Monday June 20th
I decided that my 14 months of staying as far away from musical instruments as I could were over, and I went out and bought a ukelele.
Tuesday June 21st
I befriended Alex the 12 year old, who's actually 14.
Wednesday June 22nd
On my eighth day, I memorized the passwords for "hacking" into the exercise equipment in the gym.
Thursday June 23rd
I put on a belt and was attached to a bungee cord, and I learned that my T & R (Tuesday and Thursday) PT has more muscle than I thought. And as I drug her across the parking lot, the two of us freely giggled at the hilariousness of it all.
Friday June 24th
I learned that having fun on Fridays at bootcamp, is about as much fun as having fun at bootcamp sounds.
"You can complain that roses have thorns, or rejoice that thorns have roses."I'm normally the first person to check in each morning. I'm also normally the only one to check myself in. I'm the only one that drives myself.
But more importantly.
I'm one of the few. I'm one of the few who actually gets to walk through the front doors. I'm one of the few who walk down the hallway to meet the therapists.
I'm on of the few who doesn't require constant supervision.
I walk. I talk. I run. I communicate. I get myself where I need to go without help. I can interact on multiple social levels.
Each morning as I leave, I walk through a full waiting room. And whatever hell ive endured for the past two hours, is suddenly meaningless.
Because I'm walking out the doors. I'm driving myself home.
I'm not confined to a wheelchair. My thoughts aren't "stuck" in my head. I can carry conversation. My hands typically move how I want them to. I see. I hear. I speak.
A reality check.
Each day before we even get close to lunchtime.
Yes. I hurt. Yes. Honestly? It sucks. A lot of the time. But.
I get out of bed by myself each morning. I feed myself. I only know sign language because I want too.
And that.... that's more than can be said by most of the kids I pass in here.
On the nights I go for a run rather than a walk. Just at the point when ready to give up. When I'm whining to God. When I'm ready to quit.
Generally at the exact point that I'm slowing down, I notice that there's someone watching me.
A pair of eyes watching my every move.
So I keep running. Not out of fear. Not in order to protect myself.
I do it for her.
I don't know her name. I don't know her story.
I run for her because she can't. I run because she may never be able to.
I've spent so long wishing that I was healthy. Wishing that I could be anyone else. And she's probably spent time wishing she was me.
The first night I saw her I was too embarrassed to even look at her. Now? I keep running when I pass her. I run with a smile on my face. A genuine smile. Even though I hurt. Even though it sucks. I'm doing it. For her. No, she'll never know that. But. She won't ever see me run by her ready to give up again.
Every rose has its thorns.
True, I could become consumed in the fact that my health is a rather large thorn in my life.
Or I could choose to be thankful, that even though in the scheme of my life, my health is a rather large branch of thorns, that the branch is still adorned with roses.
How am I doing?
A question so many people have asked me.
Honestly? I'm doing about as good as you could begin to expect.
Essentially I'm doing everything I've been avoiding for over a year at the same time.
I'm working out past my breaking point. I'm pushing myself in ways I probably shouldn't. I'm not really avoiding any food. I'm eating food more than twice a day. I'm in areas surrounded by people whom I don't know. I'm surrounded by a plethora of noises and smells and movements.
I drive through crazy amounts of traffic.
For the past year, I've had to force myself to go out with my friends. I've had to force myself to be social. At times it was the last thing I wanted to do. But. I knew that I had to try to stay healthy - mentally.
And now? I can go for a few days only talking to my family members. Most of my thoughts remain trapped inside my heard.
Bootcamp isn't just physical. It's emotional. It's mental. it's spiritual.
"Maybe life isn't about avoiding the bruises. Maybe it's about collecting the scars to prove we showed up for it."After a few days of the therapists continually telling me that my form didn't matter, and that we were focused on the speed at which I could move, I started listening. It took a lot to let go of being stubborn.
But I did.
Even though I knew that I knew more about my body than they did, I listened to them.
And was greeted by sharp stabbing pain in my shins a few days later.
Eight days and I was reminded of why I was in bootcamp in the first place.
It's kinda like life in a sense. Sometimes you listen to other people, and ignore your own thoughts. You ignore your own real life experiences and what you know to be true.
And you get hurt.
My scars will probably never heal. I've come to the conclusion that I'll probably always be prone to shin splints, and well, I'm accepting that.
I'm getting bruised and I'm collecting my scars.
Sometimes it takes destroying ourselves, to begin understanding ourselves. We make mistakes. The path to becoming whole again isn't a straight shot. There are curves and it's an uphill climb. Sometimes, you have to backtrack. But it's only in the process of fixing ourselves that we find out who we really are.
Which is why I choose grace. Why I choose to be thankful.
I hate Omaha. But. It's making me a stronger person. I've been able to heal in ways I haven't been able to. No, I haven't been fixed, and the odds of that look slimmer with each passing day, but I'm stronger than I've ever been.
And right now, that's what matters.
