Tuesday, November 9, 2010 arrived with a clear early morning that promised to become a chilly, sunny, and typically autumn day. I zipped my coat, buckled my helmet strap, unlocked my bike, and headed off to work. A few minutes later, a garbage truck crossed a bike lane to make a right turn. I was in that bike lane. The tires of the truck crushed my left leg and caused other internal injuries. An amazing team of trauma surgeons saved my life, but they had to amputate my leg to do so.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Confucius.

In July 2011, I set off to walk a thousand miles as an above-knee amputee in my new prosthesis. The journey has held more twists, turns, and detours than I ever imagined.

I reached Mile 1000 on March 30, 2013.

But of course, that wasn't the end.

I'll keep walking!

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Finding Your Brave

Mile Marker 3000:

At the top of the 10-meter platform in the heat of the Arizona sun, I couldn't imagine diving off.

In diving terms, the 10-meter platform is called the TOWER -- higher than a high dive -- and my cousin Brett was the champion of it.

The summer after college, my friend Linda and I drove cross-country in my mom's minivan (without cell phones or Google Maps, of course!).  We stopped to visit my cousin Brett in Tuscon.  Two years younger, he was about to start his junior year as a competitive diver at the University of Arizona.

His winnings at 4 a.m...
He hitched a ride with us to Las Vegas, gambled all night, and then caught an early morning flight to get back in time for diving practice.

That was just Brett being Brett.

Nothing was off limits.  As a kid, Brett specialized in rollercoasters, spinning rides, and a tilting, twisting terror on the Ocean City boardwalk that we called "The Green Ride."

In the yard, Brett launched himself from the tippy-top of swingsets and climbed the skinniest branches of the tallest trees.

Once, visiting our grandparents in Florida, he even jumped off a porch roof!

Tracy, Mark, Brett, and me --
an uncharacteristically tame moment
(probably watching Fantasy Island!)

We were close with our cousins, Brett, Tracy, and Betsy.  We saw each other so much, we were really more like siblings.

What were we wearing??

With Brett around, there were always high jinx.   We made-believe we were runaways, and he was our rich Uncle Charlie.  Or we played jokes on our neighbor, pretending Brett was actually twins; sometimes we called him "Brett" and sometimes "Jimmy."

We watched in awe as he pulled one daredevil act after another.  Always suave and sure of himself.  Always singing a catchy tune.  And always with a mischievous Brett grin just before he leaped.


"It's just Brett being Brett,"  we told each other, rolling our eyes most of the time.

Secretly I admired his bravado.


Carlie's "Flat Stanley"
visited Philly
As we grew, distance divided us.  But we stayed close in a way that faraway cousins could be.  We made phone calls on birthdays.  He reached out when his daughters needed help with school projects.  We saw each other for a sprinkling of family events.




At Mile Marker 610, he called from Arizona for a long distance walk around the block.

But you never know where the journey will lead.


As I reach Mile 3000, Brett slips away.

Lexi's on top,
like father, like daughter!
One minute he's driving to pick up his daughter Lexi at diving practice.  The next, he is at the hospital.

The symptoms, the illness, the surgery.  It all comes on suddenly and takes Brett with it.

Inside a week, there are phone calls and airline tickets.  Voice mails and text messages and photos.  Our family rallies together for an ending that defies courage, and sense, and any kind of justice at all.

It feels like my cousin Brett, who always found his brave at the top of the world, has been thrown off a 10-meter platform into raging waters below.

He faces it the bravest way he can.


Across the country, my life in Philly rolls on.  A fractured foot.  Limited activities.  It seems like the same old stuff.   But I view it from a different vantage point.  I see the smallness of my own discomfort.  Where day-to-day complaints are trivial and temporary.  Life is fleeting.  We're lucky to be here at all.

To mark Mile 3000, I thought I might return to the corner of 5th and Washington.  Park my car next to the bike lane and hobble along the sidewalk on crutches, to the place where my world changed.

But it turns out I don't have to go anywhere.  There's enough loss right here.


In his work as a radio professional, my cousin was known as "BTM" or "Brett The Man."

To his daughters, he was simply "Daddy."

But to me, he will always be remembered as "The Kissing Bandit,"  "Brett Boy,"  rich "Uncle Charlie,"  imaginary twin "Jimmy"...

And of course, "Just Brett being Brett."


