Last night I woke up in the middle of the night. There was something strange about I dream I was having that was producing anxiety and the anxiety seemed to wake me up. In my half-awake state at 2AM I rolled over and tried to figure out exactly what I was feeling. It was a strange discomfort. I rolled over again. I realized the anxiety was physical, the pain was real. My legs felt like they were on fire. My muscles were so sore from being under-worked for so many months, that they were literally burning now. I took some ibuprofen and tried to fall back asleep. Little did I know that somewhere not too far away a manhunt was taking place.
When I woke up this morning and stepped out of bed, my legs felt formless. In that moment I realized I could not comprehend the sort of pain and mental frustration that would follow many victims of the bombing as they started their new lives without legs. I think we can all remember having a cold that lasts too long and thinking, “I JUST want to be healthy again”. I have never felt physical pain for such an extended period that I couldn’t bear it. I know people have gone through chemo or bad car wrecks and they endure and survive and don’t need pity. But still, the pain must be tremendous.
I complain a lot. I don’t do well when I am uncomfortable. Every time I wanted to open my mouth today to complain about my legs hurting, I stopped. I just squeezed my quads and took a breath and enjoying feeling them. What gratitude for sore muscles I felt in those moments.
About my run today: because of the manhunt and my sore muscles I didn’t want to be outside too long, so I just did a quick run. It was foggy in the distance, but you can catch a glimpse of Boston from Revere if you stand outside my apartment.
Sleep well tonight, Massachusetts.