Today was one of these days, it was a tough bootcamp (metabolic challenge day) and I really didn’t wanna do it. But more on that later.
My brother-in-law, Ken, was robbed of the ability to control his body from the moment he was born. I first met him when he was about 12 years old. I knew him until he died last fall at 49 years. In all that time, I never knew him to complain about what he couldn’t do, he got frustrated, but he didn’t seem to feel sorry for himself. I used to wonder how someone who couldn’t turn a page or talk became a lover of books and a fantastic speller; or how he gained a mature command of the English language while never being able to speak or write. Or how he could do math. He learned to type, laboriously, about 2 letters a minute and use a thumb on an alphabet board and later a laser head pointer to spell out a message, writing notes or poetry, reminding us of what we’d forgotten. I even wondered how he made so many friends. Upon reflection, I realize that Ken didn’t think about what he couldn’t do, but did everything he could to the best of his ability. He loved life.
Almost every bootcamp I hit a figurative wall. Sometimes it’s mental and it starts before I step through the door; sometimes it’s physical after I’ve gone all out and my trainer says there’s enough time for another round. I’m going to push myself harder from now on. I think I owe it to the Kens of the world to do the best I can.
23 Days and still counting
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