WATCH YOUR STEP

I’ve seen those words painted on steps in a public place. Maybe it’s the first step, or a step that is all by itself. Last week I talked about how I had better pay attention as things were changing, that I’m moving out of chemotherapy treatment

That warning on the step is laughable. We learn to walk first thing. Of course, I know to watch my step. And that step with the warning? It’s right there, so obvious. What kind of person would not see it?

These are my thoughts, smug and certain as I step over that exact step and stumble.

Thanksgiving morning, I joined the traditional morning workout class at my Dojo. I was so excited to feel good I really got into it. So great!

And I suffered the rest of the day, and the weekend.

I know better. I even knew I know better. I still walked right into it.

This is not a chemo thing. There are stereotypes about weekend gym warriors, who show up only on Saturday, and push themselves to their utmost—sometimes to injury—and crawl away to continue the cycle. Or maybe to give up altogether.

Like those “heroes” I would like to step into my vision, my fantasy, of being capable and strong. I *used* to be able to do that many kicks, or pushups.

I can’t now. It takes time to build up to my heroic vision. It’s not helpful to push past my limits and hurt myself. Showing up is worth a lot.

Once again, my compass points have changed. I have more endurance and capacity. Kinda. Rather than immediate weakness, the weakness showed up later. New pacing is required. Each day is different

I’m chagrined. I’m feeling around this new landscape and figuring out what the appropriate levels are.

Can I be satisfied with progress not perfection? Showing up and taking steps is going to have to be enough.

My old friend, the 1 % change comes to mind. It would be great to make a measurable change, even one so very small.

I will be honest. I don’t know what a small change might be. I can’t envision it beforehand. I know how things used to be. At least I think I do.

Then again I can’t measure myself against a memory. I can stand where I am this moment and reach for something. I might find that standing is near the limit of what I can do.

It will have to be enough that I do all I can. If I show up and do it, that is quite a lot.

And when I trip on that step again

I have to laugh at myself. Just like I should. It’s one stumble out of many steps that make up a whole trip.