To Ski or Not to Ski

Okay, I’m back. How many times can I say that phrase?

I’m finally coming up for air, after six months of pure chaos. I know, it’s no excuse not to exercise, or even post here, but I’m calling it water under the bridge and moving on.

The NY house finally sold, and our whole family is finally in Colorado. We are still in the tiny condo, but if the stars are all aligned, we’ll be moving into a rental house in just two weeks…with twice the space. Then it will be time to truly exhale.

I am actually excited about getting back to a routine. Not just with exercise, but with cooking, grocery shopping, laundry…the things that make up life. I am here today, finally posting about my fitness journey, because I can actually say I went to the gym yesterday. Even in the middle of a snowstorm. And it was good. And yes, I have vowed to show up there many times a week, from this day forward.

I have gone to our local recreation center a total of three times since we’ve lived in Colorado. That’s bad. Especially considering all of my home exercise equipment is in a moving truck somewhere. So I can’t even pretend or allude to the fact that I’ve just been ‘doing it at home’.

But something happened this week that kicked me in the butt. It has to do with skiing.

I love to ski. It’s probably my very favorite activity, the top athletic perk that came with trading out my old leg for this new bionic one. I skied a lot in Utah. I found a fantastic program in Park City, and on the first anniversary of my amputation surgery, I began my lessons. Every Friday, that season and the two that followed, Jeff and I drove up to Park City and skied all day. It was cheap, through the Ability Center, and became a priceless get away for two people who are raising a house full of kids together.

I’d have two hours of lessons in the morning, then we’d spend all afternoon on the slopes together. We’d do a few runs late in the morning, then stop halfway down the slope, at a little café, and split a hot juicy hamburger and fries. So many times I’d sit by that roaring fire, wondering if this was really my life. It was almost too good to be true.

Then we moved to NY. The skiing was more expensive and the snow was much less predictable. It was glaringly obvious why we always found ourselves on chair lifts with New Yorkers, back when we skied in Utah. There was a reason they all flew West to ski.

Life was crazier than usual. All four kids were in school, once Sam started kindergarten. The cost of living was outrageous. I went back to work, full time, then part time. We were constantly renovating the house. There just wasn’t any extra time or money to get me outfitted in the ski gear that I used to use for free in Utah. The ski conditions were not as stable, which I relied on a lot, as I swished down my favorite bunny slopes in Utah. I never got around to skiing in NY.

As soon as we knew we might be moving to Colorado, I knew I’d get to ski again. Not only is the snow just like Utah snow, but there are lots of adaptive programs in Colorado. It was exciting to think I could pick up my favorite sport again.

The past six months, as we’ve tried SO hard to get our family moved here, the priority had to be getting the kids on the slopes. Money was extremely tight, as we supported two households, while we waited for the NY house to sell. We lucked out, by having a local mountain with season passes for only 180 dollars. We bought a few, and then Grammy came through and bought the others, as Christmas presents for the kids.

By early Dec, my whole gang was enjoying the perfect Colorado slopes. And I was okay with waiting.

I know myself, when it comes to challenges. It’s all about the mental for me. I have to feel confident going into a challenge, or I’ll bail the second it gets hard. Then I’ll walk around thinking I hate that activity, just because one day went badly.

So I’d made a deal with myself, and shared it with my family. I need to get strong again, or skiing will not be fun for me. I tend to have weak hip muscles as it is, because of my years of disability before I got my new leg. When I skied in Utah I was strong. I loved it because I was capable and in control. So before I even click on the skis on a CO mountain, I want to be strong.

Since this ski season is slipping by, I made a promise to myself. I’ll spend this spring getting back in shape, getting back in control when it comes to fitness. I’ll jump on mountain bikes and spend time on the trails with my boys this spring. I’ll hike with my family this summer. Then, once October rolls around, I’ll be ready.

I’ll get the right gear together. I’ll find a pair of outriggers (the special poles I use, that act as second ‘brakes’ for me). I’ll hit that mountain ready.