Back on that July day in 1991, my friend Linda snapped this photo of the two of us -- Brett and me -- at the top of the tower.  Then Brett turned around and executed a perfect hurdle, a graceful flip, and a rotating descent into the sparkling pool below.


As for me, I took the stairs.

I may never go off the high dive, but I will always think of Brett when I need to find my brave.

xo



Saturday, July 11, 2015

Wheelchair Eyes

Mile Marker 2989:

My friend Anna says she has "Wheelchair Eyes."  She works with people with mobility issues, so when she walks around the city, she always notices potential barriers for people with disabilities.

My own Wheelchair Eyes are still coming into focus.  I have many friends who use wheelchairs, but when I'm out on two legs -- even when one's a prosthetic -- I tend to overlook obstacles.

This summer has brought some new challenges.

Without a strong "sound side," my usual life has been curtailed.  I'm not volunteering at the rehab gym, or rock climbing, or even taking walks anymore.  The stress of finding parking spaces and getting into buildings wears me down.   If I have to stay off my right leg, it's easier to just stay home.

But at Mile Marker 2989, I hear an ad on the radio.  Imagine Dragons is coming to the Wells Fargo Center.

Then a funny thing happens to me.  I dare to IMAGINE.  Instead of lamenting a weekend on the couch, I decide to use my Wheelchair Eyes!

I've seen people using wheelchairs at concerts, so I know it's possible.  But how exactly does it work??

Thanks to Google, it takes less than 10 seconds to find out.  On the Wells Fargo Center website, I locate a phone number for "accessible seating."  I call and leave a voice mail message.  An hour later, a woman calls me back.  By 11 a.m., I've secured seats in Section 204A, sized to fit a manual wheelchair like mine.


When Chris finishes work that day, I surprise him with the tickets.  He's a big fan of Imagine Dragons.   In fact he likes them so much, he's willing to assemble my wheelchair in a torrential rainstorm in the parking lot of the concert!  (Thanks buddy!!)

We make it inside, soaked but excited.  We stop to buy t-shirts.  Then we search for the secret elevator to the mezzanine level.

How do people manage in here
if they can't stand up?
Upstairs, I make a pit-stop at the restroom.  It's the smallest accessible bathroom I've ever seen.  The door barely closes behind my chair, and there's no room to turn the chair around.  My Wheelchair Eyes are on high alert.


When we reach our section, an attendant helps me roll onto a wheelchair lift.  She closes a cage around me like I'm about to ride a roller-coaster.

Chris jogs up the stairs.  I press the buttons on the control panel, and my platform follows him.

I wheel onto a makeshift balcony, bordered with glass and lined with folding chairs.  At the end of the row is one open space, perfectly sized for my wheelchair.

Turns out, we've got the best seats in the house!




Mile Marker 2990:

The next day Jen comes into the city for dinner.

I've told her that I can't leave the house, but going to the concert has sharpened my eyesight.  Now I imagine myself rolling around Old City doing the things I used to do -- just on wheels instead of feet.  We decide to take the wheelchair out for a spin.

But if the Wells Fargo Center was smooth sailing, the sidewalks of Philly are like guiding a sailboat through a typhoon.

First, the sidewalks slant toward the street.  (This makes walking with a prosthetic leg difficult, but pushing a wheelchair is even harder!)   I try to propel the chair on my own, but the slope veers me dangerously toward cars in the street.  The only way to slow down is to run my hands along the wheels.  After 30 feet of sidewalk, my palms are raw and my arm muscles give out.

It feels like this!

Curb cut?  I don't think so.
Jen takes over, but it's not easy for her either.  The sidewalks are gutted with ridges.  They're paved with uneven bricks and cobblestones.  Some intersections don't even have curb cuts.  And the ones that do are so cracked and torn, it's impossible to wheel over them.

We run into construction zones and tree roots and pathways too narrow to accommodate even my small wheelchair.  We make a bunch of U-turns.

Our Wheelchair Eyes (and arms) get quite a workout!




You want us to roll through WHAT??

After struggling for 3 blocks, we end up at Pizzicato.  There are so many barriers along Market Street, we can't get to any other restaurants.

Then we want dessert, of course.  There are a half dozen ice cream places within our one-block radius.  Do we dare?  We've got to be able to get to reach one of them, right?

Fueled with pizza, we put our Wheelchair Eyes to the test.

Jen starts pushing again.

