Tag Archives: joints

Decrepit

Decrepit: (adj) weakened by old age; feeble; infirm

Turns out my grandpa was not decrepit.

I was wrong in my twenty-two-year-old assessment.

Just last week, I discovered that he had just chosen to slow down, and instead of being rushed and hurried, paced himself in such a way that he would not have to arrive at his destination out of breath.

It was actually rather intelligent.

So my criticism of his turtle speed and caution when reaching for a handrail at a flight of stairs was ill-founded, reeking of prejudice.

He had just grown old enough to discover that the tortoise does win the race over the hare and that handrails on stairs are quite attractive and reassuring.

For all those years, I thought my grandpa was decrepit, when really, he was just exercising his wisdom more than his legs.

I learned this through reaching the same age he was when I criticized him.

Oh, that the young could temporarily feel the creak in a joint when it is asked to move too quickly. There would never be another harsh word coming from their lips.

No one is decrepit if they can fulfill the mission they’ve set out to do.

No one is decrepit simply because they choose not to be speedy.

And no one is decrepit merely by accumulating memories of birthday parties—or becoming an active member of the AARP.

Cross-Legged

Cross-legged: (adj) having the legs crossed

The greatest gift that Mother Nature and Father God can impart to you is a weakness.

Without a weakness, you begin to believe you’re self-sufficient and don’t need help from any outside source. On top of that, you might just create deceitful interpretations of the truth when its proven that you are not “all that and a bag of chips.”

A weakness gives you the ability to know where to start working every single morning.

A weakness warns you that too much confidence is blustering wind with no lightning or rain.

A weakness makes you more compassionate to other people who happen to share a “soft spot” in their abilities—just like you.

A weakness is what makes you strong.

I do not know whether I was born fat, possess a fat gene—or if I’m just caught in the middle of some metabolic paradox.

But my obesity has created a weakness in my life.

Some people may consider it a weakness of my own making, or perhaps one created by my parents “making out.”

It doesn’t make any difference. I’ve had to base my journey on working around my girth—beginning at my birth.

Therefore, I can tell when one ounce leaves and seven pounds arrive to comfort my body over the loss.

I know when I’m on a good spin and when my health is being spun.

I don’t need a mirror to observe the “battle of the bulge.”

For you see, one of the ways I have always been able to tell whether I am beginning to move toward a more normal weight or traveling into the morbid regions of obesity is:

The simple action of crossing my legs.

Now, at this point every fat person in America reading this will howl with laughter, and every skinny-ass individual will turn and look quizzically at another scrawny person as if to say, “What does he mean?”

For when you’re fat, your thighs have grown a fondness for each other and are accustomed to being close. If you think about it, crossing your legs demands that these thighs develop autonomy. Also, your joints—which are essential for convincing one leg to go above the other—are sometimes jammed up with fat globules, which makes the process of crossing one’s legs quite athletic, if not painful.

Therefore, during times of weight loss, I have celebrated my victory with a leg-crossing—occasionally only able to maneuver the “wish bone variety,” where the right foot rests upon the left knee. But a few times, I was actually able to have the legs completely crossed—where the right knee appeared to be humping the left one.

When this has happened I have actually teared up—mostly because it was such a blessing to do such a simple thing.

But partially because being foreign to me, it was as uncomfortable as hell.

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Arthritis

Arthritis: (n) painful inflammation and stiffness of the joints.dictionary with letter A

We all reach the age when we are faced with a frightening choice: should we suffer in silence, or risk telling those around us about our pains, knowing that it makes us one step closer to the nursing home?

Such is arthritis.

It would be rather unusual to hear sixteen-year-olds complaining about their arthritis. They do get toothaches, they get headaches, they suffer fatigue and they are grouchy. These are things they understand. Inflamed, sore joints that don’t want to move correctly is beyond the spectrum of the normal thinking of anyone under the age of fifty.

