Today I walked my first mile since my prosthetic knee was surgically implanted. As I power-walked on the treadmill at Healthworks to Def Leppard’s “I Want To Be Your Hero,” I was in my twenties again, where I could exercise without excruciating arthritic pain. I was on the treadmill facing the window, the sun was out, high school students were streaming in for their healthy lunch choices, people from all over the community were chatting and laughing….it was nothing short of awesome.
My knee was clicking audibly, but it didn’t hurt because it’s metal and has no nerves! How great is that? I just tried to keep it in stride with the beat of the music….which got difficult when I hit Bon Jovi’s “Wild In The Streets.” I even tried to jog a little, but ended up gallumping (I just made that word up) rather more like Frankenstein’s Igor, than streamlined like Jesse Owens. I envisioned myself running like Oscar Pistorious, the Bladerunner, sans murderous weapons. I was unstoppable!
The kind staff and patrons of Healthworks politely averted their eyes and tried not to cringe every time my weak leg hit the tread with heavy thuds. They really are nice people. It’s no wonder they are so popular with the entire town of Poolesville.
All was going swimmingly, as I finished the cardio portion of my workout and moved to my upper-body weight lifting, until I suffered a technical malfunction. I’m borrowing My Captain’s Ipod, since my children have forbidden me from using my decades-old CD Walkman in public, but I have no place to put it when I’m doing Lat-pulls or Chest-presses. So I slid the slim, bright-red Ipod under the shoulder strap of my super-heavy-duty-commercial-grade-Kevlar-lined-rebar-supported sports bra. By the second set of Lat-pulls, it had slid through the strap, travelled through my arm pit, and was dangling perilously close to my second roll of fat.
Something had to be done. It wasn’t my Ipod, after all, and I didn’t want to have to explain to My Captain how I lost his music in the crevasses of my back lard. Gloriously oblivious to the shocked and appalled workout peers around me, I thrust my left hand rather spastically into my shirt via the V-neck, and dug elbow-deep, until I found the wayward electronic device. But when I pulled it out, it was all tangled up in my bra strap. And rather than take the smart road, and unplug the earplugs from the Ipod to disentangle it, I worked both hands into my shirt to untangle the knot, which by this time was rivaling anything Rubik ever created.
THAT was a sight to behold, I assure you.
The good news is that I got it out, without any injuries to me or innocent bystanders, or damage to the unit itself, though it was a bit sweaty and smelled like Secret Asian Pear Deodorant. And the bonus from this episode is that My Captain has already ordered me my very own special sports armband that holds his particular Ipod, which was nice of him.
So tomorrow when I go to Healthworks in Poolesville for my daily dose of community bonding and healthy exercise, I’ll look cooler than a soccer mom whose arms are elbow-deep down her shirt fishing for lost equipment, that’s for darn sure.
Which is nice.