When I Grew Up

I don’t think I can come up with the full list of things I wanted to be when I grew up. So obviously none of the have panned out. However, I’m still waiting to “feel grown up,” never mind actually be grown up, so something could pan out eventually.

There was that time that my high school guidance counselor assumed that I would become a nurse because my mother’s a nurse. My mother then asked the guidance counselor if she had ever even met me before this one meeting, because if she knew anything she knew I would never be a nurse.

Point: Mom

Then there was that one time I was reviewing my health history with a nurse practitioner when he jokingly asked why I never considered become a physical therapist, my answer was “because I wanted to learn something new,” obviously.

I think I’ve had similar goals for why I wanted to be whatever I wanted to be at any given time.

I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives and maybe help them see things a little differently.

It’s hard to say if I’ve achieved this goal but I’m working on it.

I’ve realized I spent a lot of time (probably far too much) trying to be something I’m not. It wasn’t that obvious, it was certainly subtle from my prospective, but with each change I’ve made I feel like I’m getting closer to what I’m supposed to be as grown up.

The funny thing is, if you have a weird sense of humor, I feel like who I’m meant to be as a grownup has been following me around for quite a while just waiting for me to turn around and embrace it.

So, what did I want to be when I grew up?

If you can think of it it’s probably something I thought I wanted to do for at least 5 minutes. None of it has panned out as of yet, somewhat thankfully I admit.

And let’s get real for a minute, I have CP I can’t just have any job I wanted (actually that applies for everyone regardless of ability). So, there were countless things I wanted to be when I grew up that I knew would never happen, so let’s all be thankful I was never interested in Ballet, for example.

I did want to be an Olympian. That was one of the few things I convinced myself I could do, even with CP. I just figured I’d automatically be one of those heartwarming human-interest stories you see between events and commercials.

This was before being rejected from even trying out for the swim team & before I knew there was this thing called the Paralympics for athletes with a variety of disabilities. I don’t want to close the door on my dreams of Olympic glory, but it may be a little late to make a run for Rio (and I’ll probably be too old for Tokyo?)

When it comes down to it I wanted to make an impact on people’s lives. I wanted to make them see things differently or think of something they’ve never thought of before. I never wanted to be someone’s inspiration, but if that happened along the way who am I to disagree.

Now all I have to do is grow up

*A similar version of this post was published on November 21, 2014

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Normal Is Nice

Fall means a season of follow ups, and usually a mix of emotions.

The emotions are still there, but I’ll get to that later, or not.

The follow ups are still there, and they will be for the foreseeable future, but they’re different.

I was sitting in an exam room waiting, actually I was staring at the sink, when I thought of a poem.

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Yes, I was waiting a long time. Yes, I do get philosophical the longer I wait.

I remembered waiting to be told I had healed enough that I could stand up, and then feeling pain shoot up my legs as they took on my body weight. It was pain, the very reason why I put myself though all of this, but it was different pain, and I was happy about it.

As the weeks of rehab turned into months my feelings towards standing went from happiness to anger, as happened in every stage of my recovery process.

Every follow up I’d wait, and wish someone would find something that would make me better, a more improved version, faster.

That never happened, at least not yet. And no one ever declared me “recovered,” not officially, that came with some self-acceptance.

I sat in the exam room, again, but with a different expectation.

The expectation of normal.

“Normal is nice,” I kept thinking.

And it was, the follow up went as I expected, and I wasn’t upset or overly happy over it.

It was normal, and it felt nice, to be OK with this (not so) new phase of my life.

Regardless of how you feel about standing, normal is a nice place to be.

Defining normal, that’s the hard part.

A “Fit” ting Realization

I’ve made a few changes in my fitness routine. I won’t go into the details because I don’t know how much of the new will “stick” and how much of the “old” return, or if at all. It’s also more complicated than just feeling the need to change things up; although that was part of it.

In the midst of all of the change and transition I’ve realized something about myself.

I would make the worst workout partner on earth, possibly the universe.

Exhibit A: I’m on an elliptical next to someone else on an elliptical. I’m barely able to keep the machine going under my own power. That someone else inches from me is going close to 100 rpms (or whatever) while texting full conversations and listening to an iPod, like it’s no big deal.

I realize we look like an exercise infomercial, and he has no clue what he’s doing (and how his actions may be effecting the self-image of others.

I resist the urge to push him off the elliptical, mostly due to my personal safety (balance) than any other repercussions.

