This morning I was at the gym for my regular workout. Getting there was not easy, to be honest. Today seems to be one of those days that the dystonia, the wobbles, the coordination, are all elevated. Over the past month, I have recognized this becoming more pronounced. The snow falling and cold temperature weren't helping my attitude as I wobbled from my car to the gym door. Inside, I sat to take my outdoor shoes off and I wondered if I had the energy to get up and make my way to the change room. A deep breath in and out and I was on my way. I am sure I am not alone when I say that I truly felt mentally numb as I changed, put on my shoes, and extended my walking balance pole. The executive brain functions seemed to be more foggy and thick as I navigated to a vacant treadmill. Today I was working legs and they needed some warm-up. After 15 minutes of walking in place, my hands never leaving the side safety bars, I crossed the gym to the declined leg press machines.
Let me explain something here. I may have poor balance and random movement coordination, but my muscles are still strong. I find that once I start to execute a weighted movement, like a machine-managed leg press, all the wobbling stops, and the muscles fire using all that old muscle memory. Today as I finished the tension on my face revealed that the six sets of 15 reps each were not easy, but I did it. As always, after such muscle tension and control, the release lets a tsunami of jitters, wobbles, and shakes take over. I just stand and hold on to the machine until my breathing can calm my body. Now, here is the point of this story.
As I proceed to methodically unload the plates from the machine, a very fit, muscular young man walks by. I don’t know his name, but he is there every day at the same time I am and he works hard, with great focus, and it shows.
A big smile on his face. His eyes reveal to me instantly his authenticity.
I had just finished unloading the machine and he walks up to me. A big smile on his face. His eyes reveal to me instantly his authenticity. Without a word, he raises his hand into a fist and invites me to fist-bump him. I do. He nods his head once and the unspoken message to me is, “Way to go. Good effort.” He moves on to his next set elsewhere.
My eyes began to water. This man’s simple, silent acknowledgment had this profound effect on me and it still does as I write this. The earlier attitude that accompanied my wobbly motor state began to dissipate and my more typical “I can” attitude fired up. But it was even more. The act of kindness somehow acknowledged all of the undisclosed, daily efforts we put into doing the mundane, routine, taken-for-granted tasks done in silent concentrated effort. I had been suppressing my own acknowledgment of my efforts. I had been soldiering on and today a kind person hit the release value.
A deep breath in and out. I collected my gear and my balance stick so as to move on, wobbling and shaking like a frightened Chihuahua toward the next machine. Only now I had the mindset to persevere.
So here is my request to everyone out there who is not disabled. Whether you are a physician, a family caregiver, a medical support person, or even a passerby. When you see someone who appears to be having a challenging day, working really hard at succeeding at completing a task that you can tell is sucking out their physical, mental, and emotional energy, please give them an authentic smile and a fist bump, or “at-a-boy”, or meaningful pat on the shoulder to express that you get it as my friend at the gym did today for me. It isn’t patronizing if you really get it.
As I walked from exercise station to exercise station, that man’s simple act of kindness fuelled my resolve. This disease may conquer me someday, but I am damn sure that today is not that day.
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