I woke up from a bad dream about a friend. It’s raining out. Car’s in the shop and it’s gonna take a whole paycheck when all is said and done. My problematic foot tendon aches. My job is riddled with bizarre human behavior for which there is no training manual.
So, when the alarm went off at 4am for the recommended tendon rehab at the god-forsaken gym, i really didn’t want to get out of bed and face this day. But somehow, it happened: I pushed myself thru a wet dog walk; a crappy cup of coffee; a drizzerable journey to the gym. Soaking wet and feeling sorry for my sad self, I started the workout. Blah. All I could think of is everything that is wrong with my life.
Until the man in the red shirt arrived. And the things I saw and heard after that changed everything — so much that I got off my machine and took his picture for you. That guy hobbled on that blue walker slowly over to a machine, took a long careful time to climb aboard, and sort of just stood there, balancing, trying to do something. In this picture he is well into his workout. But at first, I could see him trying and grunting to get going — does he just need a nudge to get the pedals moving?
So I asked him. “Yeah, that would be great! if you can get the handles going I can do the rest – I’m still working on getting my arms back”. There was no way I could even respond, or ask him what all that meant, because although I was interested, at this point I had a giant lump in my throat and I feared if I said anything I’d burst out crying, so I mustered a crooked smile through the taut facial muscles that were fighting the tears and started the handles for him, which started his legs going. He said the cutest thing: “Thanks for the kick start!”. I eked out a “you’re welcome” smile and went back to my machine.
Problems? What problems?