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!