If I’m not short of breath, I’ll take the stairs. It was the new internal scale of self-guidance that came to my mind in the split second I was needing to decide whether to take the stairs or the escalator. Anytime I am moving around I am always a little bit short of breath. Even that statement is a little revised, having had to redefine my terms, reassess what is normal and what is not. My breathing combined with the movement of my body has been out of sync since this whole thing started.
Most of the posts I’ve either deleted or not posted have had to do with the physical experiences of the past almost two years. Just typing that out is mind-boggling to me. Even as I’ve been well enough to go on with life, my mind is never far from what it’s just been through. I feel like I’ve been processing along the way, and yet there’s something going on that I can’t seem to name, a deeper meaning I can’t seem to get to. “I can’t believe I’m swimming right now”, I’ll think as I’m moving down the pool. When I’m walking on the indoor track, glancing at the clock with every lap, every 20-minute, 30-minute, 40-minute (I’ve only done that twice) block of time is a shock that can bring me to tears if I stop too long to think about it.
If I walk with my hand on my torso it helps, on my lower stomach, so my body can remember what it feels like to breathe there. Most of the people walking there lap me. I’m not walking for speed, or even distance or time, but for movement and practice in breathing while doing so. The exercise has been a regular, but not everyday thing. Since school I’ve been averaging 3-4 times a week in my Y visits, depending on the week. Last week I didn’t go as much. Overall, it’s been a blessing to go.