A few years ago, I was having back problems and shooting
pain in my legs.
My toes would fall asleep, then my feet. It felt like there
was a
rubber band around my ankles, sometimes even my knees.
I started with a chiropractor, then progressed to physical
therapy and finally onto medication aimed at numbing “nerve pain” in my legs.
On bad days, I could barely make it around the supermarket. Hunched over my
shopping cart, I realized that other people in that position were not lazy
shoppers, they were in excruciating pain.
As was I, whenever standing. I could barely walk 5 minutes
and began to wonder if a wheelchair was in my future. Suddenly, I feared losing
something I had long taken for granted. Something so basic, so critical to an
active and productive life – walking.
I grieved over this loss as I recalled every hike in the
foothills, every stroll along the Greenbelt, enjoying nature and my canine
companions. Anger, disbelief, sadness and finally resignation. I lost hope that
I would ever take another 3-hour trek on a sunny afternoon.
And as my aging dogs passed on, I grieved two-fold. I felt I
would never have another companion who required daily exercise.
But then, just as I was contemplating surgery, I started to
feel better. I realized I could ride my bike, since sitting didn’t seem to
bother my back. I started to meditate as a way to manage pain – learning to
separate the physical pain from the emotional suffering it invoked.
And then, as spring erupted, I started walking. Ten minutes,
then 15 and 20. It hurt, but being away from trees and water, fresh air and
sunshine, pained me more.
One day, I pushed my 30-minute walk to almost an hour as I
enjoyed an early summer day along the canal by my house. I loved the way the
sun sparkled on the flowing water and a breeze rustled the new green leaves on
the wooded banks.
I soaked in the motion all around me and marveled at my own ability
to move.
I vowed never to take my mobility for granted. And then, in
tears of relief, I went to the Canyon County animal shelter and adopted a dog. A
wonderful, lively and happy teen-aged dog that required daily exercise (and
plenty of mental stimulation as well).
My return to walking came with other benefits, including the
loss of a few pounds and a gain of renewed energy and focus. Mostly I am
grateful for the leaping, twirling dog beside me, who relishes all our walks as
if it’s the first one of his life.
Thank you, Monte, for symbolizing the appreciation of simple
things that are anything but. Together we share gratitude for the wonder of
life and the sheer joy of moving within it.