So if you are foolish enough to bring up your pain–and then commit social suicide by giving it the name “arthritis”–you will soon be categorized in the minds of these younger folks as ancient … and pre-death.

So how does one live a life of candor and escape being cataloged like a dusty, old book? As is the case with everything in life, choose your words carefully–and work your audience.

If you look around the room and everyone is over the age of sixty-five, you can casually mention that you have an occasional flare-up with arthritis. But if the room is filled with those who were born post-Watergate, you should probably refrain from mentioning that word. (Also avoid wincing when walking.)

For I will tell you, being young is contingent on two factors: (1) Staying hip with what’s going on in your world; (2) and not sharing the number of milligrams of Lipitor that you take.

 

 

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Akimbo

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Akimbo: (adv) with limbs flung out widely or haphazardly. e.g.: she fell on the ice, arms and legs akimbo

It happens from time to time.

I think it’s because some people come into a motel room and use the shower for oil treatments, hair coloring or perhaps they have particularly slippery shampoos or conditioners. I’m not sure.

But you will occasionally come across a porcelain surface in a shower stall that is so slippery that you will suddenly find yourself sliding in every direction as you grope for the wall, only to discover that these tiles are equally as slippery–lending itself to the possibility of an uncontrolled sprawl.

The danger here is simple. If you try to correct your tumble too quickly, you actually increase the possibility of ending up akimbo, with parts of your legs and arms broken in the process. After all, usually people don’t really get hurt during a fall. Most of the time we suffer the damage by attempting to correct the spill–inaccurately.

This happened to me recently in one of those shower situations, as I began to slide in four different directions, incapable of handling more than two. My blood pressure shot up, fear gripped my soul and I had the instinct to try to rectify my situation quickly.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I allowed myself to slide to a position where I ceased to fall uncontrollably. I froze for a moment, regaining my wits, and then found a way to simply lean back and land with a safe bounce on my ass.

It was beautiful. It was wonderful. It was controlled. It was creative. It kept me from asking parts of my body that were not suited towards weird angles to restructure their joints and ligaments.

Because even though I may never use the word “akimbo” ever again, I do understand that arms and legs were never meant to be asses.

The ass learned a long time ago that it has a calling in a crisis–to handle all the crap.

Agile

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter AAgile: (adj.) able to move quickly and easily

One of my largest portions of pride has always been a belief, contention and even, I suppose, reality that I “move really well for a big man.”

Whenever I ran across folks who questioned my size or my blubber, I always reminded them that I swam four times a week and even played tennis.

I was glad to be agile.

Actually, I worked hard at it. I have always been very fat, but also active. Honestly, my busy lifestyle and exercise didn’t do much to counteract my metabolism and overeating.

Time marches on. The obesity has remained and unfortunately, the agility has gradually vanished.

I have worn my knees out carrying around too much weight.

They were very brave for many years and now they are suing me for irreconcilable differences and requesting custody of my movement.

How do I feel about it? Because please understand–what we feel about things is very important. You may be able to achieve mind over matter but you will never achieve mind over emotions. When the brain and the feelings have a war, the mind is never able to overcome the onslaught of the attack brought on by the invasion of mercenary misgivings.

This is why I must deal with my feelings with regard to my agility. Four different sensations:

Embarrassed because I have gotten myself into this situation, where I am no longer agile.

Surprised that I am still around, doing a little kicking and screaming, considering how I have mistreated my joints and muscles.

Determined to do my best to generate greater possibilities.

And hopeful that with a combination of God’s grace and my effort, I can gain back some agility points.

The key lies in what order I allow these emotions to surface every day in my life. If they land in this order: (1) embarrassed, (2) surprised, (3) determined and (4) hopeful, it’s going to be a lousy day. But if I am able to get (1) surprised, (2) determined, (3) hopeful and (4)embarrassed in that order, I normally can see progress.

Yes, to be agile in my body demands that I first be agile in my emotions.

I’m on it.