Exhibit B: I’ve just finished up a few minutes on the recumbent bike. A feat that would have been laughable not that long ago but now I can keep a steady (albeit painfully slow). The seat also has to be “just right,” pretty much the ultimate short people setting but not quite. I hear a lady behind me say she hates the bike (can’t say I blame her) because she’s too short (she’s actually a little taller than me). I think, she’s going to be pretty surprised when she realizes she’s going to have better luck today.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye and she peddles twice (or maybe it was four times) and quits.

I resist the urge to give her a five minute lecture on how it took me years to do what she just did and she gives in, because she probably surrounds herself with people who allow her to throw in the towel far too soon.

Exhibit C: I get to the pool 5 minutes “late” (5 minutes after opening) so all the official lap lanes are taken. I “trudge” down the pool ramp wishing it was deep enough that I could roll my wheelchair to the edge of the pool and “jump” in.

The lady in the lane next to me is doing “the old lady dog paddle.” She shouts to my mother (who has to bring me to the pool because of a lack of automatic door openers) that she forgot to close the door (the door closed by the time she got back to it). She does 2 more laps before getting out of the pool. She uses the ladder (which happens to be in my lane), she almost kicks me in the head in the process.

I stop myself from wanting to shout at her about noticing an opening a barely open door yards away but she can’t manage to keep her heals within striking distance of my eye.

Exhibit D: I’m using the upper-arm bike trying to keep a pace in the 50s rpm range. I realize I’m actually keeping steady in the mid-60s without much difficulty. Someone is using the upper-arm bike next to me.

It doesn’t take me long to realize I’m trying to out due them, without knowing how far they’re going or who they are. But I did get to 70 rpms.

Exhibit E: Lest we forget why I spend the extra money (which I don’t really have), because I’m not the best person to be left to their own devices. For all intents and purposes I need a “babysitter,” because if you tell me to do 3 sets of 10 of anything and walk away I’ll just make it look like I’ve done 3 sets of 10 & then lie to you about it.

But at least I’m honest about my dishonesty, within reason.

Exhibit F: Even when I win (a board game, cards, anything) I don’t consider it a real win unless it’s by a fairly large margin.

My name is Sarah, and I think I have a problem.

*A similar version of this post was written on October 15, 2014

 

Things That Make You Say Ow

A few weeks ago, I woke up & I knew something was wrong. I laid still for a few seconds trying to gather up the courage to admit the truth.

My neck hurt.

I hurt my neck, to put it more accurately.

I could turn it slightly, but not without pain, so much pain I wondered if I’d throw up.

I thought back to the week before: what had I done?

Nothing came to mind.

I was hoping it would go away as quickly as it showed up.

I wasn’t that lucky, when I discovered the potential culprit of my injury I felt downright ridiculous.

I hurt myself by sitting in a chair.

No, I did not fall out of it, just the simple act of sitting in a chair caused this annoyance.

People think that ergonomic chairs are good for everyone, well that’s not exactly true.

Ergonomic chairs, just like normal chairs, are built for normal bodies.

A person who is 4’11” and has CP isn’t normal.

Therefore, my spine turned into a pretzel, more than usual, and my neck took the most punishment.

The first thing that came to mind was, How quick can I get this fixed, I have practice.

(Further proof that I have made the shift to athlete)

I hate missing practice, because even when it’s not fun something about it is fun & I need more opportunities to practice than people who don’t have CP.

Having an injury is also difficult when you have CP.

Because your muscles don’t necessarily have an “off switch” it’s harder to heal, much like getting a cold, the recovery time just takes longer.

And it sucks.

It’s also a delicate balance between giving yourself time to heal but not staying so still that spasticity begins to run amuck, making any injury harder to heal from as well.

It’s an easy cycle to get into but hard to get out of once you’re in it.

One of the most “fun” parts of being an athlete with Cerebral Palsy.

There you go, it’s possible to hurt yourself in any way possible when you have CP.

Then to add insult to injury, pun somewhat intended, it’s harder to recover from it.

Athleticism + CP = ?

Personal note: The timing of this post and the events in my personal life are in the realm of “God laughs at me, all of the time.”

Growing up people always seemed interested in whether or not I had athletic aspirations, conversations which never seemed to go how you would expect. I was always picked last in gym class and never could try out for a team. I was somewhat relieved when I went to a high school that didn’t offer team sports, then my answer could be “my school doesn’t have sports” without further questions. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t have athletic aspirations.