Then I had an unexpected phone call this week. The manager of our local mountain, who we’ve come to know from spending so much time up there this year, called about an unrelated topic. By the end of our conversation I’d told her I’m a disabled skier. She hadn’t even known I was an amputee (long pants in winter, and all).

She is very familiar with disabled skiers and programs. She told me that our local mountain even has an instructor on staff who has trained Para-Olympic athletes. I had planned to drive over to Winter Park to get my Colorado lessons, and suddenly I’m finding out I can get lessons locally, with a well trained coach. She also had connections for finding me outriggers and anything else I might need on the slopes.

Whoa. I had been a bit slow in the motivation department, thinking I had months to get into shape. Our friend on the mountain was excited about doing all she could to get me on the mountain this year. Even if it’s just a few days in the late spring, softer snow. Now my fitness goal has been pushed to overdrive.

It’s just as well, I suppose. I’m still only about 30% confident that I’ll click into skis before October. But there’s no reason to drag my feet about getting in shape, either way.

So I looked up our bigger recreation center, the one closer to our soon to be new house, and Michael and I drove over there yesterday. He spent a half an hour digging the car out from the new 5 inches of snow we got, and then we slid our way down the road, in the still falling snow.

And I loved it. I felt so at home there. For never having been an athletic person, I love being in a gym. Maybe because I spent so many years feeling so inadequate there. Now I feel like I belong.

Let me be honest, to me, it’s one of the perks of my metal leg. People see me there and they give respect. They either assume I’m in the middle of rehab, after ‘my accident’, or they think I’m some super amazing disabled athlete. Neither are true. I’m just a soft middle aged lady, trying to get strong again. But it sure is motivating, to push harder and longer, when I know I’m getting ‘points’.

And I feel so good when I hit my wall, then push on. I love having the music pounding in my earphones, matching the rhythm of the song with my pumping legs. When I’m not riding to the rhythm of my music, I match my pace with the guy on the treadmill beside me.

I’ve made it no secret that I am in awe of runners. The fluidity. The rhythm. The pace. It’s all magic to me. It’s all I can do not to stare, when I have a smooth runner on the machine next to me. But yesterday I watched token random runner guy out of the corner of my eye, and I took encouragement from his long, even strides. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was running next to him.

I walked out of there feeling great. Wanting to come back. Wanting to get the strong me back. It’s all within my control. Whether I hit the slopes this year or not. It’s my game again.

And it’s good to be back.

Comparison vs. Inspiration

I know you’re not supposed to compare yourself to other people. We’re all individuals, worthy in our own way, and all that.

But we all do it. I do it. I know you do it. The trick is letting the comparisons motivate you, not tear you down.

I went to elementary school with a girl named Paige. Actually we went through all twelve years of school together. But we were the closest friends in elementary school. Twenty years after graduation, I found her again. On Facebook, of course. It was fun to catch up on what paths she’d taken and where she’d ended up. She got the journalism degree that I’m now wondering if I should have gone for, instead of elementary education. It was interesting to me, to hear about her adult life history.

Then a few months ago she started posting on Facebook that she had started an exercise program. I could respect that. People our age need to stay on top of the health thing. I kept seeing her consistent efforts, displayed on my Facebook newsfeed every few days. Every time I saw one I thought to myself, “good for her!”

Then a week ago she posted an update. It went something like this - “13 weeks: 15 pounds, 13 inches, 5% less body fat. Half of those inches came off in the last four weeks!” Wow! Fifteen pounds! In the weeks that had clipped by so quickly as I watched her exercise updates. She then reported that her clothes are all falling off of her and she feels better than she has in years. Talk about inspirational.

She didn’t have a surgery. She didn’t join anything more than a gym. She just started being much more careful about her food choices and she showed up at the appointed time to exercise every day.

And she showed that it can be done. As a matter of fact, she’s still doing it. I can’t wait to see what she looks like in 13 more weeks.

And her motivation got my butt out of the office chair. Sure, life has been crazy in my world lately. For six weeks we spent every spare minute renovating and fixing up the house so we could get it on the market. I was weary from painting and running move related errands.

