However, the law we need to discuss today applies more to those of us who have to be mindful of our activity levels, lest we pay for them in misery later. I refer, of course, to Newton's Third Law of Motion:
"For every action, there is an equal, and opposite, reaction."
"Translation: Push, and something pushes back."
It's a pretty simple concept, really. And while it has been tested and proven and retested and reproven in physics labs all over the world, anyone who has physical limitations and they will tell you that they do not need a lab. All we need is our daily lives to show us that if we push, our bodies will, unequivocally, push back. We know our limits, and yes, I'm talking to you too. Don't look away, come back here and admit it. You know your limits, but you don't always follow them, do you? Exactly. And neither do I.
My "official" limits, according to the Functional Capacity Evaluation are total restriction of things like kneeling and squatting, and that I can stand and/or walk up to ten minutes out of any given hour. Ummmm...yeah. The first part isn't too difficult to avoid. The second? Well, let's just say I break nearly every day of my life. Don't get me wrong: I own this decision. I blame no one for it, and I accept the consequences of my actions. But man, oh man, it hurts when I do it.
There are probably a zillion things every week that I do that I technically shouldn't. However, there is a fine line, a balance of sorts that one must fine between pushing and pushing too far. I do push a bit in order to try to keep the muscles that do work toned and strong. This compensates for the others that don't. I also do it to gain a little extra strength, in the hopes that some day it may work enough that I can adapt enough to walk on my own. Hasn't happened yet, I know. But never say never, right?
And part of it definitely traces back to pride. Yes, yes, I can hear it now: "Well duh, Mick, you know what goeth before a fall, and if you push too hard, you will fall." Believe it or not, I'm not completely clueless here. However, I have always been an active, physically strong person, and losing that aspect of my very self just isn't an acceptable option for me. My lower body strength tanked so fast and so hard, and there is really no way for me to reclaim it as of yet. My upper body, though, has to be strong on the days when I find myself in need of my crutches or wheelchair. So I do a lot of core strengthening (not enough, though!), and I lift weights as well. I love the feeling of my muscles working; it's a sensual experience knowing that at least parts of my body are toned and strong. To me, strength is sexy. I want that in myself as well. I find that line, and I push to it with my upper body.
However, I am quite guilty of pushing too far on the lower body, and paying for it later. Case in point: last year, my friend The Silent One and I went to New Orleans. As shutterbugs, we spent from early morning til last in the evening eating, drinking (oh, the drinking!), exploring, and shooting all over the French Quarter. We walked everywhere, scoffing at taxis, and forgetting about street cars until it was too late. Adrenaline was my main drug of the weekend, feuling my ever present desire to get that next shot with her, see the next treasure of the Big Easy, or meet that next fascinating local personality. By the time I got on the plane to go home, that adrenaline had started to fade, and I knew I was in for some major problems. Anyone who has ridden on a plane knows how cramped it is, so when I stood up to change planes in Atlanta, I was nearly dropped from the sudden tidal wave of excruciating pain. It took my breath away, and flooded my eyes at the same time. I tend to wait until I'm nearly the last person off so as not to hold people up, but even still, my ability to walk was severely hindered. I did it, made it home, and managed a snippet of second-wind adrenaline when I saw the kids.
The next morning, however, brought me right back where I had been the night before. I was hitting the pain pills before I ever left the house that morning for work. I scraped my way through work, came home, and was down for the rest of the night. I paid for that excursion for about 4 or 5 days, but I said then, and I would say now, that in the grand scheme of my life, it was worth every second.
So now, I'm leaving on Friday morning for a long weekend. Guess where I'm going? And guess with whom I'm going? Yup. The Silent One and I, along with Lucille and Alejandro (our cameras), will be back in the French Quarter on Friday afternoon, shooting. Our favorite Mardi Gras krewe has their parade on Saturday night, and we will be there. It means standing outside for 2 hours ahead of time to get a good spot, and then dealing with being jostled and knocked during the parade from the crowd. From there, we head to Bourbon Street to uh...enjoy the local night life. We'll do all the same things plus some new ones this year. We will pack as much fun as humanly possible into 4 days.
And then, on Monday night, I will fly home.
I do this knowing that the rest of next week will be sheer physical agony. I do this knowing that I will need to use my crutches, take extra doses of my pills (yes, floater doses safely built into the regimen), and be nearly useless after work. I do this knowing that there is the potential for damage if my knee cannot handle the pressure and I fall. I do this knowing that there are people in my life who think I am a complete idiot for my choices, and who will roll their eyes and tell me that I am indeed, an idiot.
But the bottom line?
Is that I will Push.
