Stamina is something I took for granted, at least until I broke my ankle.
At first, even moving from one room to another on the walker or crutches was an act of sheer will that left me covered with sweat. I was no longer the person that could do two miles on the treadmill. Weeks later, sliding on my butt downstairs to pick the treats out of the litter box left me with a great sense of accomplishment but again, utter exhaustion.
Last Friday was our one nice day before the temps descended into regions closer to March than May so I got the mower started. Carjo did about half of the front lawn and pleaded for a break. I thought, “I used to be able to do this in about half an hour.” So I got my imaginary cowboy pants on and finished the lawn, wearing my clumsy support boot. I was winded but I felt like I got something REAL done.
Today is Garbage Day. My wife has been doing this duty for months but now she’s got the cold/flu that I had last week. So after breakfast I went to it. Cleaned up the messes the cats made, did the litter boxes, rounded up all the garbage in the house, took the two big rubber cans out to the curb and some boxes that had lingered in the garage too long. I was as moist as a spongecake when I finished but damn, I felt vindicated. I may not be back at my two mile status but it’s coming. Tomorrow I’ll get started on the back lawn, man card in my pocket.