8 Days & Counting

Can I say “OWWEEEEEEE?” Physical therapy is like trying to open a Vlasic pickle jar for the first time with one hand. It has the feel of impossible. But I have been faithful to my exercises. Yancy, my 5’1” 90 pound P.T. specialist, has been hurting me good for someone I could sit on and crush. We’ve had some spicy conversations too, about faith and the conundrum of the sweetness of Jesus verses the callousness of his people . . . so the twice-weekly trips are not a total loss.

Still, it is discouraging. You get on a good productive track, and you remain faithful to it. You are so excited when you start seeing good results, and then something interrupts. A tumble down the stairs, a bad head cold, and a time-eating emergency; all of a sudden you are losing gains and trying to stay motivated. UGGGGHHHHH!

I’ve read somewhere that lasting change must be a slow, forgiving process. You can’t do it all at once, and you can’t expect perfection. As far as I’m concerned, the head truth and the practice truth of that statement are miles apart. I’ve known these facts for years, but it is just in my recent history, the past 5 years, that I have learned their true expression in my every day. The way it plays out for me is so simple, I’m sure some people would say, “Yea, and . . .?!?” But authentic simplicity is harder than it looks, especially when it comes to our own flat-sides and camouflage.

Every day I get up and plan when I will walk, because that is about all I can do right now, (against the Dr.’s wishes.) I do what I can and keep my mind in the set of, “I will not stay in one place.” Every week, I go to the very lo-tech Weight Watchers meeting with my peeps and step on that wretched scale, the one that is hidden behind the high ‘check-in’ desk. I think there is a very good reason we can’t see it. There are some weeks that I want to cuss it out and choke its little neck when I’ve done it all correctly only to GAIN .6 pounds or some other hideous number. (But I’m not bitter-can’t you tell??) (And what is it by the way, about gaining anything that makes me want to go home and eat a vat of Caroline’s Coco Krispies at 10 at night?!?) (Not that I’ve done that mind you--er . . )
Point is, I get up and do it all again the next day. Walk, eat right, and bring my unwilling self into “subjection,” for me, because I must, because I’m the boss of me.

So I am going to try to walk my upcoming half-marathon. It will probably take me a little over 4 hours. I won’t walk away with anything earth shattering, at least as far as others would recognize it, but I will walk away from inertia. I will keep walking toward something, something that will be good ultimately.

This week when I was frustrated with the whole process I arrived at the end of my bitter thoughts and found myself smack dab at the beginning of the thought trail again with this question, “What will you do then if not this? To stop trying is to stop growing.” I knew yet again, in the small and big things, the only way forward is forward, and just like in vivid night dreams when I am trying to run but my legs won’t move, I must keep attempting. The desire to move forward does not go away when we give up.

8 days and counting.