By process of elimination (a.k.a. nasty sidewalks and detours), we end up at Capofitto, an Italian gelato place on Chestnut Street.

At the door, a 10-inch step blocks our way.  After the rough ride, it feels like a slap in the face.

"Go in and ask for a flavor list,"  I say to Jen.  "Tell them your friend is in a wheelchair and can't get inside."

Jen pulls the door open, geared up for a fight.

But a minute or two later, she emerges from a different doorway.  With her is the guy from the ice cream counter.  They're both smiling.

"Here you go," he says cordially, pushing open the heavy double doors.

Not the standard entrance,
but it works just fine!
I steer into an apartment building mailroom.  Jen pushes me up a ramp to a hidden side door.  The ice cream guy unlocks it.

And I roll right into the restaurant.

A rainbow of gelato awaits.

It's worth the trip!

Thanks Capofitto!  (And Jen!)

I'm not telling these stories to emphasize the trouble I've faced over the last few weeks.  After all, when my leg heals, I'll be walking again.  Many barriers, for me, will disappear.

But for people who use wheelchairs everyday, they WON'T.

Imagine that.  Put on your Wheelchair Eyes for a second.

Ever wonder what "accessibility" really means?

The more I look around, the more I realize that accessible doesn't mean ideal.   It doesn't necessarily make people feel able or comfortable.  It doesn't ensure that they can take same path as their "non-challenged" friends.  It simply means that -- with a little push -- a doorway might be wide enough.

On a website called Unlock Philly, I find an article that describes the obstacles wheelchairs face in Philly's Old City neighborhood.  As of last summer, only 9 of 72 storefronts had accessible entrances.  That's less than 13 percent!  And at Mile 2990, I see that not much has changed since then.

People say historic buildings are exempt from accessibility changes,  Don't believe it.  There is no "grandfather clause" in the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).  ALL businesses are required to be accessible.  Hear that, Old City?!

Imagine a world where accessibility means equal access.  Where you can roll your chair, or walk on crutches, into any restaurant or store.  Where the roads and sidewalks are smoothly paved.  Where you don't have to plan ahead, or use a separate entrance, or bring an assistant to help you along.

Kudos to businesses that have found ways to make it work.

But to really get it right, this city needs more than Wheelchair Eyes.

It needs a Wheelchair Heart too.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

5 Things I'm Not Good At

Mile Marker 2988:

The miles crawl.  The days feel stormy.

A broken right foot doesn't exactly play to my strengths.  To be honest, every coping skill I've accumulated over the last 4 years has pretty much gone out the window.  My Fitbit even ran out of steam this week.  Low battery or sympathy pains?  I'm not sure...

Let's just say this injury has brought me some new perspective and a big reality check.

I call it  5 THINGS I'M NOT GOOD AT:

1.  RESTING (and its evil twin, WAITING):   Being on crutches is exhausting, especially when your "fake leg" doesn't exactly pull its own weight.  (In case you were wondering, the Genium doesn't have a crutch-hopping mode!)  So I've relegated myself mostly to the couch.  This gives me plenty of time to think about what I'd rather be doing: walking around the neighborhood, rock climbing, planting flowers on the balcony, and baking in the kitchen.  Even boring stuff like laundry is tempting when I'm not supposed to be standing up.

Susan and Rocco do a
balcony skate-by!
On the upside, I've had some unexpected visitors drop by.  A few friendly faces and a good laugh can make your alone time a lot less lonely!

The other "Levs" stop in :)

2.  DRIVING A WHEELCHAIR:   It sure beats crutches, but boy am I out of practice!!   For the last 4 years, my wheelchair collected dust in my parents' basement while I learned to walk, climb, swim, and (nearly) run.  Now my chair and I have been reunited like old roommates with a tumultuous history.  Yes, it's better for my bones to roll instead of hop.  But I'm a terrible driver!

Wheelchair cam
I skirt doorways, reverse down the hallway, and attempt a 3-point turn to get out of the bathroom.  I scuff the edges of furniture and walls.  When I get in a tight spot, I sneak in a "stand."

Plus, with every push of those wheels, the old feelings roll back.  The trauma of the early days.  The many return trips to the hospital.  My struggling self-image as a person with a disability.

Its tough to be back in the wheelchair.  But this situation is hopefully short-term.  After one week, I can't even express the respect I have for those who drive full-time!