But then the day came when the lists stopped. Aside from some small projects, the house was done. Ready to go on the market. Cleaned out, cleaned up, and ready to go. That coincided with my last day at work. I might fill in some, in the weeks to come, but I am no longer on the schedule at work. My whole day now revolves around waiting for calls for a showing, getting the dog out of the house for showings, keeping the family organized, and keeping up with some small writing assignments.

So there is basically no excuse not to exercise anymore. I’d been doing pretty well, when it came to exercise, after the first of the year, but once the news of moving hit, it all came to a screeching halt. And boy was I feeling it. It became harder to get out of chairs. It’s not easy for amputees to stand, from a seated position, in regular life. But when muscles are not strong, it’s even harder.

The lumpy tummy returned around my middle. It is not pretty. And the only cure for it is diet and exercise. My gait began to suffer too. When my legs are not strong, my gait is not strong. I could feel my need for exercise as much as I could sense it.

So, with Paige’s inspiration pushing me, I started back. And I’m lovin’ it. I love laying on that mat and stretching my body long, reaching above my head as I feel my back muscles stretch and loosen. I love doing a set of arm or leg weights, to build more muscle and supplement my opportunities for fat burning. I love about minute seven on the bike, when I am totally warmed up and ready to hit the resistance up a notch and ride away.

I feel good afterward and it makes me want to come back again, as soon as possible. If it weren’t for the frustration of showers being a big deal with prosthetic legs (see earlier posts) I would go twice a day.

And on the topic of comparisons, I have to include this story. I was in a conversation with my favorite inspirations, my brother in law and his amazing wife, and we were discussing the Kenyans who run marathons in unbelievable times. Kurt, who just finished in 11th place overall in a marathon a few weeks ago, commented that he could never even run one mile at the pace the Kenyans run in marathons. His wife, Terry, who finished that same marathon with her husband, at her best time ever, with a sub five hour time, said, “Well, that’s nothing. I can’t run one mile at the pace you run in marathons.”

I couldn’t resist. I had to chime in. ‘Well, I can’t even run one mile. So there!”

We all have our goals, our desires, and our abilities to juggle when it comes to exercise. My marathon crazy relatives are on my mind when I hit a wall. And so is my friend Paige. I think of them, and how they’re out there, pushing through their own walls. Succeeding. And feeling great in the process.

I’m pretty sure I want to have that kind of life.

Like Everyone Else

I realized something on Friday. Just before my epiphany, I had lifted the arm weights, done my sit ups, set the bike up to all my adjustments, and crawled on. I set my music and began to pedal. Just as I was getting into the rhythm of the music and the ride, a guy got on the bike next to me.

He was a young guy. Much younger than the usual middle aged people who normally ride next to me. Most of the younger folks use the treadmills or the elliptical machines. They occasionally use the bikes for a quick warm up, but they’re just not as sexy as the upright equipment.

So when this young, really fit guy crawled on next to me, I took notice. Trying not to seem too stalker-ish, I noticed a few things about him. He was obviously familiar with the weight lifting equipment. But there was something more than that. He seemed really well rounded. Like one of those super athletes you see on TV, completing ironman races.

But as I pedaled along next to him I realized he was no better than me. With his perfect physical condition and his two fit flesh and bone legs, he was not that different from me. He was getting a good work out on that bike. So was I. My resistance levels might have been different than his, but I was full into my work out, just like him.

My heart was getting stronger, my lungs were gaining efficiency. My leg muscles, although wobbly when I stepped off at the end of my ride, were gaining muscle and endurance, every time I climbed on that bike. Just like his.

At no time in my life have I felt competent when it comes to athletics. Most of the time it seems like everyone is better than I am at things requiring athletic ability. Good grief, I’ve never known how to run. I’ve never been able to do something as basic as run, with my gimpy old foot. So any three year old who can run down the driveway has me beat.

When I climb on a bike, and can ride just like anyone else, it makes me feel great. I blend in with every other person working out. My metal leg pumps along and the disability aspect of my life evaporates. Sure, people notice my metal, as they walk by, but it doesn’t affect how hard I can push myself.

