Waiting for "I"

Image by J. Star via Flickr

So here it is, over a year after what should have been a simple hysterectomy turned my little world all kinds of upside down, sideways, and flip flopity. But that's not what this post is about. This is about how those 13 months have made my back side, oh, and let's just be honest, my front side, and my thighs flip flopity in their own right.

I could make all kinds of excuses, and believe me I have. But this post is not about excuses. This post is about my quest to find the rear end I know is hiding somewhere in the dimpled mush I see when I brave a quick glance in the mirror in the three seconds it takes to grab the towel as I step out of the shower.

I have a lot of talents. I made exceptional grades during my academic career with almost no effort. I worked my way up the corporate ladder at a very young age. I'm witty, funny, charming, and clearly humble (see, there's the wit). Two attributes missing from the list are graceful and athletic.

Only two sports can make me pass as graceful. They are ice skating and its first cousin in-line skating. Now that I live in Texas there is a distinct lack of ice skating rinks. So after trying (with disdain) several aerobic DVD's, I decided to break out my in-line skates this week. The first step was to literally dust them off as they hadn't been used in over a decade (when in-line skating was cool). Then I laced them up and checked my stance. Felt good.

I grabbed my i-pod, a definite improvement over the walk-man I donned the last time I had these on, and figured I'd program a quick play-list for my skate. I chose about ten songs, figuring that would give me a thirty minute skate, and headed out the door.

And it truly was like riding a bike. Without too much effort, I was actually gracefully striding down the street. I decided I would turn into the adjacent neighborhood and take on some hills, you know, liven things up a bit. So there I was, cruising along (okay, huffing a bit), when I realized I forgot my wrist guards. No worries. How likely was it that I would fall? Skating up and down hills. In the dark. After the rain. I pressed on. I could almost feel the muscles in my thighs tightening up as I pushed my way up a hill, when, what the . . . ? A bug flew in my mouth. I spit it out, refusing to stop because I didn't want to loose the momentum I worked so hard to build up. I turned the corner trying to create more saliva to erase the lingering bug taste. Seriously?

By this point, I was ready to head back to the house. My left ankle was pounding, my mouth tasted like bug, I had no wrist guards, which was just plain dangerous for a stay at home mother. If I fell, how would I take care of my child? Who would change his diapers if I broke both of my wrists, I reasoned, still trying to spit with no saliva to mention. All of the sudden I became aware of the song playing on my iPod, Chicken Fried, by the Zac Brown Band.

There it was, mocking me. All of my effort had only brought me to the letter "C" in my small play list. That did it. I dug deep. I headed back to our neighborhood and decided to skate a loop around. By the time I turned onto our street I had once again built up a solid momentum I felt so good I skated right past our house, went to the end of the street, circled the cul de sac and came back up the block.

As Selah sang me home with the words of, "I'll Fly Away" and I saw the light of our garage welcoming me back, I raised my hands, feeling the wind against my face, finally tasting something sweeter than bugs, and felt like I just might fly.