“My Rocky Balboa Moment”
by Fay L. Loomis
Prior to my stroke, I walked daily more than a half mile roundtrip to my mailbox and hiked often in the Catskill Mountains where I live in upstate New York. By the fall of 2019, I had progressed to walking with a rollator, and Dan, my physical therapist startled me by suggesting that we go for a walk at a nearby rail trail. What a glorious moment: to walk once again outdoors, even if for brief spurts between resting on the seat of the walker. I was able to get in more of those odd treks before winter settled in.
But when the severity of the pandemic hit, I wondered how I could limit my life any more than it already was. I rarely went out except to my writing, book, and dream groups and to the grocery store. Now group meetings were banished, and my friends, who dared to go out, took over grocery shopping. I felt myself slipping into a sinkhole of despair.
I longed to return to the daily walks on the private road where I live, and I set some goals to get me through the dark winter of 2020. I would walk to the first neighbor’s driveway in the spring, to the next by summer, and finally to the mailbox in the fall.
I gingerly mentioned my goals to my daughter who suggested I could make it to the closest driveway right now. Even though there was no snow on the ground, I didn’t think the walk was possible and allowed fear to convince me it would probably never be so.
However, on a brittle January day, I couldn’t resist the inviting brilliance of the sunlight. Regal gold cane in hand, I tackled the slight incline from my garage to level ground. I panicked at the feel of gravel underfoot and nearly turned around, before moving at an inordinately slow pace, eyes focused on the prize. When I arrived at the driveway, I rewarded myself by leaning on the cane and soaking up the sun for a brief moment.
By the time spring came around, I could hardly hold myself back from attempting another walk. I was no longer using any devices to walk which ramped up my fear — and also my joy — when I made it to the first driveway and back home.
Was it really me who conjured up the idea to place three plastic white chairs along the road so that I could rest between spurts of walking? Cell phone hanging around my neck, I carried out this bold venture until snow fell. Increased walking also meant increased pain, and I was glad no one was around to hear my grunts and moans.
I only made it once to the third chair at the end of the road by the mailboxes. That was when my daughter accompanied me. We enjoyed the leisurely stroll, chatting as we descended the grade and stopped at each rest point. On the return trip, I was silent to conserve energy on the uphill trek. Once inside, we spontaneously executed a high five, and I fell into an upholstered chair. My Rocky Balboa 2020 moment was complete.