I didn’t think I’d ever become an athlete but now I can’t help but call myself one, if asked. Although I do get more quizzical looks now than I probably would have way back when people would ask about my interest in sports.

People think I swim as part of rehabilitation, that’s how it started but that’s not what it is now. Are their rehabilitative aspects of it, sure, but that’s not the primary goal these days.

I’ve made the mental shift from recreation and rehabilitation to athletic pursuits and then the physical shift followed.

As I spent more time in the pool I realized I needed to spend more time in the gym. The more time I spent at the gym has meant, among other things, that I’ve needed to spend less time picking myself up off the floor after a fall.

The more time I spend at the pool and in the gym the more I ate, and the more attention I paid to what I ate. I can’t just eat whatever I want and expect it to sustain me through a 2 hour swim, just one 25 yard sprint makes that point really fast.

Never mind the fact that people with CP burn calories at a faster rate than able bodied individuals, and that certain foods seem to have adverse effects on muscles prone to spasticity.

If I don’t have the fuel I can’t workout. If I don’t have the right fuel I can’t get the most out of my workouts.

Not everyone can be an athlete, but having a disability doesn’t automatically exclude you from becoming one.

People with CP can be athletes. I know, because I am one.

Unliked Questions With Disappointing Answers

I don’t like being asked two questions:
”What does having CP mean to you?”
”How does CP effect you?”

I don’t mind being asked them, if that’s how you feel you can best verbalize yourself. It’s just difficult to answer. I, like most people don’t like talking about myself, but blogging works somehow.

The first question sounds like I should be in the middle of the interview portion of a special needs beauty pageant. I really want to respond “world peace,” because doesn’t someone use that answer at least once in pageants?

I don’t subscribe to the school of thought that says, “I may have CP, but CP does not have me.” For a very complicated reason, that I won’t get into now, that kind of response leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

But my actual answer to, “What does having CP mean to you?”
It’s part of who I am. Not who I am.

Now on to,” How does CP effect you?”
This is the most generic question you can ask.
Sounds like the best way to leave the door open for sharing right?

Here’s the problem.
Expectations come with the question.
The “asker” has an agenda, usually looking for commonality.

Parents want to know what older CP people were like at their kid’s age; to see the light at the end of the tunnel now. As much as I can understand the need for it I don’t think there’s much thought behind the motivation for asking. CP is vast and varied, I’m wary of what I tell people, especially at first interaction, because I don’t want my successes (or failures) to dictate another kid’s life, and I try to make the point to keep the door open for many possibilities.

I was born in the 80s. SDR was becoming common. There was PT, OT, ST, and a few other things. There was no Botox, Baclofen pumps, Anat Baniel, Feldenkrais, Conductive Education, ABR and CME, (if there was it certainly wasn’t popular) and that’s just the short list I’m guessing.

I should also take the time to mention that my parents made stuff up as they went along, because there were few or no options. My father made my first set of crutches, toe clips for my tricycle, weighted my push toys so when I used them to stand up they wouldn’t land on me, and made adjustments to my AFOs in the kitchen with a blowtorch.  (In his defense, as much as mine, he’s an engineer). My first “official” crutches were pink, because they only came in pink, blue, and silver.

There are more options now. For that reason alone you can’t really compare my experience to a child today, although there are parallels. We’ve come along way!

When I answer the “effects” question I’m happier when I happen to discover the family first, usually though blogging since I’m a big lurker. I get context that helps me give answers.

I could give a standard rundown of “me” but it would probably be my GMFCS level, surgical history, list of current medications, GPAs though school, SAT scores, extra curriculars, highest level of education, current job, future career goals, and a 5 year plan.

But that doesn’t tell you how CP affects me. More importantly, it’s not me. I’m not facts, figures, and statistics. I’m a person. I want to tell you about me, and who your child, any child, can become. Leave the facts and figures for the medical pros

Parents aren’t the only ones at fault either. Recently I’ve formed a friendship with another girl with CP (I don’t say CPer, another thing that leaves a bad taste) and during our first conversation she asked, “How does CP effect you?” I had to be honest with her, as another person with CP; I never know how to answer the question. She then shared the same sentiment. So as much as the question isn’t preferred we often fall into the same trap.

