Staying on track

Last week I started Carol Frazey's Fit School for Women Walking/Running program This program was recommended to me by my friend Cami Ostman, a marathon runner, who assured me that Carol is a great teacher and very accommodating to anyone's needs. I emailed Carol to be sure she could accommodate me, an above-knee amputee.  After some dialogue, I felt assured she could.

On the first morning fifteen women met at 6:30 am at a local high school track.   I expected  about five women, so when I saw so many, I was intimidated.  Just that many more people to look foolish in front of.

We started off by walking around the track.  Carol wanted to get a baseline mile for each of us, so she timed us.  As I started walking I felt as self-conscious as I did after I lost my leg when I was 17 years old.  When some women started running past me, my throat constricted.  It was a challenge for me to not compare myself to these fit, two-legged women.  I don't go to a gym; I don't work out.  I just take my daily mile walk.   Hell, I don't even have workout clothes.  I wore my cargo pants, an old t-shirt and a corduroy jacket.  So to be around women who are clearly active and fit was at first disconcerting. I panicked when I realized that all the other women would likely finished their mile while I still had half a mile to go.  Would they all have to wait for me to finish?

Then I remembered what Carol said before we started walking:  this is not about comparing ourselves to each other; this is about doing something for ourselves.  I'm a busy, working mother.  I don't take much time to do anything for myself - and when I do it's not usually something healthy, like waking up at 6:30 in the morning to walk and do push-ups.  So I puffed out my chest and stood a little taller.  I realized that I can compare myself to every woman there till I'm blue in the face and in doing so I'll only feel worse. Or I can acknowledge that I'm doing this for me, for my health and perhaps I'll learn a more efficient way to walk.   Every woman on that track has a story, a reason to be there, and I decided I'm just another one of those women.  I've excluded myself, physically and emotionally, for so many years because I've told myself I don't fit in.  Well, that morning I decided I do fit in, simply because I showed up.

And, yes, I was the last one to finish the mile.  But who's keeping track?

Radio Interview

I was interviewed by Kate Nichols at KMRE radio through the American Muesem of Radio and Electricity.  Her show, Women's Voices, is a radio show by and about women. You can listen to my interview, in which I talk about my work as Program Director at Big Brothers Big Sisters of Northwest Washington and about my walking campaign for the Prosthetics Outreach Foundation,  tomorrow, Sunday, July 17th, at 10:00 am at KMRE, 102.3 FM, or by steaming through their website.

Enjoy!

Life in the Labyrinth

I took a walk in my labyrinth tonight. I wove myself through the circle as if through the weft and warp of a circular area rug. When I started the walk, I took a good look at the structure to evaluate and see what needs to be finished. First I examined the bricks lining the grass pathways. I grumbled as I noticed they lay uneven. I walked over weeds and reminded myself to yank them out tomorrow. I walked over bare patches in the grass where I pulled weeds a few weeks ago, proud that I had rid my peaceful spot of such ugliness. And I was irritated the 35 foot circular area wasn’t even. The slight ups and downs make walking harder for me.

And then I realized that my life is a lot like this labyrinth.

The structure of my life lays a little catawampus sometimes, just like those bricks. I could certainly use some straightening out. As I walked around the labyrinth I could truly see the beauty in this organic-looking placement. I could have paid someone to install the labyrinth, but we did it our way. Isn't that how I live my life, even if it turns out imperfect and a little messy?

I reminded myself that the very weeds I want to pull are also plants that have something to give. The Dandelion and the Plantain both have medicinal properties that aid the human body. I thought about the experiences or parts of myself that I want to yank out of my life. I know they have something useful for me. It’s all about whether I want to take the time, to shift my perspective so as to discover what that is.

And those ups and downs I had to walk over? Well, unless I walk a perfectly manicured labyrinth somewhere else, I’ll just have to get used to the ups and downs of life in my own labyrinth.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

My eleven year old daughter Tessa was asked by her teacher to write an essay that answered the question: If you could change one thing that would make the world a better place, what would it be? Here is her response:

When my mom was 17 she was in a car accident.  One of her legs was amputated.  Last year she couldn't even walk around the block without pain.  If I could change one thing about our world I would help all the amputees living in it who can't afford good prosthetic limbs.

In developing countries kids can't go to school because they are amputees.  They can't run around with their friends.  If I couldn't run, hop and jump around with my friends I would be very upset.  But I can - they can't.  That's one reason I would want to help them.

In some places you have to walk a long way to get water. If my mom couldn't walk around the block with a good prosthetic leg, then people with not such a good one probably can't walk miles to get water.  If we helped get them prosthetic legs it wouldn't make it all better, but it would make a big difference.

