Indoor Plumbing

We have been having some intermittent problems with our water system in our small subdivision of nine or ten homes which share a community well.  For 30 years or so, I was the President of our P.O.A. (an office in which I have often found myself over the years), but one of our neighbors, Bill, a retiree with a mechanical engineering background, seemed eager to take on some responsibilities, so I was able to shift this burden to him a few years ago.  Bill pays the electrical bill for the well and holding tank and also arranges to have the one unpaved subdivision road scraped from time to time.  He also pulls in the driveway and taps on the back door when there is a problem.

That's what he did Tuesday night.  "I'm out of water," he announced; "how about you?"  We are always the last home to lose water supply when there is an outage because our house is closest to the well and lowest in elevation in the subdivision.  I had not noticed any reduction in pressure, but last night we did.  A local plumber diagnosed a faulty pressure switch, and as our water pressure declined steadily throughout the day, we awaited delivery and installation of the switch.  Finally, the welcome sight of Gibson Plumbing's white van came down the road - two of them, in fact - and while we were eating dinner outside on the deck, we could hear them talking and sliding the cover off the well.  In a little while, the vans left, one after the other, but our water pressure remained low.  Finally Bill called:  "Bad news.  Tim said it's the pump.  I'll have to call Hedden Brothers Well Drilling in the morning."

We are accustomed to power outages, and when the power goes out the water goes out.  So we set to work filling buckets to flush toilets, filling pitchers with drinking water, quickly washing dishes, and preparing for the worst.  By bedtime there was barely enough of a trickle to take a sponge bath.  And this morning, nothing. 

It did not take long for Hedden Brothers to arrive this morning from Franklin, with an easy-going but skilled crew of three and their well-drilling rig.  To make a long story short, the electrical wire to the pump was hanging by a thread, so we decided to replace wire and pump both.  In no time they had the old pump out and the new one in, and we returned from out-of-town shopping this afternoon to the wonderful sight and sound of water gushing freely from all the faucets.

What a wonderful thing it is to have indoor plumbing!  I do not enjoy skipping showers, pouring buckets into toilets to flush them, or leaving dishes unwashed in the sink.  And yet I realize that most of the people in the world do not have this convenience that we take for granted. A new study in Environmental Science & Technology estimates that six our of ten people on Planet Earth - 4.2 billion human beings - do not have access to flush toilets or adequate water-related sanitation.  My own mother, who grew up poor in rural Eastern North Carolina, often spoke of not having indoor plumbing well into her late teens.

And, for the briefest of time, we shared the experience of these 4.2 billion human beings, reminding us once more in a very real way how much we take for granted every day.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Recovering from an injury, or from surgery in my case, can be a discouraging process:  one step forward, two steps back.  Monday, only two days after my 47:24 "5-K" time trial ("Wheeee! - see previous post), I decided to run exactly the same route, and I turned in a time of 43:37.  Keeping in mind that these are slower by far than my slowest 5-K finish times ever, it was still encouraging to be able to shave off nearly four minutes.  It is not often that a runner can do that.  One step forward!

But yesterday, I went to the gym for my usual free-weight routine, and even though I cut in half the amount of weight I used to lift, it was not a pretty picture.  I found myself walking from station to station like someone who has never lifted weights before.  And the rest of the day I was absolutely knackered, as they say in Britain.  Two steps back.

But running has taught me to be a stubborn person, sometimes to my own detriment, and this morning I decided to try two 400-meter intervals.  Exactly a week ago, on my first day of running after the surgery, I had clocked a 3:13 and a 3:03.  Today, I surprised myself by clocking a 2:44 and a 2:38, still a long way from what I used to run, but 11-minute-mile and 10-1/2-minute-mile pace, after all.  And not only that, I seemed to be filled with energy all day, working out in the garden and making small improvements around the yard.

That's why we measure and time our runs, after all:  so that we can see the progress we have made.  Forward, backward - at least we are moving.  And one of these days I am confident that I will be taking two steps forward and only one step back.

Wheeee!