Make no mistake. I don’t mind answering questions, within reason of course. I know I’m a rarity, particularly when it comes to blogging. If I don’t take on the responsibility, there are very few people that will. Ask what’s really on your mind. I don’t mind, and if I do, I will tell you.

Now that I’ve gotten off my soapbox, are there any questions?

*A similar version of this post was written on December 1, 2011

I’m participating in WEGO Health’s Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge. If you want to find out more about Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge visit their blog, Facebook, Twitter. You can find more posts by searching #HAWMC.

Quotation Inspiration

Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.
– Saint Francis of Assisi

I noticed this quote in the signature of an email, probably because creative signatures are becoming a rarity.

It made me think of living with CP & working alongside medical professionals for effective care.

Start By Doing What’s Necessary.

My mother “likes”* to tell this story where other moms of kids in my peer group would invite me (and my mother) to their play group. My mother would say that although it would be nice to go to play group but that I had PT at that time (usually). The mother who had invited us to said play group would usually reply, “Can’t you just cancel that?”

My mother’s answer was “No.” Her answer was always “No.”

She’s often said that she didn’t want to sit around and make small talk with moms that didn’t understand why PT was important anyway. She didn’t want to sit around and listen to people brag about their kids either.

I don’t fault my mother for her response. I didn’t even know how frequently she had this conversation with people until a few years ago. If anything I’m glad she kept all of this from me, because I would’ve resented her when she said, “No,” so it all worked out for the best.

Socializing is important, but when you have a disability so is therapy. Therapy allows an individual to learn what they’re typical peers already know. It’s a necessary part of growing up, that is if you want to grow up and be able to keep up with your peers.

There are plenty of other examples that I could’ve used to illustrate the “necessaries” of CP, but PT seemed to be the obvious choice since I had a good story to go with it.

Then Do What’s Possible.

Doing what’s necessary enables you to better do what’s possible, and sometimes enables you to be able to do what’s possible, at all.

You may not be able to do something the same way as your peers but you can do it, and with style!

The cool thing about doing what’s possible is that the more you do the more you can do, even if you weren’t able to do it before.

The best thing about doing what’s possible is…….

Suddenly You Are Doing The Impossible.

This is a dead giveaway given the first 2 points, but I can prove to you that it’s true.

I never took care of myself physically. I did what was necessary, pretty much, but that’s it.

I never took care of myself, until I saw what taking care of myself actually meant.

The only reason I started going to the gym at all was because I had met my post-op PT goals yet I wasn’t able to do much else.  I could dress myself but unable to get clothes to dress myself with. I could get up and down a single stair safely, but only if I had to.

Going to the gym is different than going to PT. It isn’t any easier, but it does change things up a bit. Some goals took longer to achieve than anticipated but I got there. I had every intention of stopping once I was “better” but things didn’t exactly work out that way.

I’ve lost some ground recently BUT in the last few years I was able to do things I’d never been able to do before; I honestly thought some of them were impossible.

So, “Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.”

*I say “likes” because this is something she doesn’t bring up at every opportunity but it’s one of those stories that I’ve heard enough times that rolling my eyes each time I hear it has become an automatic response.

*A similar version of this post was written on March 6, 2014

I’m participating in WEGO Health’s Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge. If you want to find out more about Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge visit their blog, Facebook, Twitter. You can find more posts by searching #HAWMC.

On Marathons & Misconceptions

There used to be a meme floating around F@cebook about F@cebook in college vs F@cebook in your 20s & 30s, basically in college your timeline is full of party pictures and other events whereas in your 20s & 30s your feed is filled with baby pictures and marathon times.

Well the joke’s on social media because the 20s & 30s timeline started in my college days, at least the marathon times part.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been friends with people who have considered themselves runners, probably just as long as I’ve had swimmer friends. In fact, I had friends who would just run laps around the playground at recess. I’d sit there and watch, wondering what the appeal was, because even if I could run there’s no way you’d see me doing it, especially for fun.

I’ve even had housemates who have never run a marathon before run in one because we lived in a town that hosted a marathon every year, while I stayed home and watched Walk The Line, again. Yup, I’m that person that can’t even be bothered to get up early to wish people luck, although I’m pretty sure I told at least one of them “just don’t die,” at some point before the day of the race.

During the 1st group retreat I made in the Northwest while people were asking each other how they liked their new homes. At this point most of the runners in the group were aware of the fact that my house was in a marathon city. There was a small window during that weekend where I thought we’d have countless people in our house, people we barely knew. Although I don’t think it would’ve bothered me as much by the time of the marathon came around, a small part of me is thankful that it never came to fruition.