That’s not the case on just about any other piece of aerobic equipment. I can do a bit of work on the treadmill, but it’s purely walking, for a short period of time, until my leg fatigues or fills with so much sweat that my gait’s ruined. And it’s not good to walk on a soggy leg. Just like a shoe that doesn’t fit right, a leg that doesn’t fit right can cause a nightmare of rashes and blisters.

Ellipticals, Stairmasters, treadmills….they all require two fully functioning, non water logged, lower limbs. I don’t have that. So the bike is my hero. It allows me to work out, in a normal way, with everyone else. Challenging my abilities and pushing myself makes me feel athletic.

Just like everyone else.

Two Reasons

There are two reasons I'm excited about getting back to my gym schedule. One has to do with a phone call from an Endocrine specialist.

Before we left for our house hunting trip in Colorado, I had some biopsies done on my thyroid. Since we've moved to NY it has started to grow and expand. So far I've had few symptoms, but the ultrasounds show it is 'showing it's nature' (as my endocrine guy says). It wants to grow, and soon that will be a problem.

For now the samples came back clean. I can move ahead with moving details, and not worry about thyroid cancer treatments. But there is a good chance, if it continues to grow, that I'll need it taken out in the next few years.

I've done some reading on that option and one of the things that scares me is weight gain. Quite a few online articles pointed out that struggling with weight gain tends to be a problem for people who have their thyroids removed. I need to get serious about being the right weight before I start any process like that. The way I see it, this time next year might be the very earliest that I'd have to consider the surgery. I should be in peak physical condition by then, so I can make smart decisions.

The second reason is much more fun. I want to go back to being my Utah Self. Six months after we moved to Utah I got rid of my foot and clicked on my new titanium leg. I hit the gym and worked out like crazy. It was so freeing, to have mobility again, especially after spending three months on crutches after the amputation surgery.

I got strong. I didn't appreciate it at the time (always wanting to lose 'just a bit more' weight) but I was in a good place. We were active. We spent a lot of time outside. We explored Utah from top to bottom. I learned to ski by the next winter and for two years I skied every Friday, through lessons at an Ability Center. Friday nights I was exhausted, but happy to my core.

Then we decided to get back to the East coast, to be closer to hubby's wonderful family. The job opened up and he grabbed it. For three months we once again lived in temporary housing while we looked for our NY home. We lived on fast food, and I rarely got consistent exercise. I not only gained ten pounds, I got soft to boot.

Then our first year turned out to be a rough one. The NY schools were much more challenging and a couple of our kids struggled. It had a ripple effect at home, stirring up problems at every turn. We did a major renovation on the house we'd bought. It was educational and enjoyable, some of the time. But some of the time it was stressful and marriage bending.

When times are stressful, I don't turn to fitness and health foods to get myself through. I turn to chocolate and soda. It was a quick band-aid, but didn't help my health in the long term.

By the end of that year the reality set in that I needed to go back to work. The cost of living in NY just started swallowing us up. I had to take the first thing I could find, to keep us afloat. There was no chance to use my education degree. I ended up working the overnight shift at an Alzheimer's Unit.

I loved the people I met that year. I learned so much about the elderly and came to deeply appreciate the way a well functioning brain works. I have files of stories I hope to write out some day, about the amazing residents I came to know in my long overnight shifts.

But honestly, that schedule was hard. I was tired a lot. We were making ends meet but I didn't have peace. Again, I didn't eat right. Didn't exercise. I chose catching up on sleep over working out.

Then an amazing job at our local library opened up. It fit me, and my education, much better. But it was full time. I have not worked full time since the kids were born. I didn't know if I could juggle it all.

But for a year I did. I worked 40 hours a week and Hubby and the kids stepped up to keep the house running. I loved the padded bank accounts, but hated the unrest I still felt. That went on for another year.

Through all of that time I did small starts and stops with exercise. I made vows to myself, to my husband, to my little guy, who loved being my coach. But I could never stick with it. I could never find my Utah Self in there.

