Back in the Saddle... Again!

Mile Marker 211:

I’d better keep moving.   

I did the math this week.  To reach my goal, I need to walk 2.6 miles per day – that’s 18 miles per week.  Gotta pick up the PACE to reach Mile 1000 by next November!

“Am I winning the race for Most Annoying Client?” I asked my prosthetist Tim on Monday.

He just smiled and reminded me (yet again) that it’s normal for your leg to get smaller during the first year in a prosthesis.

“Maybe I should eat more BACON?”

He laughed and took my socket back into the workshop for some major padding.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from the last 10 miles, it’s that happiness is a snug-fitting socket!  Limping around with a loose leg is disconcerting – and quite painful!

Now, after a tune-up, I’m back in the saddle – er, socket.  A tightly padded one at that.   

Yesterday at work, Mile 211 saw me through two meetings.   Two "usuals" of my old life.   

I sat around the table with colleagues.  I listened.  I tossed out ideas.  I took notes.   I made it to the end of each meeting without thinking (too much) about my leg.  It was GOOD to be back!

Like other daily occurrences, I used to take those meetings for granted.  Once in a while, I even complained about them.  But yesterday, they felt like a privilege.  A quiet sanctuary.  An hour when my thoughts returned to where they used to be.

Arriving home at dusk -- tired, but bolstered with confidence -- I decided to finish off Mile 211.

Slippery sidewalks?  Check.

Drizzly rain? Check.

Scattered leaves?  Check.

Impending darkness?  Check.

All my rehab training told me not to go.

But it's a rare moment when my FEAR recedes.   I had to take advantage. 

I will be careful.  I will walk slowly.  I will make it around the block.

And off I went.  I mean off MY FRONT STEP. 

My left foot touched the pavement gingerly.   

With weight on my prosthesis, I only feel pressure.  I don’t feel the surface of the ground.   I can’t detect if it’s smooth or rough, wet or icy.

So I walked stiffly.   My muscles tightened and ached.  I stopped to rest.

I pretended I was taking a photography class.  I snapped the reds, golds, and greens hanging in my neighbors' windows.

Halfway down the street, a man passed on my left side, and I felt a tug around my right ankle.   His Yorkie had wrapped its flexi-leash around both of my legs. 

“Uh-oh!”  I stood stock still on two feet.

The man turned around.  “Oh, sorry!”   With one quick motion, he freed me.

We both proceeded down the sidewalk.  They faded into the distance as I took my first few steps. 

Going slowly doesn’t keep you dry.   But it does reveal your reflection deep in puddles.  Your shadow flung against brick walls.   

It lets you see the latticework on gates and the amber lighting of warm living rooms.

A half-hour later, I unlocked my front door.  I’d walked four blocks.  My hair looked like I’d gone swimming, and the cuffs of my pants were soaked.  

But I was back.

Last weekend,  I figured I’d need to set up a RELAY to finish my 1000 miles in time.   I’d line up family, friends, doctors, nurses, and therapists so we could hand off the pedometer like a baton!

Well, the saddle's fixed.  For the time being, anyway....

And it’s good to be BACK.