I wasn't sure how I would fare on my Saturday morning "long" run (three miles) today.  Yesterday I worked in the yard, weeding all of the garden beds, installing a DeerBlock fence around  the green beans (see post of June 14), and mowing the grass.  It felt good to be doing relatively hard work again in the yard and I realized how much I have missed it.  But I was seriously exhausted by the end of the day, an ordinary day which I would have considered easy two months ago.  I'm not sure I am ready for hammering rebar in the ground and mixing up concrete by hand for a new walkway to the basement door, which is the next project I want to tackle.

It was nice to see everyone at the Park.  Morris was there, and I told him I had run two miles on Wednesday for the first time,  "I even included two quarter-mile intervals!" I told him. "3:13 and 3:03!"  He laughed.  "I can relate," he said.  "After my knee surgery I was overjoyed when I finally got my quarter-mile time down to three minutes."  Then he told me, "You know, everything is relative in running.  Do you know what the snail said when he took a ride on the turtle's back?"  (Morris has a bottomless cache of corny jokes.)  "Wheeee!" 
 

Very true.  Sometimes it takes a little perspective to feel positive about your accomplishments.  I tried to remember that snail as we started up the Fifth Street hill and everyone quickly pulled away, Martha in the lead completing a six-mile run (in fact, she told me the group never did catch her).  But then I remembered that Vicki, recovering from cataract surgery, was walking somewhere behind me.  I am making progress, I thought.  I could actually keep everyone in sight today for a half mile.

My plan was to run three miles, taking a one-minute walking break every half mile.  And, other than pausing to tell a nice old lady in an SUV near Satulah Ridge Road where Main Street was located, I stuck to that plan, meaning that I ended up running up all of the hills, which I realized occurred just before my planned walking break.  Larry was out walking his dog while I was taking one of those walking breaks when I passed him.  He said Martha had told him a few days ago about my surgery.  "Do you plan to get back in as good shape as you were before?"  he asked.  I said, "I'm planning on getting back in better shape!" and he laughed.

So it was a good day, a hopeful day.  I ended up completing 3.1 miles, and as I sometimes do I timed myself:  a 47:24 5-K.  Wheeee! 

First Run

I did not let a little light rain keep me from taking advantage of the green light Dr. Robles gave me yesterday afternoon!  By the time I had driven to Town and parked the car, the rain had diminished to a refreshing fine mist.  I started my watch and walked briskly up the Fifth Street hill, and then lurched into what I can only loosely describe as running, a decidedly unaccustomed activity after two months, but running nonetheless.  The area where the surgical mesh had been implanted felt fine, and my right knee felt fine.  So far so good.  I stopped and walked after one block. 

There was no mistaking how much fitness I have lost.  The only comparable experience is beginning to run a few days after a marathon, legs so heavy they might as well have weights wrapped around the ankles.  And after a mile or so, I realized that everything felt oddly stiff, as if I needed to apply some grease or WD-40 to all of my joints.  A similar phenomenon occurs when we park our Mini over the winter and start it up again (assuming the battery is not dead as it was this year); everything creaks and groans, and the brakes make an odd noise, caused by a light coating of rust building up on the rotors.  I was the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz.  "Where's my oil can?"

I was surprised to find when I had completed two miles that my average pace (including the walking breaks) was a little over 14 minutes.  And I even completed two 400-meter "intervals" - i.e., 400 meters of not walking - in 3:13 and 3:03 (a minutes slower than my goal pace a few months ago). 

If it sounds as if I am complaining, I am not.  I ran today!  A slow, patient, first run in the long road to recovery. And it was an absolute joy to enter these modest numbers in my running log for the first time since April 20.

Green Light

It has been five weeks since my surgery, and I returned to Dr. Robles today for my scheduled follow-up appointment.  As expected, he gave me the green light to "return to normal activities," including running.

I have been released from my long exile in the land of limited activity!

"Don't go from Zero to sixty right away," he admonished me.  No need to worry about that; I will likely be taking frequent walking breaks. And remembering the value of patience.