For the past two years I've worked part time at that same library. It's a job I love and a schedule that worked better for my inner sanity. I started writing a parenting column for our local paper, which helped me to redefine myself as a 'real' writer. Then I got a great gig writing for the geekmom.com blog. I've come to learn a lot about myself in the past two years.

So now it's time for the next step. I got a vision for it when we were in Colorado last week, on the house hunting trip. After a long day of driving neighborhoods, we were all ready to stretch our legs. So we got out at one of our new favorite spots.

Together we walked out a long path, across a field, and the kids scampered up some huge boulders. I climbed halfway up, then stopped to watch my boys in their glory. The breeze was refreshing. The view was astonishing. It reminded me of our Utah life.

I'm ready to be that outdoor, active Utah Self again. I guess I should call her the Colorado Self. I have a vision for her. I have a vision for what she'll be like, what she'll look like, this time next year.

There's nothing like a move across the country, to a fresh new state, to give you optimism about starting over - again. I'm starting that new life now, this week. I want a good base, strong legs to get me up those hiking trails, and a toned core to get me onto those ski slopes when the snow starts to fly. It will be a gift to myself if I can be a more fit version of my current self, on the day we drive into Colorado for good.

So that's why I'm excited to get back to the gym. My new Colorado self is hiding in there somewhere. And by golly, I'm gonna find her.

It Feels Good

I got a bit sidetracked on my first day 'back' after my long hiatus from the gym. I had the day all planned out. I would work all morning on house/writing stuff, then in the mid afternoon, I'd go to the gym and be home and showered in time to make dinner.

Yeah, well, that didn't exactly work out. An hour before I was supposed to leave for the gym I got an email from hubby. My senior boy had a track meet, it was a home meet, and it might be one of the last I'd seen him participate in before his high school career ended. Okay, so that's a decent excuse, right?

My window of time literally closed, once I decided to make my son's track meet a priority (And I'm glad I did. He pole vaulted 10'6", his personal best, and I was there to tape it).

So I got up the next morning, determined to not give up on my start over. I got the kids off to school then headed right for the gym. It felt so good. And then this morning, I got there again. Two days in a row. Go me.

I'm afraid to admit it, but a lot of the time I'm exercising, I'm actually enjoying it. I hate finding the time to get there. I hate the sweaty drive home and the cumbersome shower process. But I love the 'being in the thick of it' time in the actual gym.

I feel strong when I'm lifting weights, even if I'm not lifting as much as the bulky guy next to me. I love laying on the floor and stretching my hands above my head, feeling my whole body lengthen. I love getting the bike set up for my specs, getting my ipod ready, and clicking my feet into the pedal straps.

Then, when I've gotten warmed up, I love the first rush of sweat, the first time I have to wipe my face with my hand towel. I'm usually really in the zone by then. I'm feeling flushed and raw. The music is pounding in my ears, and I'm settled into my rhythm.

Maybe part of the reason I love being at the gym so much is that it makes me feel normal. It makes me feel able bodied. Athletic people go to gyms. When I was a teenager, the kids who played sports hung out in the gyms. That wasn't me. I was just the wanna be.

Now I'm there too. It's a place for me too.

And as I saw today, even when I'm feeling ragged, if I get myself to that gym, it always, always makes me feel better afterward. Always.

I'm Back - I Promise.

Wow. It is hard to believe that February 12 was the last time I posted. I'm sitting here, on the cusp of turning my calendar to the page that says "MAY" and I haven't posted here since the beginning of February.

That doesn't mean I haven't written a dozen (or more) posts in my head in the past three months. Honestly, I have. They all ran along the apology theme. "I'm sorry I dropped off the face of the earth" and "I'm sorry I've temporarily abandoned my fitness goals".

I have good excuses. You've gotta give me that much. Just after the last post we found out we were moving to Colorado. Hubby got a great job transfer and we're now going to live amongst the pines in the mountains of a beautiful state. But before that can happen there are a few details to take care of. A house to fix up, then sell. Last follow up doc visits. Last teeth cleanings. Last car tune ups. Oh, and a house to fix up and sell...did I mention that?