I remember one person in particular asking me if I had heard about the marathon and if I was considering running it. Now I realize that at this point she had only just met me but I thought it was pretty clear that I was having some trouble getting around the wide open spaces of Eastern, flatter than flat, Montana. But then she asked if I ever thought of getting “one of those wheelchairs you can run with,” before I could laugh.

I explained that it was hard enough to get anything covered by insurance and something like a racing chair is horribly expensive, especially if it’s made well and for the user (which it should be whenever possible), and not covered by insurance because it’s considered recreational. Still she encouraged me to consider it “because people with disabilities run all the time.”

Lest we forget I find staring at a black line at the bottom of the pool a lot less boring than running just because. I’m aware it makes no sense to a majority of people but I’m not one of those people. I admit that running a marathon is mentally and physically challenging (like swimming) it’s just not a challenge I’d find fulfilling (I don’t think).

That being said if the so-called “runner’s high” is even a fraction of the rush you get after a sprint set with a new personal best time then I maybe, sort of, kind of, understand why people run.

I think the able-bodied community has misconceptions about persons with disabilities and sports. In my case it seems to be that people think I’m all into every sport I can get into or I participate in sports as a form of therapy (and I’m sure there are others out there I just haven’t heard them). The truth is, neither one is the case, for reasons to lengthy to get into here and now.

Honestly I had a negative point of view of adaptive sports for many years, partly because they seemed too separate from “real sports” for me. Also I was usually one of the least disabled kids participating so I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just play with the normal kids, because I saw myself as more able-bodied than disabled.

Once I understood the true nature of adaptive sports I kept my ear to the ground but wasn’t very optimistic because adaptive sports costs money, just like able-bodied sports. And at that point, as well as this point, I don’t have much money for stuff I might quit anyway.

People with disabilities are more like those without disabilities than people think. I think I’ve said this before, and more than once. We’re just as apt to like sports or not like sports as everyone else.

However, I will say that whether or not someone has spent most of their life in physical therapy in exchange of, or in addition to normal childhood sports related activities can have an effect on whether or not they’ll participate in recreational sports later on.

Let’s not forget that things like having surgery and the recovery process can be marathons within themselves.

I realize that I probably just contradicted myself but my last 3 points in particular were ones that I feel needed to be made, even if it does make my point less clear, because my points, like life, aren’t always clear but still important.

Running is great, but it isn’t for everybody, regardless of ability. If the only grounds for participating in an activity was the slightest chance of basic ability, then almost anyone or rather almost everyone would participate in Ironman Kona, climb Kilimanjaro, be a multi gold medal winning Olympian, and God only knows what else.

Not everyone is meant to be good or interested in everything but if you know someone (or are someone) with a genuine interest in an activity, especially physical, be as supportive as possible (or try to seek out as much support as possible). Desire is one thing. Talent is another. Access is yet another, which is often overlooked and/or taken for granted.

Practice Makes Almost Perfect

I was sitting on the side of the deep end of the pool looking at the bottom. The last time I attempted any sort of dive was at least 10 years and 2 surgeries ago. I knew it wasn’t impossible I just couldn’t picture it, but here I was about to attempt it.

“The worst that can happen is that you fall in the pool.”

That is the worst thing that could happen, God willing. I spent a few summers at camp practicing water safety so I know what to do to if I fall into a pool and do my best to protect myself from serious injury. Plus, I was sitting next to a woman who had worked at the same camp so although we don’t remember each other from back then we can find some common ground when needed.

We figured out the mechanics the best way we could without actually doing it. I made the remark that it’s been so long since I’ve done anything like this that I really wasn’t sure it could happen, physically. She agreed that I was different physically since so much time had passed, but said nothing about the tight muscles, metal plates, screws, etc.

“I have to worry about normal people stuff too!?!” came flying out of my mouth, and I meant every word. I joined this swim club to have more disability/ability focus so I wasn’t thinking normal body mechanics (thanks to puberty) would come into play.

One of the most common challenges for people with Cerebral Palsy is motor planning, something I’ve alluded to a few times already, so executing multiple moves in the span of a second, or in this case less, isn’t something that comes easily (and on the rare occasion when it does you hang onto “your way” as hard as you can).