"How poor are they that have not parience!

What wound did ever heal but by degrees?" - Shakespeare 

Thursday will mark exactly two months since my last run (April 20), the longest I have ever been sidelined.  I could choose to be upset by this - "Fear Of Losing Fitness" is a significant worry for most active people at my age.  But I think I will choose to look on the bright side.  Perhaps my body really needed a rest, a long rest like these two months, rather than a day or two (or the mere week I used to allow myself after a marathon).

I've hit the reset button.  Let's see what happens next.

Braveheart 5-K

Martha and I both ran this race last year, billed as "Franklin's most challenging 5K course." The hills are indeed challenging, especially in the final mile.  But it was a clear morning and the temperature stood at 63 degrees, unusually cool for mid-June in Franklin.  As its name indicates, the race is part of the annual Scottish Festival and includes a parade, crafts, Scottish fare, border collie herding contest, and other fun activities.  Some of the officials were dressed in authentic garb, and a bagpiper stood on Main Street and played just before the start.

We had arrived in plenty of time for Martha to warm up, and I enjoyed catching up with several runners who were there - Russell, Brad, and Gustavo - before the race started.
 

The bagpiper droned on, and then the Race Director gave the command to start; in true Braveheart fashion, someone shouted "Freedom!" at the top of his lungs, and then the runners were off.

As I have noted before in these posts, it is an odd feeling being on the support team, standing and waiting with other friends and family members after all the runners have turned the first corner, imagining the difficult struggle they are undergoing, the steep hills and the fatigue building up in tired legs, while at the empty finish line all is quiet and calm.  It is a role that Martha gladly filled for me before she began running and racing and which I am happy to fill for her these days.  It brings to mind John Milton's Sonnet 19:

Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er the Land and Ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and wait.

So I stood, and waited, until after 17 minutes or so the first runner appeared on Main Street, far ahead of all the rest, a lean young man loping along as if he were out for an easy jog.  Then came the second, and the third.  Our friend Brad was seventh overall, a good time for a 51-year-old.  And in ninth place was Gustavo.  Martha arrived a little ahead of when I had expected, finishing in a time of 29:57, good enough for second place and, even more satisfying, a little faster than her time last year.

The awards ceremony was held promptly after the last runner came in, an elderly woman pushing a walker and receiving more applause than the first place finisher.  All of the Highlands runners placed, Brad and Gustavo taking first place in their age groups.

I remembered the very impressive and moving ceremony for the first place male and female runners from last year.  The winner is asked to kneel on a stool, and he repeats the oath of a knight, and this time I was able to record it verbatim:

A knight is sworn to valor.
 

His heart knows only virtue.

His blade defends the helpless.

His might upholds the weak.

His words speak only truth.

His wrath undoes the wicked.

His knowledge will defeat ignorance.

His skills will be taught to the willing.

His temper shall be held by patience.

He will give aid to those who seek it.

He will ask aid when needed.

In the name of St. Ninian, St. Columba, and St. Andrew,

I knight you Sir Nathan Richards.

I try to avoid the subject of politics in this blog, but I could not help but reflect how much better we would be if our political leaders swore this stirring oath on bent knee when taking office, and actually lived these words.  These are indeed words that all of us should live by.  Nathan, along with the first place female, was then presented with an impressive sword.  What a trophy! - far more impressive than any I have ever won. 

I was asked by some of my friends at the race why I was not running today.  I have to admit being envious, especially because it was such a beautiful morning and such perfect conditions for running.  But it was a joy, as always, to watch Martha cross the finish line.  I ran this race last year and God willing will run it next year.

Around and About

I hope that Dr. Robles will give me the green light to begin running next week.  But in the meantime, I have been able to continue to do some light work around the house and yard, such as painting and gardening.  Yesterday I filled the last vacant space in our garden beds with some green bell pepper plants, and at the same time I covered the just-sprouting green beans and the thriving sweet potatoes with a product called DeerBlock, an almost-invisible mesh made by the optimistically-named company Easy Gardener.

