Stretching and Straight Talk

Stretches (usually described as expanding, pulling, and extending parts iof the body to ease tight, tense, and taut muscles, joints, and tendons)...

 "You need to stretch before you walk!" This admonition appeared like a 500 watt light bulb that had exploded like a bomb in my mind as I walked (with a great deal of stiffness that I tried with studied aplomb to camouflage), the other week.

What had happened? The weather had been temperamental for several weeks. It had interrupted the daily Constitution my long-haired Dachshund, Kai, and I had engaged in last year until the stately trees that had shaded us during Summer's sun had slowly but surely shorn themselves of leaves at the nexus between end-of-Fall and onset of Winter.  In fact, the first time I walked downstairs in my favorite walking "uniform," Kai, faithful friend that he is, reacted.  He went wild and started walking in tight circles, yapping with abandon.  Excited, he followed me to the laundry room where his leash hangs, still making happy sounds.

He followed me to the couch where we wrestled while I tried to hook the leash to his collar.  "Kai, if you don't calm down, I'll be walking by myself," I warned.  That warning slowed him down and allowed the leash and collar to meet. Off we went!  A block later, I started feeling twinges of pain from the waist down.  Not bad, but I could feel them.  Kai and I talk on our walks, especially when he hears loud growls from other (fenced) dogs.  I assure him that he's okay, that none of them can get loose (at least I hope) until we've walked past!

Kai stops and smells everything (though no roses grow through the pavement).  His ears lift; he looks around for some moments then moves forward.  To tell the truth, I welcomed the respite.  Usually we walk 30-45 minutes, and generally along the same route.  When we get to a certain point, we stop and I'll ask, "Ready to go back?" He looks around, then silently acquiesces.  Typically our walks are uneventful, punctuated only by his frequent stops, for which my gratitude overflowed. I had not noticed much stiffness or felt soreness at first.  This day, however, walking became more and more arduous.

Kai seemed to sense that something was wrong.  He's always intuited how far and how long we should walk.  That day, he cut our walking time in half.  Did he feel something in my gait or the way I held the leash, a hesitation that hadn't been there before? I don't know. Relief hallmarked this excuse to go back home, albeit with painful slowness.  Home.

Then I heard, "Stretches, you need to stretch before you walk.  What's wrong with you? You know better!" I stood stock still.  Awareness, pure and simple like free-flowing oxygen, overwhelmed me.  Wow! Whether spoken audibly or not, truth always resonates.  I felt it in my aching back and bones.  Memories flooded like a flood, a rushing torrent.  I stretched for years before going to the neighborhood Recreation Center five days a week. Previously my workouts resulted in treadmill agility, stamina on the various machines, and the limberness of my body.  How had I spaced stretching out? Why? Hmm.

Could the implacability of  grief and loss have sabotaged me? Could the indisputable fact that I had not been able to control whether Courtney, my precious Daughter, lived or died have paralyzed me in places I couldn't see? Had I closed up, closed in, and wound up as tightly as a catapult? Why was I holding,  guarding, and protecting myself so closely? Had I even been aware that I had sequestered the muscles of my body I once had taken for granted? Were fears dominating even my physical movements? Had I crouched, alert, ready to pounce on any real or imagined threats to my subterranean need for safety, for predictability? Did my inflexibility reflect a deep-seated desire  to exert some modicum of control over my life?

Over the next days, I spoke these and other questions aloud to Kai, although I had no idea whether he was listening when he'd pause, look around, and then move on.  Certainly, my questions had little to do with Kai.  No, they went straight to  the Creator and Maker of all things:  "Ask, and it shall be given you;. seek,  and ye shall find; knock, and  it shall be opened unto you;"  (Matthew 7:7).

Now,I listen for the still, small voice that always answers my queries and soothes my qualms.  I continue to s-t-r-e-t-c-h, a little bit longer each day before I walk downstairs to Kai who invariably greets me, as excitedly as if this were the first day we ever walked together.  Good boy, Kai!

Dear Readers, I invite your comments, reactions, and responses, either here, or at ordainedelder@aol.com.  Thanks!