Walk don't run.

Today I went for a walk. I put on my running shoes and headed off into the glory of a joyously warm September morning. One of those bright and beautiful days that promises summer warmth but with just a taste of freshness in the air. Around the neighborhood I trotted, my ears firmly filled with the sounds of my gospel-themed playlist. Feeling uplifted in spirit, and my eyes feasting on the beginnings of a New England Fall amongst the local foliage, I walked for five, ten, fifteen, minutes and more. I watched as the distance on my fancy i-phone app increased and I breathed in a sense of accomplishment as I crossed streets, cut thru the cemetery and meandered thru the neighborhood.

For the past few months I haven't been able to do this. My runners have been on the shelf in the mudroom. I've driven round the neighborhood rather than traveling a la pied for short distances. Since the spring  I've experienced the inconvenience of continual tingling sensations and muscle spasms in my legs and feet. I get tired when I try to work out. And after many blood tests, MRI's, CT Scans and numerous trips to Dr's, I'm none the wiser as to why. And neither are they. I'm thankful that I know I don't have a disease, and  I don't have something growing where it shouldn't be, and everything is allegedly working inside of me just as it should be. But in the mornings after fractured hours of sleep, and when I need to take a nap at 2 in the afternoon just before it's time to get the kids, what I don't have is a sense of peace about feeling slightly incapacitated. And my overall perspective is that it's simply not fair to feel like this when I have so many things to do and places to be.

Today felt like a great day and I felt an urge to try and get back into the swing of  walking. An article I read online talked about keeping active and keeping your muscles stretched. So why not?

As I walked along the side of Main Street, a man of about 30 years of age 'drove' by me in his motorized wheelchair. He wasn't driving along in the gutter but about 3 feet into the lane, avoiding the bumps and debris that could stop him short. He was unshaven, slightly disheveled, and 'tatty' looking. He stopped, thinking I needed to cross in front of him, but I waved him through, and on he went.

About 20 feet further on, he stopped. His shoe had come off and was lying in the middle of the traffic lane. He turned his chair around, and looked at me for help. I ran over to him, beckoned the traffic to come around me, and picked up his shoe. I don't know what I expected next. Perhaps I thought that he was going to bend down and put it on his foot. Maybe I thought he would raise his leg high so that I didn't have to kneel on the asphalt in the road. For a second I probably imagined he was going to stand up from his chair and get the shoe from me. But in a split second by looking at his face, I realized that I was his only help to recover his shoe and restore some self esteem. His legs and feet did not work.

I held the shoe in my hand and gently picked up his cold, slightly swollen foot. And it was obvious that this shoe wasn't going to fit his foot easily. Do I force it? Should I just give it to him and let him take it away to someone that could help? Or do I leave it hanging half off because he won't know the difference after all. He can't feel it.

Thankfully, I got the shoe to fit, and stood up. The cars were driving slowly round us still. 'Please can you tie my shoes?' the man asked. I obliged, asking if there was anything else he needed. He said no, followed by a thanks, and off he moved ahead of me.  I stood back on the pavement and needed a couple of minutes to compose myself. It was truly the most unusual thing I have encountered whilst out walking. As he drove off I felt a thunderbolt of emotion hit my chest. Intense sadness that this man was so incapacitated. A sense of thankfulness that I was there at that moment when no other pedestrians were. And a large measure of guilt that I had lost a sense of perspective about my own situation.

Tonight my 8 year old daughter cried when I told her the story. She cried out of sadness for his situation. And together we said a prayer for this man. I told her that I had also cried earlier in the day.

We know that we're told to love one another, and to take care of the poor, the sick and the downtrodden, but I hadn't expected an opportunity to land right in front of me on Main Street. It wasn't expected, I wasn't prepared, and to be honest, it felt uncomfortable and weird to be holding a lame man's foot in my hand in the middle of the road.

And I guess I cried at the guilt of my response to this, the most.