3.  UNDERSTANDING ANATOMY:   This injury has made it pretty obvious I don't know what my own body is up to.

Where's the pain?   
"Um, my foot?"  "My knee?"  "My ankle?"   

I point imprecisely like a weatherman waving over a green screen.  Medial?  Lateral?  Proximal?  Distal?  Tendon?  Ligament?  Joint?   With so much experience as a patient, I've definitely found my Achilles heel.   I think I need an anatomy lesson while I recover :)

4. THINKING OUTTA THE BOX:   When you've followed the same routine for 4 years, it's tough to come up with new solutions.  Putting on my prosthesis involves a whole lot of weight-shifting, foot-stamping, and a move my friends at Magee affectionately call "the dance."  But without a strong right leg, these steps are painful and difficult.  In fact, it's become the most dreaded activity of the day.

Voila!
Bedroom parallel bars!
But one evening, Chris comes over with fresh PT ideas.  He moves my "leg area" to the other side of the bed.  Then he sets up parallel bars -- a.k.a. a dining room chair -- so I can spread the weight through my arms as well as my legs.  Simple, yet genius.

Sometimes the box is so high you need somebody else to help you climb out!

Which leads to #5...

5.  ASKING FOR HELP:  I've canceled most commitments this week, yet I still lie awake at night overwhelmed with things to do.

How will I bring flowers to the Jefferson Garden?
Buy soap and shampoo at CVS?
Walk 2 blocks to the hair salon?

Even the smallest tasks and responsibilities loom large.  How can I depend on myself when I can't depend on my body?

There's an obvious answer here.  Seek help, right?   But it's easier said than done.  Asking for help shakes the very foundation I've built, the independence I've worked so hard to achieve.  So I remind myself this is only temporary.  And then I make lists.  Mom goes to the grocery store.  Friends wash the dishes after Game Night.

And with Dad's help, the Jefferson Garden gets new flowers :)

I'll make it up to them later.  For now, all I can say is THANK YOU.

I've heard admitting you've got a problem is the first step toward improvement.  So I'll admit it.  I've got at least 5.

But for me, keeping things in perspective is another key factor.  If I know relief is around the corner, I'm willing to work, and wait, to get there.

This right leg injury is inconvenient and annoying.   It does not play to my strengths.  But it's also NOT THAT SERIOUS.  It's not life threatening.  It's not permanent.  And most importantly, it does not involve an NG tube!

As long as I give it time, it should heal.  So at Mile Marker 2988, that's the plan.

In the meantime, I've got some skills to work on.


Wednesday, June 17, 2015

The Need for Speed

Mile Marker 2975:

Being an amputee is like living in the world of  "Hurry Up and Wait."  

So when a piece of equipment becomes available, you move!

My right foot is still aching when Prosthetist Tim calls.   He says he has two things for me:  a brand new socket and a running blade (yes, like in the Olympics!).  I've been waiting WEEKS for the socket and YEARS for the running blade, so I race down to Prosthetic Innovations, limpy foot and all.

Tim mounts the new socket on my loaner Genium.  I step into it, twisting the Boa knob to cinch the top edge tighter.  A socket that adjusts throughout the day??   If this works, it could be revolutionary!



But the really cool part happens next.  Tim attaches my old socket to an Ottobock Fitness Knee....

I'm going to RUN TODAY!!

We practice the bouncing motion inside the parallel bars.  My little leg works triple-time, yanking up the knee so the blade kicks out in front.  I lift it fast and furiously.  With my right foot, I launch upward and land on my toe so the blade clears the ground.  Over and over, I repeat the pattern.  It takes so much oxygen, I could use an extra lung!

I totally forget about my injured foot.  Instead, I'm flying -- higher and faster than any motion in the last 4 1/2 years!

At Mile 2975, I have a Bionic Woman moment...

video

It feels incredible!

I decide to name my new blade Attie -- a salute to two runners I admire.

The first is Atalanta, a headstrong princess from Greek mythology, who challenges her suitors to a famous foot-race.  She trains, and trains, and trains until she runs like the wind!

Matt Long's first mile run

The second is NYC firefighter and Ironman Matt Long, whose own strength, courage, and determination to run continue to inspire me with every mile.

If my new running leg can carry with it the speed and spirit of those two, I'll be in great standing!

I'm pumped!
With the help of Tim, Jon, and Chris, I run with Attie three more times.  On the hottest days of the summer, I'm out there slapping the pavement with brand new carbon fiber.

