Doing the Impossible

Everyone said, "Climbing? With a broken hand?  It can't be done."

Using my elbow instead of my hand.

It's my last day at SpoFit, and I am loathe to leave.  I've been challenged, humbled and amazed by the people I've met; I'm seeing things from a new perspective.  My classes today were water yoga and climbing; yoga instructor Maureen was just as passionate and lovely as the day before teaching Ai Chi.  I met another man with Guilliane-Barre syndrome, Lewis, on the road to recovery like Andrew.  He was walking 50ft unassisted, and had a job interview in two weeks after twelve months of rehab. Once again, SpoFit had made the difference.

Use your legs, they said.  We've seen you squat; you have the power.

Making a difference.  The walls of Spofit feature Paralympic and Invictus Game Champions; individuals who choose to succeed despite disability.  Regardless of the disability-mental or physical-these individuals chose to strive for that step beyond what was possible, and into the impossible.

Inspired by the positive outlook that permeates SpoFit, I decided to try climbing.  I'd climbed before, and truly did not think it possible with one hand.  Having been proved wrong on at least a half-dozen activities,  I knew something would work for climbing.

Elbows.  Now why didn't I think of that?

I strapped in, and was told to use my elbow or forearm for balance, not lift.  My power to climb should come from my legs, not my arms; I was assured I had the core and leg ability to make it up.

My first few feet went well; then the height began to look more prominent in my mind.

#7?  Really?

I began to run out of left hand holds.

First attempt top height; about 2/3rds up.

Having figured out it was possible with one hand, I decided to go again.  My knees were quivering, but I started up again, this time off to the right, as more hand holds were on that side.

Rocking it.

I quickly moved past my last point, and headed right to the top.

Slapping to top platform!

Tonight, the scrapes and bruises on my right forearm are visible, but not prominent.  They remind me that what I thought was impossible was possible-I just had to explore the possibilities.  This journey that we are on has many potential end points; sometimes to achieve success there are a few bumps and bruises along the way.

Garbage and messes sometime hide buried treasure.

I achieved something I thought impossible.  The strength had already been built up in the prior weeks, it was simply time to engage it.

And just how do I get down?!

SpoFit.  I'm actually glad I broke my hand and am temporarily disabled.  My perspective is changed, and my motto just maybe:  try again.

A Different Perspective

5000+ meters rowed, over 40 minutes, strapped in like this:

We were inspired by a double hand amputee.

I'm in the valley today and the next two, looking at exercise from a different perspective.

SpoFit:  The nation's largest disability gym, located in Phoenix.

I had been invited to workout there for three days while healing from my broken hand; I have been assured that every exercise could be adapted to accomodate my injury.  Despite touring the facility two weeks ago, my nerves got the best of me once again (I wonder if I'll ever feel comfortable walking in to a gym!) but were quickly put to rest by staff member Tim.  He remembered me from the tour, and got me all the information I needed.  I changed into my swimsuit, and headed to the pool for Ai Chi.

I had to wear my press pass:)

The instructor was deaf; as she explained the movements I found myself watching her expressions intently as I focused on understanding her words.  Maureen clearly loved Ai Chi, and was excited to share it with us.  After a 30 minute intro class, we were joined by a half dozen other participants in the 90° therapy pool.  

I hesitated getting in; it was my first exposure of my hand unsupported during exercise (only my two fingers remained taped together.). As I cautiously moved it through the water, I worried about the sharp pains that often occurred when I tried to use the hand inappropriately (which had been more frequent as of late as I pushed my range of motion.) Minutes passed and there was no pain (I recalled that the good doctor had recommended swimming as an approved exercise)-I began to relax and enjoy the class.

Joining me were a mother, daughter and granddaughter, a Vietnam vet, an artist and a contractor recovering from guillain-barré syndrome named Andrew.  Paralysed completely at its onset two years ago (and brought on by food poisoning), Andrew had slowly entered the pool unassisted.  He shared that he was at SpoFit five days a week, and initially was in a wheelchair.  Determined to get back to his company, his work ethic matched the most intent businessman's.

And I dare complain about #brokenhandproblems.

Andrew shared he was at 65%, and confided he hoped to return to work, running his company, in July.  His eyes grew glassy as he held back tears.  Two years of life, stolen from him, I thought.  That's not how he saw it.  Two years of overcoming, achieving.  Humbled again.

Moving on to rowing, it took time to figure out how we could adapt the machine to keep me square.  Eventually, I held it in the crook of my arms, held in place with a strap.  The instructor was an national rowing champ; I learned more about rowing from her during the next 51 minutes than I had ever learned before.

Mine looked like the green line.

Despite the fact it looks torturous, it was actually a great workout.  Not as intense, but still good.  Man, my thighs look big.

Beside me was a petite woman, who arrived in her wheelchair.  After months of rowing, not only was she better able to get herself around, but she had occasionally brought out her walker.  The instructor shared she see resilient people like her, who are willing to try, and others who come a time or two and move on.  Just like a regular gym, the 20% existed here, too.

Wednesday, it's core, weights, boot camp and climbing.  

Rock wall climbing.

With one hand.

My perspective is changing; I'm challenged by my experience here.

Esse quam videri.

To be, rather than to seem.

Being a Mom

My babies, 13 years ago:

Today:

This morning, it was BNI.

Then a chiropractic adjustment.

Thank you, Dr. Carr!

Then a two-hour drive to Phoenix, which had to include a stop to find replacement TOMS for Parry.

(since Giup ate her other pair.)

I stopped at ASU to drop off bins for Abbie, then headed to SpoFit for my tour.

It's amazing.  I am humbled and privileged to workout there in a few weeks.

Back to Manzy one last time to pick up my newly-a-college-sophomore daughter.

Our drive home took three hours, as we had to stop a few places, and got caught in early rush hour.  She's moving into her own apartment on Saturday; my broken hand prevents me from helping.  Instead we'll shop tomorrow, picking up the necessary odds and ends.  It's a new chapter I've looked forward to for years.

Abbie was a very difficult child, but a fairly easy teenager.  She has, however, wanted to be on her own since she was 15 months old.  It took her 18 more years, but here she is-embarking on adulthood.  I couldn't be more thrilled.

I don't crave the baby days, which I enjoyed thoroughly despite being a young widow.  I certainly wouldn't wish her demanding childhood on myself again; we made it through once only by the grace of God and a horse named Sam.

Century Oak Scimitar with his mistress.

So I'm supposed to pine for the past days of motherhood, wringing my hands that my baby has grown. 

I don't think so.

I like having a grown up daughter.  For one, she's much more fun.  

For another, she's in love with a boy.  And I am loving having a daughter who is in love.  For the first time, I am hearing her share her beliefs on love and marriage...and they match mine.  Why, you'd think she learned them at home from her still-married parents.

Will wonders ever cease?

Tomorrow, I'm letting the younger two play hooky from school to hang out with their sister.

Why ever not?

I think Nastee Dogs will be on the agenda.