For many weeks we've been painting and doing minor (although time consuming) renovations. We need top dollar out of this house, to open up our options in CO. We've had relatives come help, and the weeks have flown by.

I know. I know. There should be no excuse for not taking care of your body. All of the health problems that come from lack of exercise don't kindly go away just because "I was busy". My blood sugar levels don't come down when I don't put in the work. And no, rolling paint on a wall (many walls) didn't really work up that much of a sweat.

Then, over a week ago, we hit the road for Colorado, to go neighborhood hunting. For ten days we drove, and drove, and drove, then explored our new state. We also ate every meal 'out'. I tried to be careful, especially considering I only got one work out in the entire ten day period.

At a hotel in Ohio I rode the exercise bike while I watched my family swim through the glass window. It made my body feel good, at that moment, and for a day afterward. You'd think I'd learn. Exercise = good for mind and body. But somehow, I never found time for another work out, even though almost every hotel we stayed in had a bike of some kind.

I have not given up. I told my fitness guru (also my sister in law) Terry that I haven't forgotten. We will hike together this summer, before I leave the East coast, and I will be strong. She inspires me and I want to have that hike with her before I go.

So today I am back. We literally arrived back in NY one day ago. We unpacked and returned the rental car last night, then collapsed into bed. The kids shuffled off to school today and I dove into getting caught up at home. Emails scoured and answered. Answering machine cleared of its 25 messages. Lists made for the things I need to review and write in the next few days and weeks. It's time to jump back into real life.

Which also means new patterns. There is no reason I can't find time to get to the gym in the 10 weeks I have left in NY. NO reason. NO excuse. It's time to build it into my life for good.

I realized on our trip, as I had hours and hours to day dream as I stared out the windows and watched the states roll by, that there is a goal I need to claim on this blog. I've thought it for years, since the day I decided to have my foot cut off. I've shared it with a few people along the way. But I need to set it up and announce it here, to make it real.

I want to be more graceful. The word I would choose for how I am now is 'clunky'. I can walk with an almost normal gait if I try really hard. But it doesn't come naturally and it doesn't come often.

I don't mind that I limp. I am deeply grateful to just be walking, mostly pain free. I love my new foot that has energy return and pushes me forward. It surely beats my old, 'real' foot, that had no participation in my gait and forced me to drag it around for way too many years.

But I have not reached my full potential with this new leg. I have the potential to be graceful now. I don't have dreams of becoming a ballerina. I just want to be lighter on my feet, not have to think about balance so much. I want to be balanced naturally, using muscles that others use without thinking. I want to rise from a chair smoothly.

I really, really want to not dread staircases some day. That's a goal for later, after I've built a better base of muscles in my legs and hips. For now, stairs are still tricky and take a lot of thought. It was very noticeable as we looked at houses in Colorado. It will be a shame if we have to pass on a really great house, because it has too many stairs and 'mama' can't do stairs well.

I know it would be excusable. Any halfway compassionate person would say, "Oh, she has an artificial leg. No wonder she can't do stairs well...." I could easily live behind that credit I'm given. But I know my situation, and there's no reason I can't be stronger. There's no reason I can't tackle stairs more confidently. I have the bionics. Now it's time to use them.

So I'm back. I'm off to the gym. I'll start weight lifting again. I'll do the 30 minute circuit, then I'll move on to the bike. I'll do it today. And tomorrow. And the next day after that. If I commit to the next ten weeks I have left in NY, I'll have a chance to retain my fitness level as we make our move across the country.

Because once we leave NY, we will once again be living out of hotels and fast food restaurants. I gained 10 pounds in the 3 months we lived in temporary housing when we moved to NY. I'm still fighting to lose that ten pounds. This time around, things will be different. The closer we get to moving into our new home in CO, the stronger I'll be.

How I Do It.

First I go to the locker room. It only takes a few minutes to shed the sweat pants I wear over my work out shorts. When the temperature outside rises above forty I will stop taking this extra step. I'll wear only shorts to the gym.

