Waking this morning, I remembered how I used to get up, slip into my shorts and t-shirt and run.  Wake up to the sounds of birds and the patterns of light through the tree branches, gage my day for heat and humidity, clear my head of foggy dreams, find my way forward.

Maybe this means I am almost ready to run again.

Maybe this means I am just remembering.

On my last day of PT for my ankle and heel a couple weeks ago, Colleen told me that when I can stand on my right foot only, lift my heel up and hold my weight on my toe bed, I’d be able to run again.  I can’t do that yet, not even close.  But it is good to know when running will be okay again. A goal.

My balance is still off, but I’m not falling.  I still walk with a hitch. There is a dull ache in my heel, strange electric movement in my foot as my nerves regrow.  Only the arch of my foot feels asleep now, and my pinky toe.  And my forearm from my elbow to my wrist.  Funny what you get used to.

I miss my stride. I miss the ease in which I got to live in my body.  I miss being pain-free.  And like my waking thought of running, I barely remember what it felt like to live like that.

We are resilient and adaptable, for good and bad. And there is so much worse happening in the world right now.  Like my hit and run, things a careless man has unleashed.  How anyone can cause such harm and not feel it, not see the results of their actions, frightens and saddens me. What are we, but our humanity?

Today I saw both the surgeons who put me back together. Both are so happy I am doing so well.  I am humbled that they remember me.  November was a long time ago.  How many other people have they operated on? How many other lives have they helped get moving again?  Dr, Downs said, keep doing what you are doing.  Keep taking steps outside your comfort zone. 

jks