It was easy to install, in fact.  This product worked on the hostas we had planted along our road two years ago until something - perhaps a State-road mower - caught the entire 50-foot roll and dragged it completely off them.  So we have pretty much given up on hostas below our driveway since then.  I enjoyed seeing this puzzled-looking specimen depicted cartoonishly on the back of the  package, staring forlornly through the impregnable DeerBlock erected in a fence-like manner.  "Foiled again!"

I have also been walking nearly every day.  Since Sunday, I have walked fourteen miles, which is probably more than I would have run.  Every day, I change the route just a little, exploring streets on which I rarely run (an oversight that I have vowed to remedy when I begin running again).  There are always interesting people out in the mornings, most of them familiar faces.  Jack K. was walking up the Fifth Street hill.  "Isn't that Richard?" he asked, shading a hand over his eyes.  "I almost didn't recognize you, wearing pants and walking."  I told him that I was enjoying the slower pace; it permitted me to stop and talk, as I was doing at the moment.

Near the public restrooms, a woman whose name I do not know but who is a regular morning walker said something similar:  "I didn't recognize you with your clothes on!"  But my most interesting encounter today was with a slim young woman walking north on Fifth Street, to whom I said good morning.  She hesitated a moment, as young women should do when speaking to strangers, and asked me if I knew where Old Edwards Inn and Spa was located.  "You're going the opposite way," I said.  "It's this way, downtown on Main Street."  She turned and we walked together for a few blocks.  "Where are you from?" I asked, detecting a British accent.

"England," she replied.

"Ah, England!"  And I told her about our upcoming trip.  "Where in England?"  It turned out that she was from Birmingham.  "What one thing should we not miss seeing when we are there?" I asked.  She told me Stratford-Upon-Avon, where we are going.  But the closest we will be going to Birmingham will be Liverpool, 100 miles to the northwest, a fact that I confess I discovered on Google Maps when I returned home, so lacking is my knowledge of British geography.  I also learned that people from Birmingham are called "Brummies," a term derived from the city's nickname of "Brum."  How I wish I could have surprised that young woman by saying that I thought she sounded like a Brummie!

I finished my walk and drove to Bryson's Food Store for a few groceries, and found the parking lot filled with 25 or 30 motorcycles, some of them appearing to be vintage, their riders standing around visiting with each other; they looked like they were having a wonderful time!  One or two waved at me as I drove by in the Mini with the top down.  The day could not have been more beautiful, cloudless blue skies and unseasonably cool temperatures, into the 40s earlier but now in the mid-50s.  As I was getting in the Mini a few minutes later to leave, I heard one of them shout in a loud voice, "LET'S ROLL!" and engines began to start up.

A good day for rolling!  And for wandering around and about.

Tony Buettner

Tony Buettner turned out to be an intelligent and engaging speaker.  After outlining those factors in "Blue Zones" that promote healthy longevity, the question-and-answer session turned more toward how to incorporate these principles in the Highlands community.  It is an exciting possibility, and we are already a step ahead of other communities who have become Blue Zone Communities and seen dramatic reduction in things like childhood obesity and tobacco use.

The nine factors identified in the study are these:

1. Move Naturally

The world’s longest-lived people don’t pump iron, run marathons or join gyms. Instead, they live in environments that constantly nudge them into moving without thinking about it. They grow gardens and don’t have mechanical conveniences for house and yard work.

2. Purpose

The Okinawans call it “Ikigai” and the Nicoyans call it “plan de vida;” for both it translates to “why I wake up in the morning.” Knowing your sense of purpose is worth up to seven years of extra life expectancy.

3. Down Shift

Even people in the Blue Zones experience stress. Stress leads to chronic inflammation, associated with every major age-related disease. What the world’s longest-lived people have that we don’t are routines to shed that stress. Okinawans take a few moments each day to remember their ancestors, Adventists pray, Ikarians take a nap and Sardinians do happy hour.