If you didn't have an arm you couldn't hold your baby.  You wouldn't be able to hold your daughter's hand.  You couldn't tuck your son in at night.  If my mom couldn't hug me, hold my hand or tuck me in I don't know what I'd do.  That's another reason why our world should help amputees.

I've seen how hard it is for my mom to live with only one leg and I can't imagine what it would be like for people who can't afford a good prosthetic limb.  I would really like to change the world for all the amputees living in it.

Playlist

Today was a beautiful day to trust, a beautiful day to start my 100 miles --- again. I made a Walking playlist for my iPod.  The first song , quite appropriately, is Willie Nelson's On the Road Again.  There I was, sunning beating on my face, a breeze blowing through my hair, walking down the street, grinning from ear to ear, realizing how happy I was to be back on the road walking again.

Patsy Cline's Walking After Midnight came next.  Velvety voice crooning me down the block.

"Are ya ready boots?  Well, start walkin'."  I started feeling fatigued, but These Boots Were Made For Walking had the best beat of all.  I felt like I was gliding down the sidewalk.

"I want to give love, I want to share, I want to show you just how much I care."  Seeing that in print looks a little schmaltzy, but when Toni Childs belts it out in I Want to Walk With You, it feels anything but.  It was about this time that I was dedicating my walk to all the people in developing countries who cannot walk.

"In this world we've a soul for a compass and a heart for a pair of wings..... why walk when you can fly?"  Yea, well, I would have loved to been flying right about then. I was at the end of my mile and feeling it.  But the music transcended me beyond my physical discomfort reminding me that what I am doing, my 100 mile walk, is about following my soul's compass and doing what I need to do for those who can't do it for themselves.

How can you walk with me?  I have a Donate Here button on the left.  If you're so inclined, no amount is too small.  And I also need help spreading the word.  If you're comfortable sharing this blog, my story with other people, that will help immensely.

One down..... Ninety Nine to go.

Another 100 miles

Starting this Friday, June 17th, I am walking another hundred miles for the hundreds of amputees in developing countries needing a prosthetic leg.  I'll walk a mile a day for 100 days to raise money for the Prosthetic Outreach Foundation's programs around the world. Even though the fit of my prosthetic leg has been painful lately, even though I have to admit to some fear about making this commitment again, I keep in mind the lesson I've been learning for the past year and a half.  Fear does not own me.  Fear to me is like being a mole, sightlessly digging around under the mantel of the earth, searching for a way out, clumsily trying to find my way out of the depths.  Every now and then I'll poke my head out to see the light of day, but habit keeps me digging. Fear to me is really about feeling alone and lonely.

Trust, my opposite of fear, is like being the bald eagle, soaring above the earth, seeing everything from a larger perspective.  When I shift to this viewpoint, I see how interconnected everything is.  I find such comfort in that.   When I trust, I feel part of something bigger.

I will trust that I can keep the eagle's perspective as I walk my daily walk.  I will trust that my walking a hundred miles is bigger than just me walking a hundred miles.  And I will trust that, even if I never see it or know it, a connection between myself and another amputee will be made.  I will trust.

Half Empty

For my birthday in March I asked my husband to help me build a labyrinth.  We hired Myra Smith of Laughing Flower Labyrinth to paint a design on our grass and on my birthday, one of the five sunny days we've had in eight months, my husband and I started digging out the trenches.  We are filling the trenches with bricks and then these brick pathways will line the grass path that leads to the center of the labyrinth. If you're not familiar with labyrinths, you can find more information at Myra's Laughing Flower Labyrinth site.  The intention of a labyrinth, at least my intention for having one, is to have access to a walking meditation.  My intention for constructing the labyrinth - instead of paying Myra to build it -  was so that I can be present to my internal process while I am building the labyrinth.  Before we started I assumed that building the labyrinth would be a spiritual - or at the very least - a calming process.

Not today. Today I was grumpy.  As I was down on hands and knees placing bricks, my prosthetic leg kept getting in the way or not moving the way I wanted it to.  And then there was the placement of the bricks themselves.  They weren't fitting right; they weren't sitting right. Why does this have to be so hard? I wondered.  I realize I often wonder why life has to be so hard.  I watched my grumpy old self being grumpy and I wanted to laugh, except I was too grumpy.  I was reminded of a conversation my husband and I had yesterday.  He insinuated that I go walk through life looking at life as half empty.  I was shocked..... Me? Half empty?  I think of myself as a half full kind of gal.  Today, working on the labyrinth, I could see what he means.  Why don't I just relax into the project and see it as an opportunity instead of a challenge?

So the labyrinth is already working her magic.  I wanted to be present to whatever comes up.  Today I was present to grumpy and half empty.