I only really have one leg that risks getting cold anyway. The other is mostly covered with prosthetics, protected from the bitter wind and cold of winter by silicone and plastics. But when the thermometer says 12, I wear the extra layer, for the sake of my one exposed leg.

I slip off my sweatpants and hang them on the hook under my heavy coat. I pull the ipod out of my coat pocket, grab my small towel and water bottle, and head out the locker room door. I'm very aware, even after seven years of being an amputee, that I walk into the locker room with a secret. Long pants cover the fact I don't have two real feet. Once I take them off, I know there will be looks.

But I don't really care. In fact, it makes me walk taller and stronger. I have valid reasons for being there. I know every person in that gym is there on purpose. Every person has a reason they make the effort to show up. Some want to lose weight. Many young men spend their time pushing and pulling weights to build their masculine physiques. The retired folks are trying to stay fit and active. Then there's me.

I want to be able to walk right. I want to have better balance. I want to do what comes easily to most people, walk fluidly. I want to have a healthy heart, and not die at age fifty, like my own mother did. And of course, I'd like to once again get down to my ideal body weight. But mostly I want to be strong and able. I want the decision to have my leg cut off to be worth it. And to make that happen, I need to spend a lot of time at the gym.

Some days I briskly walk over to the weight machines. I'm slowly working more strength training into my fitness plan. I know it helps my metabolism. It makes me feel better. It builds the muscles I need to have better gait. I don't mind lifting weights. But my true joy is that bike.

There are five stationary bikes at my gym. I love them all because they are heavy and stable, with wide seats to support my wide seat. I am lucky that they're not the most popular machines at the gym. The treadmills are where the cool kids go. And the ellipticals. The bikes are mostly ignored, which is good for me.

I pick whichever one has straps on the pedals. Usually it's the one nearest the wall. I have to have foot straps or my metal foot wants to wander. I've come close to falling off a stationary bike before, when I got caught up in the momentum and my foot slipped off. There's no need to repeat that experience.

Most people wipe down the equipment after they're finished. I do that. But I also wipe it down before I start, just in case the person before me forgot. Then I set the seat height to 12, throw my leg up and over, then bounce a few times to get used to the seat. A click on 'quick start', a push of the up arrow to level three, and I start pumping. Ear plugs are inserted, a playlist selected. Then it's time to go.

Slow at first, to warm up my muscles. When my legs start to feel loose, after just a few minutes, the resistance gets clicked up to four. Five more minutes of warm up, then it's time to get serious. I wait for the clock to come up to an even minute mark, then quickly push the resistance up to 9.

For a full minute I ride hard. Leaning forward, I stare at the control board in front of me and zone out. Pump, pump, pump. My quads start burning. Sometimes I count to ten, over and over. I learned this trick in childbirth. It's the one part of all those Lamaze classes that really worked. Focus on something else. Even if it's just numbers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five...

Soon the minute is up. It's not that hard to push hard, when I know it will be over in a minute. Once the :59 clicks back to :00, I allow myself to push the down arrow, back to five. Then I get three full minutes of a more reasonable pace. I chant the number I'm waiting for, the number I'll see when it's time to crank that resistance up for another minute. If I ended my hard minute at eight minutes, I start to chant, in my head, eleven...eleven...eleven. And when 10:59 clicks over to 11:00, I crank it up again. I do these circuits over and over.

It feels good. It makes me feel strong. It makes me feel like a real athlete. Like a person who can run. I've never been able to run, and it fascinates me. When I'm on that bike, pushing and counting and clicking the resistance levels up and down, I stare out the window. I focus on the cars in the parking lot and forget where I am (another trick I learned at Lamaze). I think about the people I know who run. I think about two in particular.

My brother in law, Kurt, is an amazing runner. He wasn't the fastest kid on the high school track team. But he was dedicated. He ran casually through his twenties but at some point in his thirties he got serious again. He started training every day. He now runs 5Ks just about every weekend. He runs half marathons and full marathons. He's a running beast. He has about 2% body fat. But I'm not nearly as jealous of that as I am the fact he has a beautiful running gait.