4. 80% Rule

“Hara hachi bu”  – the Okinawan, 2500-year old Confucian mantra said before meals reminds them to stop eating when their stomachs are 80 percent full. The 20% gap between not being hungry and feeling full could be the difference between losing weight or gaining it. People in the blue zones eat their smallest meal in the late afternoon or early evening and then they don’t eat any more the rest of the day.

5. Plant Slant

Beans, including fava, black, soy and lentils, are the cornerstone of most centenarian diets. Meat—mostly pork—is eaten on average only five times per month.  Serving sizes are 3-4 oz., about the size of a deck of cards.

6. Wine @ 5

People in all blue zones (except Adventists) drink alcohol moderately and regularly.  Moderate drinkers outlive non-drinkers. The trick is to drink 1-2 glasses per day (preferably Sardinian Cannonau wine), with friends and/or with food. And no, you can’t save up all week and have 14 drinks on Saturday.

7. Belong

All but five of the 263 centenarians we interviewed belonged to some faith-based community.  Denomination doesn’t seem to matter. Research shows that attending faith-based services four times per month will add 4-14 years of life expectancy.

8. Loved Ones First

Successful centenarians in the blue zones put their families first. This means keeping aging parents and grandparents nearby or in the home (It lowers disease and mortality rates of children in the home too.). They commit to a life partner (which can add up to 3 years of life expectancy) and invest in their children with time and love (They’ll be more likely to care for you when the time comes).

9. Right Tribe

The world’s longest lived people chose–or were born into–social circles that supported healthy behaviors, Okinawans created ”moais”–groups of five friends that committed to each other for life. Research from the Framingham Studies shows that smoking, obesity, happiness, and even loneliness are contagious. So the social networks of long-lived people have favorably shaped their health behaviors.

Blue Zones

The rain continued all day Sunday, off and on.  Remarkably, we were able to find another little window of light drizzle early in the morning and were able to run and walk.  My recovery continues to go well; it has now been four weeks since surgery, and I will go back to see my surgeon a week from now.  I can walk three or four miles at a faster and faster pace with no discomfort, and I can do some exercises with light weights.  So I am preparing to tie on that new pair of running shoes soon. 

This was the afternoon we had scheduled for our annual Highlands Roadrunners Club Spring party, hoping that we could have it out of doors as we had last year.  That did not prove possible, but a dozen or so of us gathered indoors and had a fun time anyway.  I know that some of those who had RSVPd had opted to stay home on such an afternoon rather than brave the elements.  But most of us are runners, and have run for hours in conditions worse than this.

"What's the longest you have been out from running?" I asked Fred, our 80-year-old veteran runner and true inspiration.  He said that he had once been out for several months, and more than once for periods as long (or, to his mind, I suppose, as short) as mine (two months), and he had returned to running relatively easily.  That made me feel a little more confident. 

Our Mayor came to the party, too, with his wife Sallie, and the conversation turned to the event that Sallie had organized at the Performing Arts Center for this evening, a lecture by Tony Buettner, brother of author Dan Buettner who wrote the book Blue Zones, which we both read with great interest last year.
 

I had already watched the TED talk on this topic before I read the book,  It examines regions of the world - so-called "blue zones" - where there are extraordinarily long-lived communities, and theorizes why they live such long and healthy lives. Some of the common factors are reducing stress, eating more vegetables and less meat, having friends who support them, belonging to faith-based communities, and simply moving.  These sound like they could be principles of our running club, and indeed of the lifestyle to which Martha and I have been striving to adhere for most of our lives.

Reflecting on these long-lived communities, the runners gathered at the part agreed that there are many of these individuals here in our midst, not just Fred and Jim Askew (who passed away last year), both running in their 80s, but the many centenarians in the Highlands area.  Our town shares the same factors as these far-flung communities around the world, with its strong churches, many opportunities for walking and hiking and running, and stress-reducing environment.  That is exactly why the Mayor and his wife would like our Town to become a "Blue Zones" community.