There are a variety of ways one can execute a dive in the world of Para-swimming. The trick is finding what works for you.

I knew a standing dive was out of the question, between my spasticity and startle reflex there would be little chance for consistent conditions to get the most out of practice.

I knew what kind of dive I wanted to do. It seemed like the best of the possible “happy mediums” to be able to maintain correct posture and come off the wall as quickly as possible without expending a lot of energy, but that was out of the question too (thanks to high riding patellas).

That left me sitting on the side of the pool trying to find my “sweet spot” the place where I would have the best balance and having the longest dive possible. And if that meant falling into the pool a few times that’s what I would have to do.

It wasn’t the worst time of my life but I can’t say it was all that pleasant either. I was able to figure out what works, what doesn’t, and what I need to fine tune.

A few days later I was at the gym and explaining the mechanics of diving to my PT, which basically comes down to three-ish parts.

“That’s a lot to do in a split second.”

No kidding.

Now I’m not saying learning something new isn’t impossible but it can be tricky when motor planning is pretty much the exact opposite of your forte. It’s important to practice, obviously. But it’s also helpful to practice with someone who knows what they’re doing better than you do, if possible, so they can provide the needed feedback, in my humble opinion.

I know how things are supposed to look but I don’t know how things are supposed to feel in order to achieve that look, my brain just can’t compute. In all honesty I can’t imagine how normal brains are capable of processing something like a dive with less difficulty, maybe some aren’t, I have no idea.

That’s where the need for practice comes into the picture.

I was once told, “Doing something once is easy, repeating it is the hard part.”

Once I’ve gained a skill, of any sort, I have to practice it in the most ideal conditions in order for it to stick. Then I need to practice it in slightly different conditions to plan for the unexpected, as much as possible.

I can’t speak for everyone but it’s mentally and physically tiring, and usually my mental stamina gives out first because it can be just so boring. I’m not even going to get into the frustration of seeing someone achieve the same goal and knowing you’re going to have to work at least twice as hard, but I will say that this is where having smaller goals towards bigger goals helps.

I’m sure you’ve heard the saying “practice makes perfect,” and it’s true. However, when you have Cerebral Palsy you might have to redefine what makes perfect “perfect.” People with CP are wired differently than our able-bodied counterparts, and I mean that pretty literally. The whole world is running on Wi-Fi and we’re still trying to function with dial up, and when that doesn’t work, fax machines.

From Here To There

I’ve given you my thoughts on SDR 30 years later, but what I don’t think I really told you is what that can sometimes mean for me when it comes to daily living.

Having Cerebral Palsy means my brain can’t always communicate with my muscles effectively, or at all. Not only do I have to think about every move I have to make but sometimes I have to think about every step of the process. As John Quinn says in his book Someone Like Me it’s not uncommon for me to have to think out how to walk, as in ‘Go. Pick up left foot. Put left foot down. Pick up right foot. Put right foot down. Stop.’

Now because I’ve had a SDR there’s always some extra thought in the process, especially if I’m doing something new, requires correct form, or it’s hard for me to see my feet. I have pretty good spatial awareness given my deficits but it can take a while for my brain and the rest of my body to get on the same page.

I’ll give you three examples:
-If I’m asked to move my feet laterally I have to be looking at my feet in order for even the most remote chance that this could happen.
-If I’m going to be prone on an exercise ball I often ask someone to “set my feet” before I start any exercise, because being able to look at the position of my feet and stay balanced on a round movable object and then move my feet if necessary. I have gone to check the alignment of my feet only to find one-foot laying parallel on the floor and the toe of my other foot pointing to the other one. When you can only feel pressure in your feet it’s pretty easy to think you’re balancing on your toes.
-If I’m going to cross my legs I usually have to pick up one leg and cross it over the other, unless I want to chance flinging myself out of a seated position by allowing my legs to move under their own power (which has happened).

” Does that make sense?”

“Up here it does, but who knows what’ll happen when it gets down there.”

This isn’t an uncommon interaction between a physical therapist (or trainer or coach, etc.) and myself; you see it’s not so easy to get instructions from here:

To travel down here:

Spine

To end up here:

boots

And get the desired results.

Yet it happens every day, multiple times, more than any of us can probably count.

So we should all count our blessings for each time traveling from here:

To there:

shoes
(or anywhere else)

Is successful.

Because sometimes it ain’t so easy.

*A similar version of this post first appeared on an old blog on February 23, 2010