We've gone to races to cheer him on. He is amazing to watch. One foot in front of the other, stride after stride. Pat, pat, pat, his feet hit the ground so rhythmically. Mile after mile after mile. He makes it look so easy. So fluid.

Sometimes when I'm on the bike I think of Kurt. I imagine what that feels like, to run so smoothly. With each pedal stroke I can imagine a running stride. Up, down, up, down. I imagine I'm him, at the 18 mile mark of a marathon. Wanting to stop but knowing I still have something left. I have a few miles left in me. Pushing on, imagining people lining the street next to me, cheering and clapping. I pedal on, in my mental marathon.

And sometimes I think of Kurt's wife. She's become my sister through the years, as the 'in-law' part fell away with shared respect and affection. She's also a runner. She runs those 5Ks with her gifted husband. She runs the half marathons and has done her own full marathons. But she doesn't get the benefit of fluidity like Kurt does. She has asthma and other health issues. She fights for her miles.

She plugs away and gets the job done. Mile after mile she doesn't give up. When it's hard to breathe, she slows to a walk to get control, then she picks it back up again. She's always smiling. Even when it's hard. Even when it hurts. Sometimes I think about Terry when I run.

I feel the air filling my lungs easily. I take deep breaths, in and out, and am consciously thankful that they come so painlessly. I imagine being Terry, and pushing ahead even when it would be so much easier to call it a day and go home. I think about all the days she spends on the country roads by their house, running and running and running. I look down at the mile marker on my bike and set a goal. If it says I've ridden for 12.3 miles I decide to ride at least until I hit 13. It's the kind of thing Terry would do. Hit a wall and keep going.

After about twenty minutes on the bike my body is in a full sweat. A cleansing sweat. If my legs are going too fast it means the resistance level is too easy. I need to crank it up. I need to feel just a bit of burn. If doesn't take some mental effort, it's not worth it. It's not making me strong. I think about the rhythm of the song in my ears. I match the up and down of my legs with the beat of the music.

I concentrate on pushing a bit more with my left leg, the one with the plastic foot at the bottom. With each stroke I push a bit harder on that side. I wait for that thigh to burn a bit extra. Then I switch my focus to the other side. Pushing down harder with each rotation to the right. Then back to an even stroke, left, right, left, right.

After almost an hour on the bike it's time to slow things down. I look at my numbers and decide which goal is my ending goal. I can either end at a specific mile mark or a time mark. Or I can wait until the song on my ipod finishes. When it's finally time to stop, it's like stepping out of one body and into another. Everything slows down.

I exhale deeply and release my feet from the pedal straps. I let them hang loose, wiggling them back and forth, trying to shake the burn out of them. Then I crawl off. I take a few steps away from the bike and shake out my legs again. It feels good to have asked so much of them and gotten a response. Once I'm acclimated back to being on the ground I do my duty and wipe the bike off. I collect my towel, water bottle and ipod and slowly make my way back to the locker room.

My leg socket is full of sweat. I don't feel it as much when I'm on the bike, but as I try to walk away it's hard to ignore. Squish, squish, squish. Every step is like walking in a shoe full of water. I limp back to the other side of the gym, very aware that many might imagine I'm in pain, by watching my gait. But nine times out of ten, I'm not. It doesn't hurt to have sweat fill my leg. It's just annoying.

In fact, I'm usually just the opposite. I'm high. I'm exhausted and spent. My body is damp and smells bad. But I'm feeling good. Really, really good. Because I'm strong. My muscles have worked hard and done their job. My body has done what it was created to do, and done it in a very efficient way. I'm happy and grateful to be healthy. I'm thrilled to be smelly and tired.

This is why I had that foot cut off. This. Very. Reason. So I could squish back to a locker room and feel good about my fitness progress. So I could sit on that bench and wipe out that sweat, and emerge a few minutes later, able to walk tall and strong, back to my car. So I can be just like everyone else at that gym, and be the best that I can be.