It seems too good to be true.


Mile Marker 2983:

And it is.

Unfortunately, in the world of  "Hurry Up and Wait,"  there's a "wait" part too.

Attie's working fine.  But after two days of running, the HUMAN side of me is more sore than ever.

Sitting on the edge of my bed that night, I cradle my right foot in a fit of fear and frustration.

What if something is seriously wrong??  What would I do if something happened to my foot??  It's the only one I have!

I start apologizing to my right leg -- for ignoring it, for pushing through the pain, for sacrificing its comfort because I wanted so much to feel SPEED again.

My foot just sits there, swollen and sad.

I think of that old Michelin slogan:  Because so much is riding on your tires.  What do you do when all your mobility rides on a single, fragile part of your body?

And that part is hurting.  Bad.


Mile Marker 2985:  

It's a level 4 stress fracture.

Orthopedist Dr. S. prescribes rest, ice, and physical therapy to build hip, knee, and ankle strength.  His assistant Tara searches for a surgical shoe small enough for my foot.  I begin using crutches and my prosthesis.  I modify any plans I have for the next 4 weeks.

He says it'll be at least 6 weeks till I run again.

Attie waits patiently in the corner of my bedroom.

But I am not patient.  There is a part of me that's AFRAID to sit still.  If I don't keep using my running leg, will the socket even fit in 6 weeks?  Will I still remember how to work the knee?   Will I lose the skills and speed and strength I've gained?

Sitting still reminds me of the time I spent recouperating after the accident.  After every surgery.  All those uncertain, tentative days of recovery.

I had thought I could finally make plans again.  I had started counting on my body and its technology.  For a few miles, I had felt like I was full speed ahead.

In the car, I tell this to my dad.  Intentionally or not, he borrows a phrase from one of my past blog posts.  He says, "The New Normal is subject to change without notice."

Yeah.  Well.

I had a good run for a while there.

I'm not that good at the waiting part.

So to get through the next few weeks, I'm going to call on the wisdom of my friend Shelley, who had a clever way of reminding me how much distance I covered.

When I wrote my Mile 200 blog post, she commented that it equaled a round-trip to New York City.  At Mile 298, she said I was just 6 miles from reaching Boston.  And at Mile 764, she told me I'd just arrived at her doorstep in Chicago!

If she were reading this post, I can just imagine the comment she'd write today...

2,985 miles!?!  You've nearly crossed the whole United States!  Of course you need a REST!!

So for the next few miles, I'll take her advice.  I'll slow down and pretend I've made it to California, dipping my right foot in the chilly waters of the Pacific Ocean.

(Really, I'll be at home... icing it on the couch!)

Waiting for the next time someone tells me to hurry up.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Stops and Starts

Today's rambling blog post is brought to you by some much needed downtime...

Mile Marker 2900:

At the Inglis ACE Awards
As I start the mad dash toward Mile 3000, life is moving pretty fast.

My students are prepping for finals.  I'm writing a keynote speech for the Inglis Ace Awards.  Then I'm heading off to Chicago for a Memorial Day celebration in honor of my friend Shelley.  In the meantime, each day is a race to get things done.

That's when I hit a pothole.  Literally.  A big one.

I'm driving to Target to pick up some printer paper and travel supplies when my Honda Civic nosedives into a pothole several feet below sea level.

I could have predicted it.

Maybe it's because I've been driving it for nearly 17 years, but my Honda has an uncanny way of knowing when life is moving too fast.   And more often than not, she forces me to take a time-out.  This usually involves a FLAT TIRE.

I steer into the post office parking lot to check the damage.  The passenger side hubcap is dented, but the tire isn't quite flat... yet.   I make a U-turn and head straight to Pep Boys where my friend and mechanic Jim comes to the rescue.

The day resumes at a slightly adjusted speed.

Of course, that's only the beginning.


Mile Marker 2903:

A few days later, my brother Andy and I are strolling around Chicago's Millennium Park when another system grinds to a screeching halt.


We sneak in some Chicago Hot Dogs
before all the trouble begins! 

My Genium gets stickier with each step.  Eventually it bends only 15 degrees before the knee locks out.  To walk, I hike up my left hip and launch onto my right tiptoe.

