What I Used to Do

I used to

• Do pull-ups. Many. When I was eight.
• Do that bridge thing where you lie on your back with your knees bent, hands by your ears, and push up off the floor
• Jump rope. Kind of.
• Touch my toes (sitting with legs out straight)
• Play “tennis” at summer camp / be a batter during PE baseball
• Pick up nickels from the sidewalk
• Sit cross-legged on the floor
• Step up curbs. Even down!
• Walk up stairs without a railing. Sometimes.
• Walk down a stair or two with my hand hovering over the railing, just to see if I could.
• Handcycle for miles
• Walk without pain
• Travel solo, knowing that I would be okay
• Live without constant neck tension and pain
• A little hiking, with help
• Climb ladders
• Jump off a diving board
• Look over my shoulders
• Walk comfortably in bare feet, without my left big toe trying to kill me
• Know that I could get up off the ground if I fell
• Carry groceries for blocks

Some changes happen so slowly we don’t even notice them. Now, I need to walk out of my way to get to a curb cut, because I can’t trust my body to take me safely up a curb (and certainly not down!). Now I walk on by nickels and dimes on the sidewalk; might just tip right over if I tried to pick them up.

I know that most every adult can look back on themselves as children and ponder their lost agility. I don’t expect that I should be able to do pull-ups the way I did when I was eight. I would like to feel confident that I can step over an obstacle in my path or pick up something off the floor. Full disclosure, I can sometimes pick stuff up without needing to hold on to something. If I’m in my own home and I give my back enough time to slo-o-o-wly bend forward, I can do it. But if I’m walking to work and someone drops something, I don’t pick it up for them. Not with my backpack on. Not when it needs to be quick. Rather than moving them out of harm’s way, I simply apologize to the worms and snails in the middle of the path, who will soon be flattened by oblivious cyclists’ tires.

It’s difficult for me to acknowledge that some of these changes have been over, not decades, but only a handful of years. I’m not doing enough, right? I’m not being consistent enough with my physical therapy, nor do I push myself enough to stay active. But sitting on the floor, on the rug in the living room, or in my bedroom. In the past, that’s where I liked to be. Didn’t I do it every day? When did I stop?