It's been a year since Russ took me home to Cloverdale from Hendricks County Hospital.
The snow was piled 18 inches deep around the trailer. That's as far as I could think at the time. I was blinded by fear. I was forbidden to drive, which I couldn't do anyway because the car was trapped in the garage by the snow. Alone in the trailer, barely able to get around, I was as low as I've ever been. No point in dwelling. Except to recognize how much I have progressed. Physically, emotionally and in a sense of well-being.
Today, at the Y, I jogged on the treadmill. A very slow, shambling jog, but more than a walk at least. With no hands. That's a big deal, the no hands part. From the beginning, balance, or lack of it, has been a big deal. As in I had none. I couldn't walk and turn my head to the side without falling over. Literally. And, today, I was able to step/jump down from the treadmill without holding on.
So, anyway, while I was jogging on the treadmill not holding on and reading the crawl on the TV I was excited, grateful, exhilarated.
I was also informed. Poor Bill Belichick is forced to insist, over and over, that he knew nothing about the under-inflated footballs in the Colts game. As a matter of fact, he almost convinced me that he wouldn't recognize a football if he saw one because he dealt only with his players and game strategy. Almost.
The headline says he hung Brady out to dry.
Brady has scheduled a press conference.
I don't care about the football but I love a good joust. Especially when it doesn't involve killing small brown people far far away with unmanned missiles.
I picked up a mini-marathon pamphlet at the Y. The training sessions begin soon. I don't really expect to do it, but the fact that I picked it up is a sign, to me, of a healthy emotional state. Or insanity?
1 comment:
Look, Ma! No hands!
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