Giving Thanks

This Wednesday I am going to San Francisco to read from my essay in the new anthology, He Said What? Women Write About Moments When Everything Changed, edited by Victoria Zackheim. I am so proud to be one of the contributing authors in this anthology.  The other women's stories are compelling, riveting, humorous, and poignant.  I feel like the new kid on the block; all the other authors are well-established in their niche.  I am just beginning my writer's journey and am humbled to be amongst such strong company.

The brother I wrote about in Brotherly Love is coming with me to San Francisco.  I feel blessed to have him in my life.  That he is still alive and relatively healthy is more than I could have wished for twenty years ago.  Living through the AIDS crisis in the eighties was horrific for him - not only because of all the friends and acquaintances he lost, but because of the fear he lived with for his own life.

I cna't say why my brother's life was spared, why he didn't die from the same hideous infection that so many other equally wonderful people did.  They say there are only two prayers to say.  One is Please; the other is Thank You.  For so many years I choked on my prayers begging for my brother's life to be spared.  And now I am filled with awe and gratitude as I bow in my prayer of thanks.

Renewed Commitment

So here's the truth of the matter:  I don't like to walk. Sure, there are days when a walk is absolutely lovely, but there are more days when walking is simply uncomfortable. My gut reaction to an invitation to take a walk is fear.  Will it hurt?  Can I make it? Every walk is unpredictably different for me in comfort level so I've been conditioned to expect the worse.

Last year I walked everyday for six months. Over time, walking became easier and more comfortable, but I could never free myself from the twelve pound prosthetic leg I have to haul around with me with every step. Once the commitment I made to myself and to the Prosthetics Outreach Foundation was over, I slowly stopped walking.  Why?  Well, I said it was to finish my book, but I suspect there was something deeper going on.  What I know now is that, half a year later, I miss walking.  Well, not really walking, but I miss the side effects to my walks.

I miss the daily connection with my husband and kids.  I miss our conversations - the ones that come so naturally when taking a walk.  My husband and I are at that stage in life when we're managing a busy household.  By the time the kids go to bed at 10:00 pm, we're spent.  Our daily walk, whether we talked or not, was a touchstone to our day when we connected as loving partners.

Motion is lotion and I can tell my body misses the daily tune-up.  The changes to my body when I walked for six months were subtle yet profound.  Now that I'm not walking, my tendinitis and bursitis have flared up and even a few new maladies have surfaced.  All emit low levels of pain, making their irritating presence known.

I started my six months of walking in January when the trees were bare and the neighborhood gardens were brown and dull.  Over six months I witnessed the earth's yearly emergence into spring and then summer: bare trees swelling with tiny buds that slowly opened into fragrant blossoms that slowly wilted and dropped to the sidewalk  and were slowly trampled into dust.  I miss being outside and feeling the wind, the rain, the sun, just the air on my face.

But mostly, I miss being proud of myself.  I had never walked everyday for six months in my life. Some days I really didn't want to walk, but I honored my commitment.  Like the energizer bunny, I kept on going. There was a level of deep contentment I felt in knowing, that when I took my walk, I was stretching myself out of my comfort zone, outside of the safe place where life is stagnant.

So, I'm going to start walking again five days a week.  I'm not committing to a mile a day like last time, I'm committing to a daily stretch outside my comfort zone.  I'm committing to stepping outside of fear and into trust.  I'm committing to me.

Ah-Ha!

I spent years, well most of my twenties and my early thirties, searching for the grand Ah-Ha.  I desperately yearned for the moment when I would understand it all, when God, in whatever form he or she took, deemed me worthy enough to impart the wisdom of the ages and let me know why I lost my leg, why I lost my Dad, why terrible things had happened.  I struggled for so long under the assumption that life would be easier if I just understood why. Looking through life’s window for the answers was like looking through a gauze curtain that clouded my view. I studied various spiritual paths hoping that one would hold the secret I was seeking.  I didn't anticipate how life would change once I held this knowledge; I just knew everything would be easier. I don't' regret my search, but I do wish I could have known then what I know now: there is no magic answer, no big Ah-Ha moment to satisfy my thirst for understanding.  Occasionally get it and have brief moments of clarity.  And what I understand in those moments is this:  each day has the potential to be an Ah-Ha.  When I wake up every day, I have the ability to engage with that day or not.  If I engage, answers unfold.  When I disengage, I'm blind to them.

The answers are constant and simple.  I've occasionally had an awareness that feels so huge I want to stand up on the mountain top and shout it to the world to make sure everyone else gets it, too.  But even those moments are fleeting and don't always stick with me.  Mostly, I just have simple moments of understanding.  When I really listen to someone else and try and understand his/her perspective; when I suspend judgment about an event or a person; when I chose love over fear, when I take the time to connect with others,  that’s when I’m open to understanding the big moments in life.

I’ve stopped waiting for something or someone outside of me to give me the answer. I’ve learned that the answers are inside me already, I just have to have the clarity and trust to see them.