Don't Call it a.....

I was thinking a lot this morning. I was at the gym and feeling pretty weak from the workout I had yesterday. I had time, while sucking in air, to ponder my existence.

I'm stronger than I have ever been. Ever. I screwed up the weight this morning for quads. I was like, gee this is heavy. Maybe because I was doing 20 more lbs than I was supposed to? But I did it.

I'm forty-six. And I don't give up? I remember when I was running more and then got asthma. (I'm not sure how one gets asthma, but whatever adult onset) I ripped my shoulder ligament and I was in pain for years (finally got the right dr and PT). Still didn't stop me. Plantar fasciitis? I was limping for 18 months, wore a boot I couldn't sleep in, every night, and got better. Knees? Ganglionic cysts? Whatever, man. Onward and shit. Fibroids that had me hunched over in pain more days out of the month than not. Surgery saved me. yay! Shingles! In my damn eye. Oh yeah and then the rheumatoid arthritis. Crap.

I don't quit. I don't really know how. (also mad props to the medical professionals in my life) Don't get me wrong. I hurt. But I ask myself if it's enough to stop me and if it's not then on I go.

I feel like there's a metaphor in there somewhere. I know we all get dealt shitty hands in life. Not everyone survives their cancer treatment, or even childbirth. But you don't know where you'll end up. Keep trying. One foot in front of the other. Or as my hero Giles Corey would say: "more weight"