Making the Most of It

May 18, 2011

After a long day spent at the computer writing, editing, researching and yes, who doesn’t benefit from mini facebook breaks to tickle the muse, I still haven’t made it to the garden for a weed whacking workout of weightlifting proportion. I decide to hit the gym. Clothes, shoes, check. Water, towel, iPod, check. Extricate myself from my daughter’s cat. Close the door. I forgot, no car, no truck. Nothing with four wheels.

What do the resourceful do? Trot on down to the beach for a Riverdance power walk. High tide. Is anyone seeing a trend? Having advised flexibility earlier, I heed my own advice. There is a beach if one wishes to power walk the mile and a half.

I find myself once again on New Brighton Beach, the home of my rehab and recovery on a beauteous spring day. Almost three months to the day since my accident. But unlike those painful walks of the past, wearing that figure 8, I am pain free. I run. In the sand and the sun. Running. My triumph and exaltation are contagious as people smile and wave at me. Chariots of Fire playing in my head. Rocky at the top of the steps.

Where my fantasy ends, someone else’s begins. Approaching the landing, three adorable, perky pep girls, in matching royal blue one pieces with tiny black shorts jog onto the beach. Youthful, unblemished, polite, probably valedictorians majoring in some third world language to better the world; minoring in hot waxing for spending money. They kick off their flip flops, squealing with maidenly glee as they run into the frigid waves of Monterey Bay.

You cannot deny it, they are cute. And I’m deflated.

My husband says I still look that way to him, seventeen, like the day we met, a million years ago. He’ll get lucky tonight. Gullible grandma. Running free on the beach.

“Peasants make good traction.” A rude line from one of my books. Maybe it’s true, I haven’t asked my horse, but I believe he’d disagree. There wasn’t sufficient damage for my insurance to cover implants or a face lift. More insult to injury. I swear I didn’t look like this went I went out (liar, liar breeches on fire). A lumpy souvenir permanently attached to my right clavicle reminds me I’m not Super Woman. Physical therapy keeps my rotator cuff, well, rotating.

For those of you plagued with fear issues or maligned with chronic pain, there is life back in the saddle (or behind the wheel, handle bars or on the mats, whatever your pleasure). I’m riding again with renewed and expanded confidence, with a truly forgiving and oh so sensitive horse.

Thank you very much to my devoted husband, Russ, who not only did all the driving and ER waiting, watching and working, sweating and worrying, but had to tend to our tres caballos alone during my recovery, trying diligently to pave the way for my successful return to the barn. June tended me with her gifted touch, heavenly hands. A clinic with Jim Barrett and lesson(s) with Jon Barrett helped bridge my equine communication from heart to hand to seat furthering Desejo’s and my partnership. Friends like Susan, Roberta, Troy, and Sharon kept the equine dream real and attainable. Others kept me laughing and crying, expanding my lungs so pneumonia didn’t have a chance Ken, Trey, Ben...keep serving it up. My writer’s groups provided not only a forum, but an escape, to live beyond the hurt and heart break, thanx Cathy, Eiko, Connie, Dolphin, Paula and Carol. Just goes to prove it takes a village to heal an idiot!

Julie and Julie reminded me fear is always lurking.

But its power comes from hiding in the dark. I had deeper fears than getting back in the proverbial saddle. Riding again was immaterial by comparison. We all need to face the storm, find the courage to express the things that scare us to the core and attend to them. Thank you again to Russ. Not only for being my hero, but for helping me be yours.