No Afters

In the beginning our goal would be just to walk a mile without pain in her legs--when she was injured." Greg Hoak to NBC10's Jade McCarthy Jan. 2009



We were at least two years beyond that goal and talking about running a ten miler that day. And, maybe I never truly believed, until now, my own assertion that "there are no afters. " I know I detest being back at the beginning. How did I end up here--with shooting pain in what used to be "the good hip" and the grinding right knee, and a cruel and constant ache in both ankles? I meant something all together different when I said "This is about forever." That was the good Forever--the mantra you cling to. Forever is an unbearable idea on a day when the warm up leaves you in a cold sweat: the sum of regret + worry.


What can I possibly work toward today? Every step on the treadmill is a painful study of my connective tissue as the heat in the socket of my left hip flares up and down. I turn the music up, the incline, silence the fan that is annoying me; but none of my alterations gets me beyond the overbearing drill in my mind:" step forward, step forward, step forward." Despite six years of change and ambition (and no matter how much I wish it weren't true) I know that I am lame-- in every sense-- no matter how much I try not to be.


The realization stings more than the injury and the expression that comes with it begs the question: "How is your leg?"
"It hurts."
"I know, " Greg replies, "I can hear you limping."


And then I know--I know why I'm here. Because no one else I know HEARS this--even I don't HEAR it. And, I feel a smile all at once try to raise the corner of my mouth and my spirit. Because maybe, just maybe someone-- who in 15 seconds HEARS this, this antithesis to everything that is fluid and productive, maybe that means he also HEARS a way to UNDO it. And the chance of that is enough, just enough, to make me unwilling to cave in here today. Somehow I refuse to accept pity for progress, like my past life of late night binges once trained me to do.

"Can't walk today? Crawl then, it worked when you were one-- still works. So, it's inch worms and bear crawls today. Then you'll walk , then you'll run. Then you'll...who knows what's next? But, let's just say it'll be something better than --sympathy."

It sounds like Greg, but it isn't It's... ME

Somehow that mindset seeps into your brain if you let it...
"Are you ready to quit?"

"NO."

"Then, you must be ready to start."

And, then I find it--"Yes."

A Game of Mercy

So here I am 6:04am; even the prospect of this morning's cardio divides my mind. Shannon is down the hall with "the cousins" and I debate leaving these two young ones--even though they won't wake up; even though my sister is just steps away; like the devil is always whispering how remiss I am under his breath. But, they are so sound asleep; so safe here together; so likely to understand that my iPod , Nikes, and I will be back long before Spongebob is over. Rheumatology sets term limits in this campaign; even so I am probably sealing the deal for my eventual hip replacement. I can't help it though. I need this workout. Because 6 am at the beach, with the tide underscoring my playlist, is a day too sacred not to unleash your soul.

For once I am glad that Josh's "Show me what you've got" is just a memory today. What I've got on the outside is so paltry compared to the inside. Still, I endeavor to apply my training. There is a negotiation that never stops in my head. A tug of war between what I want to do and what I should do. There are days I trade my adrenaline futures like Wall Street commodities. But, I give conservative a shot today.. I walk for a long time, all the way to the lighthouse coaxing my joints like reluctant children as if to say, "Please come with me--it'll be so much fun..." They are full of spite, though not without provocation. They remind me of all the times I beat them up back when I had the upper hand. They enjoy a game of "mercy" at my expense. You see, deep down they know, and force me to admit, that there is still a trace of poison in the miracle I am living. A thing that says "a walk is not enough, there are 70 year olds flying by me with their cocker spaniels. And, here I am pushing through this ridiculous swollen ankle and ever tightening hamstrings, and the ache in the good leg. You pathetic girl...you are still the same glutton for punishment you ever were..."

And I almost fall into this pit AGAIN but an angel comes and sits on my shoulder and says "Today we will climb out of this cesspool and leave a ladder behind for anyone who comes after us." Instantly I'm done with pity. I run the 54 stairs up to the lovely room at the Inn and check on my sleepyheads who are still crashed on the king size bed. I grab my coffee , a notebook and pen and climb high into the lifeguard chair hours before they will need to take this post. Each in our own way searching for drowning victims. I write and write and write; lighting a candle in my cathedral.