Martha and I also realized that there are many "Blues Zones" people in our own family, especially the women who are ageing so gracefully, like Martha's aunt Angela who is 91, and her aunt Lizette who is 90; both have been physically active all their lives and have strong church and social connections, and Lizette has been a life-long member of Weight Watchers.  Until this summer, Martha's mother enjoyed mowing the lawn on her riding lawn-mower . . . at the age of 83.

So in an hour or two we will brave the last of the diminishing rain and hear more about Blue Zones.  Yes, it is still raining, off and on, but it is finally moving out of the area, with sunshine and dry conditions predicted for the next few days.  We will be glad to see the green and yellow and orange zones on the doppler radar finally move out of the area!

Rain Rain Go Away

In my last post, I proudly uploaded a photo of the garden that I had planted on Tuesday, just in time, I innocently thought, for the rain forecast for Wednesday.  That rain indeed arrived on schedule on Wednesday evening, gently at first, then a bit harder.  And then it rained all day on Thursday.  And on Friday.  In addition to reducing the garden to sprawling, bedraggled, flooded plants begging for sunshine, this rain has made running a challenge.  Martha ran (and I walked) on Wednesday before most of this precipitation had begun.  Since then, we have been looking for those little windows of opportunity between wave after wave of rain.

Once again, I have relied on the app on my iPhone called MyRadar, which shows doppler radar for the area, inching across the screen every hour.  From time to time, an opening in the green and yellow (and, even worse, orange and red area) will appear.  Such an opening appeared on Friday morning and we were both able to walk and run - four miles for Martha, two for me - in light drizzle before it began once again in earnest.

Last night, we had invited Martha's aunt Anne to our house along with two of her friends from Savannah in celebration of her 89th birthday.  I watched the radar all afternoon, wondering if we would be able to dine outside, which Anne dearly loves.  She maneuvers well on two crutches but we were also worried about the slick conditions on our stone walk to the back door.  So I scrubbed it with clorox and we set the indoor dining room table.  Miraculously, the rain disappeared an hour or so before she was scheduled to arrive.  We were able to eat outside at the table on our deck almost all the way through the well-received picnic we had prepared, when a sudden warning scattering of rain on the metal roof encouraged us to move inside, just in time.

While we visited in the living room, the rain would seem to let up, then return with a vengeance.  At one point I think it poured harder than we had ever experienced, thundering so loudly on the roof that we could not hear ourselves talk.  It reminded me of that Tom Waits song Time:

And the rain sounds like a round of applause.
And Napoleon is weeping in a carnival saloon
His invisible fiancee's in the mirror.
And the band is going home, 
It's raining hammers, it's raining nails.

On my iPhone, the radar showed a bright orange flower that kept blooming, over and over again, right where we are located (the blue dot in the photo), before finally sliding off to the north.  During this brief abatement, Anne was able to get to the car with her friends and make it safely home.  And then it seemed to let up for several hours before returning to wake us in the night from time to time.

The heavy rain is especially unfortunate because this is the weekend for the Highlands Motoring Festival, and although there was a small turnout on Pine Street, many of the owners did not even display their fine cars.  I drove to Town to see what was going on, and there were a few tents set up under which owners huddled in the driving rain, looking as bedraggled as my newly-planted yellow squash plants.

Able to Work

In my previous post, I wrote "Auto parts fail eventually, lumber exposed to the elements rots sooner than expected, plumbing connections clog or spring leaks (all of which I experienced this week)."  Today I felt strong enough to actually address those failing components of home and auto.  Well, not auto, perhaps - our Mini has been placed in the capable hands of Russell and his guys at Highlands Automotive for replacement of two power-steering hoses, a feat of mechanical expertise which I wisely realized is way over my head.

