of my choosing with something to show for it, to share with others, something that maybe can help another person when they are facing a personal Goliath.

Well, I reckon I have polluted the air with my stench long enough. I'll drag myself to the shower and come out when I'm thoroughly pruney.

God bless and just keep walking.

Time passes

It's now July 20th, our ward pioneer day barbecue and softball game is in the books and I am still grappling with the attempt to balance the need for exercise with the pain I am still "enjoying".

Since I started walking again, I have done 28.95 miles. And yes, I am tracking it.

That is nothing to those lithe figures running up and down my street each day. It is mere pittance to those gazelle like creatures who bound about from place to place running marathons, half marathons and triathlons for fun and sometimes profit and glory.

But to me, it represents a great deal. It means I am still moving. I am still trying. I am still HERE.

Though I am not able to pull those miles in like ribbon on a spool, I am trying to at least begin tugging on that ribbon of highway that Woody Guthrie sang about so long ago. Is it better to start reeling it in fast and perhaps give up in the attempt, or to just keep trying?

I hope the second is the answer because I plan to keep trying.

Every day, I am trying to balance pain and activity. One without the other doesn't seem possible right now. I hope that will change over time.

For now, I am basking in the glory of possibility. Just a few months ago, the very idea of even trying to stand up seemed as remote as the moon. Now, I am able to walk over a mile and a half without stopping.

So I blog the progress and the process.

Hope. It's all I hang on to some days. But I am thankful for that tenuous grasp on the possible.

Adding up to a marathon

I have been building up the distances I walk. Yesterday, over two sessions, I walked a mile and 3/10ths.

This morning, I am happy to say that I was able, with the addition of a couple of breaks for breathers and a stretch or two, to complete a FULL MILE in one session. It took me 30 minutes.

Yeah me!

While I know that isn't a big deal to some people, it means the world to me. It means that prayers are being answered and that God is paying attention to little old me. It means that I matter.

I intend to do more in the second session after supper tonight. I figure cumulative totals add up and help the process along.

I'm trying my best to get to the place I was before where a 6 mile walk was no big deal.

This truly isn't about time for me.

It is all about finishing.

I don't care if I am last, so long as I cross the finish line goals that I set for myself incrementally over time.

This has been a setback to be sure, but it need not be a roadblock unless I allow it to be. And since I am well known for hiking over fences, slipping beyond "DO NOT ENTER" signs and worming my way into "UNAUTHORIZED AREAS" without much shame, I do not intend to let this hiccup in the journey become final OR fatal.

God has preserved me for a purpose and I intend to find out how He wants to use my life to His service.

In the meantime, I'll just keep singing that Tim McGraw song "How Bad Do You Want It" and putting one foot in front of the other.

3 months

Yesterday was 3 months to the day from the accident.

I am walking a bit further every few days trying to get my body back into sync with locomotion, and no, I am not referring to the dance sung about by Grand Funk Railroad. If I could move that way, I wouldn't consider that I had any difficulties.

While I was out this morning, it was sticky humid and threatening rain. There were all kinds of little animals waking up to start their day and look for a bite of something to eat. Huffing and puffing my way along, I could swear they were giving me the evil eye as if to say "What the heck is that wheezing all about?"

When the wild animals know you are wheezing, it is an issue.

Fortunately, I have been increasing my left lung's capacity over time and can hold out my note for a while when I sing. It's been a while since I could hold out for a sustained time and I was beginning to worry that my breath support would never return. You never know and you can't ever take anything for granted.

The really sharp pains on inhaling have stopped (knock on wood!) and I only get twinges in my left thoracic cavity from time to time now. That constant ache is done!! Woo hoo me!

My strength comes and goes. Some days are definitely better than others and some nights I actually sleep in my bed. That isn't something I can take for granted because positional issues and numbness or pain are still part of the battle.

I can cook meals now so long as I don't try anything too complicated. I can do laundry so long as I am not in a big rush. Jared and I have been staying home by ourselves for a couple of weeks and doing okay. Sometimes he likes to fight me when I have to change his pants and that gets pretty tiresome even though HE is having a hilariously good time at my expense. He doesn't understand and I get that.

So I'm improving. Day by day by day... and one day, hopefully soon, I will wake up without hurting and be able to take on my life without so many limitations.

I have come to appreciate the marginal level of living that permanently disabled people must endure. Even those who are more capable of doing for themselves are often sidelined by the realities of a world that doesn't truly accommodate because it hasn't become personal.

God has blessed me and I am thankful. I'm trying to show it by not being too impatient and too demanding. I don't know that I succeed in my desire to be grateful. Frankly, there are some moments where things hurt and my frustration level gets the best of me. For those I am truly sorry.

Lamenting what has happened only serves to make things worse and harder to bear up under and hope to improve. What's done is done. I'm  just glad to be on this side of the long, dirt nap.

But now, we continue forward. I hope Dr. Leberte will be surprised on the 28th of June when I walk into his office unaided. Because I fully intend to keep pushing and working so that I can get back to my daily walking routine. I want to grab onto that 3.2 miles and push toward 6 or 7 again. I won't run them. And that's okay. Running doesn't have to figure into the equation. I don't know that I'd be up to it anyway. But I can walk.

The "being last" thing used to really bother me. Now I realize that being last over the line means you STILL finished the race. It's not about the other participants so much as it is about myself anyway. And if I finish the race - MY race - then I've done okay.

I'm still standing. And I plan to keep putting one foot in front of the other every day I can.