If you can't fly... box

Monday I went to boxing class.  No big deal... except it was a very big deal for me, because it was the first time I'd been out of my apartment in one week and four days. Also, because I broke my foot and can't bear any weight on it, I had to do it wearing this thing:

But wearing the iWalk wasn't really the big deal part.  Getting outside and rejoining the life that exists outside my apartment and getting an exercise high were the big deal parts

Since I broke my foot, I'd left the apartment twice: once for the urgent care doctor the day after it happened, and a second time to see an orthopedic foot surgeon.  Despite the "you can't dance for six months" prognosis, I had planned to return to teaching ballet the same week. Turns out, Winter had other plans, and because of two winter storms and an apartment that is only accessible via multiple stairs and a sidewalk on apartment property that isn't kept clear, including a stretch that is perpetually under either water or ice, getting out has become completely impossible with crutches. I had to cancel my classes and have been unable to leave. I look out every day and see snow on a lawn and snow on the roof of the grey building opposite me.  Which was fine for a bit because the specialist's prognosis that I'd make a full recovery eventually makes everything better.  But still....Grey.  Indoors.  No sun, even through the clouds.  No people.  No bustle.

I've filled my days largely with three things: Reading American Ulysses, which would have been an excellent Christmas gift under any circumstances but especially with a broken foot because it's over 700 pages long; writing and trying to find literary agents to query (the former of which I find particularly difficult without outside stimulation and experience); and following Youtube broken foot exercise videos.  I've become a devotee of "chair fitness" videos, especially those on a channel made by one very upbeat woman who's clearly had 15 cups of coffee before every video and who acts like we're all in the room with her—a bit annoying perhaps under normal circumstances but a blessing when she's the closest I come to being part of the outside world.  Her videos have also been the highlight of my day because I can do everything in them without help. The number of times a day I ask my husband for help is driving me crazy, even if it's not driving him crazy (his patience is incredible).  But for 45 minutes a day with her videos, I'm completely independent and normal and guaranteed not to need anything I can't do for myself.  Still, though... I needed to get out.  And I needed to work up a sweat.

And so yesterday I determined to go to boxing class.  By now a master of crutches from using them indoors, and with a not-so-great-but-could-be-worse attempt to salt the sidewalks by property staff, I put on makeup and felt pretty for the first time in a week and a half, went out into the cold, and with my husband spotting me to make sure I didn't fall and break more bones, over the course of ten minutes, several pauses to rest, and many dogs barking at me from their windows, I made my way to our car. Freedom!  My husband loaded up my iWalk and boxing bag and we were off.

As I put my things in my locker at the gym, one man, pulling on his overcoat after taking the prior class, looked at me with my knee crutch and said, "That's dedication."

"Well, I can't sit on the couch.  That would drive me crazy.  It's not an option," I said. "I have to do this."

"And you'll get out of that thing faster because you are," he said before walking away.

Several more people used that same word—"dedication"—after seeing me, both Monday and when I went again last night.  And that got me thinking—Dedication to what, exactly?  It's not about boxing.  To me, it's dedication to life.  It's dedication to not giving up 4-8 weeks of my life just because my fifth metatarsal shaft is in two unattached parts.  It's dedication to not succumbing to self pity.  It's dedication to putting myself in the best possible position to return to normal once my bone heals.  It's dedication to keep moving, however I can do that.  And that's how life should be lived.