Thoughts at 4000

Mile Marker 4000:

My contact lenses are dry.  The lights in the Healing Garden need new batteries.  I could really use an iced green tea...

These are my thoughts -- in no particular order -- on the day I hit Mile 4000.

It's a beautifully uneventful day.  The rain has stopped.  There's a gusty breeze.  The sky is bright blue and the air smells leafy green.

I LOVE NORMAL.

I woke up this morning thinking of a post I wrote way back in the beginning.  Mile Marker 28:  The Usual.   It's about how trauma has its own landscape, and how the ordinary world somehow keeps turning while we're away.

I've found my way back, but I still marvel at the "normal" stuff I used to do.  Now when I make dinner and wash the dishes, my foot aches.  My socket rubs after a workday.  Mail piles up on the table.  The floor gathers crumbs.  I've never been so exhausted.  Yet I can't deny it.  I'm super happy to be here.

This morning, I take my usual walk for coffee.  Drink it on the balcony.  Then I meet with a colleague.  Go to a doctor's appointment.  Tend to the Healing Garden at Jefferson.  On Walnut Street, I sweat out of my socket mid-stride and discover that Peet's Coffee has a spiffy bathroom.   Just a typical day in amputee-land.

When I get home, I'm at Mile 3999.69.  So close!

Leg freshly fastened, I decide to walk around the block.  No fanfare.  Nothing fancy.  I just feel fortunate to make the trip.

I head south toward Market Street, over the bricks and cobblestones, dodging construction zones and crumbling curbs.

Artwork pops up unexpectedly.



Along with Philly-style inspiration...

Yo Adrienne!

Trucks rumble past.  Cars make turns.  From somewhere distant, I hear rap music.  And beyond that, birds.

My feet keep moving and my mind does too.  I've got a shopping list a mile long for CVS.  Up the street, there's a baby gift I need to get.  And across from that, there's a store where I want to order new glasses frames.

It's Mile 4000.  But it's also just a Monday.

No errands today.  I stay focused on each step.  Walking is a privilege, and this lap deserves attention all its own.

These feet have walked 4000 miles!

It's hard to believe how fast it's gone.  My first thousand miles took nearly two years to complete.  This last thousand took only 10 months!

As I round the last corner toward home, I run into my neighbor Faye.  Faye is 81 years old.  She wants me to take her rock climbing.

Welcome to my world.

Here's to normal.
And here's to everything that lies outside of it.

In other words...
Here's to the next thousand!