It has not rained for two or three weeks, and suddenly rain is in the forecast for tomorrow afternoon, continuing in heavier amounts over the weekend.  It is unfortunate that this may impact the Highlands Motoring Festival scheduled for that time.  But for gardeners, rain just now will be welcome.  So early in the morning of an ambitious day, I laid out the gardens in our raised beds and got all of our plants in the ground, just in time.  I was careful not to over-exert, to pull something loose in what I think of as a healing process that becomes less fragile by the day.  We do love gardening!  I couldn't help but add up the cost of plants and fertilizer and imagine how many perfectly ripe heirloom tomatoes and fresh vegetable I could buy for the same amount of money.  But I really like to get dirt under my fingernails, gently tip those tender plants into the ground, and pat the soil around them with my bare hands.

Tomatoes, sweet potatoes, zucchini, yellow crook-neck squash, and beans.  Now we just need the right combination of sunshine and rain, plus netting to protect these tender plants from the marauding herd of deer who have finished off most of our hostas and also, I discovered last year, have a taste for tender bean shoots and sweet potatoes.  Why can't they eat weeds?

Next came the leaking supply line to the upstairs toilet (no photos taken), which involved two trips to Reeves Hardware and complications too numerous to list.  By then it was lunch-time and I realized that my lack of running and lifting weights have left me so easily tired that I was dragging around slowly, as if I had already put in an eight-hour day of hard yard-work.  

Still eager to complete the short list of chores I wished to complete today, I swept all the tulip poplar petals off the driveway with a push-broom.  (I am the only man in Macon County who does not own a leaf-blower.)  By now I was seriously fatigued, but I persisted.  There remained that rotten 2 X 6 on the back deck which I should have treated with Thompson's Water Seal.  Let's just say that it was easier to screw the new one in place than to remove the rotten one - Martha would not have liked knowing that I had to fetch the pry bar from the tool shed.  I'm supposed to be taking it easy.

At the end of the day, I was indeed pretty much exhausted – dehydrated despite the constant intake of liquids and nursing sore muscles that have not been used in a long time.  But it felt good to be out here on the deck, and down in the garden, working again – that wonderful tired feeling at the end of a physically demanding day.  I walked out onto the deck, rejoicing in the feel of the new 2 X 6, gazing down on the newly-planted garden, feeling that I was once again able to work.  

Doing What I Can

I continue to make progress, day by day, and I continue to marvel at the body's ability to heal.  Auto parts fail eventually, lumber exposed to the elements rots sooner than expected, plumbing connections clog or spring leaks (all of which I experienced this week, by the way).  But the living body is different: bruises disappear, cuts heal, broken bones mend.  This is nothing short of miraculous, and every time I recover from an injury I remember that, as the Psalmist said, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139:14)

I have been able to do some light work now, such as washing and waxing the car, and I have also begun doing some upper-body exercises - inclined bench press and arm curls - using very light weights.  Some days I feel as if I have pushed a little too hard, and I have to back off.  But this morning I was once again able to walk four miles, meeting the running group at 9:00 a.m. and then, as I did last week, watching them all take off up the Fifth Street hill and around the corner on Chestnut Street.  At the top of Chestnut Street, however, I saw Karen coming back toward me, and we walked and talked for almost three miles.  How nice that was of her!  I realized how much I have missed the social dimension of running more than I thought I would, the simple joy of chatting and laughing and bantering with other runners.

I also realized that over the past seven days I have not missed a single day walking, and my total mileage was 21 miles.  I noted with some surprise that this is more mileage in any single week than I logged running this year, including those two weeks in which I completed half marathons.  Surely this effort will make a return to running a little easier when my doctor releases me.  That's a nice phrase:  to be released.  I feel these days as if I am a race horse at the gate, waiting for the starting bell to ring.

So I continue to do what I can during these long days of waiting and healing.  Do I dare to crank up the chainsaw and saw those limbs in half so I can haul them to the landfill?  Do I dare to mow the lawn?  What about planting the garden?  Do I dare to eat a peach?  That's what T. S. Eliot mused in a slightly different context in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

I grow old ... I grow old ...

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

Meanwhile, Martha continues to help me through these long days, as much by discouraging me from overdoing as by helping with the heavy lifting.  And she continues to post inspirational quotes on the blackboard such as this one by Teddy Roosevelt.  Thank you Martha!