I felt emotional recently as I flew home from Chicago, where I had visited my beloved father. Dad is 73 and has Parkinson’s disease.
He’s in good spirits, he’s working full time (by choice, not necessity); he still walks, drives and gets around. But he’s slowing down.
Motions he once performed mindlessly now require focus and effort. Text messaging, using his stylus or cutting meat off of a bone are all more arduous tasks. There’s physical pain, dizziness from the medications and more day-to-day challenges.
I can’t even fathom what he’s going through. Our bodies are such fragile, unpredictable homes, and most of us are guilty of taking our health and strength for granted. I know I am.
The first day in Chicago, I developed a neuroma on the bottom of the ball of my foot that had me hobbling at a snail’s pace, in terrible pain. I could barely walk and spent most of the time sitting or reclining.
I was in a bad mood. I love walking the streets of Chicago for miles at a time, yet here I was, confined to a chair because every step shot stabbing pain through my foot and up my calf.
I couldn’t wear any of the strappy heels and high boots I packed. I whined, swore and felt sorry for myself.
And then I thought of my dad’s situation.
I’m sure he’d happily swap out his condition for an inflamed tendon sheath on his foot.
His disease doesn’t offer a happy ending. At least mine was temporary and healed up without issue.
I started noticing all the handicapped people moving about the city. Wheelchairs, knee braces, air casts, moon boots, walkers, canes — such paraphernalia was commonplace.
I felt like a bit of an ass, grousing about my foot. Yet I was also filled with gratitude for this body that houses and serves me with very few phsical ailments, thanks be to God, the universe, whatever one’s higher power may be.
Oh, how we gripe about carrying a few extra pounds! Hating our stomach because it doesn’t look the way we think it should, bemoaning our flabby arms as ugly and unacceptable.
Something tells me that when our health goes south, our cellulite will suddenly seem quite trivial, and fretting over it, a preposterous waste of energy.
I vote that for one full day, we put criticizing our appearance aside and give nothing but praise and gratitude to our bodies for being healthy, strong and capable.
Forget about how we look. Let’s focus on the wonderful feeling of being able to walk. Stretch tall while breathing deeply. Peel a banana. Throw a frisbee. Write a letter.
Let’s see how we feel after that day.
The body responds beautifully to gratitude, and we may end up giving thanks on a regular basis. How wonderful a thing is that?
Dad inspires me by living to the best of his ability, despite his physical condition. He keeps right on trucking.
I sent him a DVD of gentle strength and balance exercises (starring his very own daughter) and feel honored that I can be a part of his healthy living program.
I refuse to view his Parkinson’s as a death sentence, but rather a piercing wake-up call to how fragile life is, how important gratitude and self-care is and how very, very deep my love flows for family. And really, that love is all that matters.
Now, someone please hand me a handkerchief.
Catherine Bongiorno, a Mulkilteo personal trainer, exercise instructor and nutritional therapist, owns Lift To Lose Fitness &Nutrition, www.lifttolose.com.
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