But Chicago is a city of stairs.  On the first set, I force my Genium into a 90 degree angle.  It gets stuck like that.  Thank goodness for railings!  I hang on with one hand and use the other hand to reach down and pull the knee straight again.  I keep it straight the rest of the day.

Hours later, when we reach Giordano's Pizza, I collapse into a chair.  My Genium juts out in front of me like a wooden peg leg.

Genie's sick.  And so am I.

The next day my throat is scratchy, my voice is completely gone, and I can't stop coughing.

One of many past
Memorial Day Weekends
I knew this trip would be hard.   For years, I've celebrated Memorial Day weekend with my good friend Shelley.  But this year is different.  Shelley passed away in January.  And I'm here with her family and friends for what we're calling a "Shellebration," celebrating Shelley's life at one of her favorite events, Bike the Drive.

My physical issues, for all their trouble, can't compare to the emotional ones we're all experiencing this weekend.

Arriving by cab, rather than bike
With an immovable leg, there's no way I can do the bike ride.  So I hail a cab to Grant Park for the after-party.  It's only 2 blocks from the hotel, but my knee is so unpredictable I'm afraid to walk it alone.  When I try to get out of the taxi, my knee is locked in a 90 degree angle again.  "Hold on," I tell the driver.  Then I grip the edge of the car with one hand and grab my Genium with the other.  I yank it into extension.

Exasperated.

And it's only 8 a.m.

I limp through the grassy field to meet up with the rest of the crowd, a sea of purple Follow Your Bliss t-shirts.



My Chicago "family"
Shelley's mom is there, along with her brother Jack, sister-in-law Hoa, and nephew Casey.


Our close friend Linda has traveled in all the way from Omaha, Nebraska.



Team Shelley Power!
Shelley's friends -- and mine now too -- have helped organized this special event.


Despite my struggles with walking and talking, it's really good to be together today.

When we've eaten our fill of picnic pancakes, we form a circle and grasp each other's hands.  After a few moments of silence, we send an array of purple balloons soaring into the sky.

I look up at the buildings, watch the balloons float away, and tell Shelley how much I miss her.



Then I hobble back to the hotel with Linda by my side.

I make it through the rest of the weekend without leg or voice.  We celebrate Shelley's birthday at Harry Caray's.

Self-serve room service!
That night, Andy and Nina join me for tea and cough drops in the hotel room.

And the next day, I hang out with my good friend Wendy at her daughter Emma's fast-paced volleyball tournament.

Go Emma!

All in all, a bittersweet weekend.  Sometimes you just can't keep moving like everything's ok.  Even if all my systems were in working order, it just wouldn't have been possible.


Mile Marker 2913:

When I return to Philly, Prosthetist Tim ships my Genium off for repairs.

And I'm sporting a new summer fashion trend.  Soon everyone will be racing to their nearest prosthetist for a red "Loaner" sticker like mine!


The new knee launches a string of record-setting mileage days.  The miles are racking up fast: 8.48, 7.42, 6.96....  My Fitbit seems utterly baffled.  It probably thinks it's been hijacked by an impostor.

Actually it's just the miracle of a working knee!


Mile Marker 2950:

The speed doesn't last long.

If you're an amputee, or suffer from another one-sided injury, you understand all too well the risks of OVERUSE.

After a busy week or two of walking, there's a new pain in town.  My RIGHT FOOT starts to hurt.  At first it's just a subtle, nagging discomfort when I crutch into the bathroom in the morning.  Where my toes meet my foot, there's an undeniable pressure.  Throughout the day it becomes more pronounced.  Each time I curl onto the ball of my foot, it startles me.

I ice it and pop a few Advils.  I know I have to rest, but there's just too much to do.

I even start limping on my prosthetic side!

If you've been reading this blog, you know I like forward motion.  Some days it feels like an uphill climb, but I try to push through anyway.  Stronger, better, faster.  After all, I'm the Bionic Woman, right?

Let's just say I have trouble finding a balance between movement and rest.

What my Honda and my Genium -- and maybe even my body -- seem to be telling me is that I need to take a BREAK.  Sometimes we just need to give ourselves time to HEAL.

Because no matter how much we plan, or practice, or perfect our fast-paced lifestyle, there will always be potholes.  Some bigger and more damaging than others.



I don't know where this newest problem will take me, but I'm hoping a little downtime might be the answer.
.
If nothing else, at least I'll get caught up on blog posts.

Stay tuned for Mile 3000.   I'll get there eventually!