I Love My Legs

This hasn't always been the case. In fact, I've spent the last four to five years silently angry at my legs.

I started taking dance classes when I was almost four years old. I loved it.

When I was four, my knees started to hurt at night. The pediatrician told us it was probably growing pains. (Since I still experience such pain occasionally, I'm guessing he was wrong.) I remember my mom would rub my knees until they felt better.

At the age of seven, I began cheerleading. I took it very seriously. My legs were long and strong and I was able to jump extremely high.

In Junior High, I joined the track team. I wasn't a runner. I was a jumper. Long jump especially. I was OK at it.

As a teenager I was on the swim team. Breast stroke was my specialty- it was my super strong kick that helped me place in races.

In high school, I was on the cheerleading squad. The short skirt was my pride and joy. I used to take special care of the look of my legs- combining moisturizer and body make-up so my legs wouldn't appear too pale. I made it through many super-cold football games in that short skirt, with no issues at all.

In my late teens and in my twenties, my legs were my most appealing physical asset. Long, shapely, muscular, smooth. I wore skirts as short as I could get away with, heels as high as I could manage. Skirts all colors of the rainbow. Made of leather and suede. Micro-dresses made of spandex. (Give me a break, it was stylish at the time!)

I continued taking dance throughout my twenties. I performed in a showcase in NYC where I had to wear super short tight black shorts. It was a hip-hop dance routine. I had a blast.

Sometime in my late twenties, I had a job as a blackjack dealer. I wore stilletto heels, fishnet stockings, and a black thong. (Yeah, I can't believe I did that either.) The tips were amazing.

Right around my mid-thirties, I began to mourn the loss of the beauty of my legs. They simply didn't look as good. Skirts needed to reach my knees. Shorts were replaced with capris. Bathing suits were accompanied by wraps. I was angry and resentful. And tried not to think about it.

Fast forward to this past Friday afternoon.

I went to visit my friend Mandy in a hospital rehab center. Six weeks ago she was diagnosed with Devic's Syndrome, a rare form of MS. For the first time in her 46 years, Mandy lost the use of her legs. She is confined to a wheelchair. At first, she was paralyzed, but now she has feeling in her legs. But she has no mobility.

Her determination and strength are inspiring. She has been working like crazy every day during her physical therapy. She's working on building upper body strength so she can lift herself in and out of her chair. They say she might be able to walk again in about three months or so. It'll be a long hard journey. She goes home next week and she is scared. Scared of not being able to get around. She's already figuring out transportation, and how she can continue her job.

We sat on the patio drinking wine. I don't drink, but Mandy hadn't had a drink in over six weeks and asked us to bring her some wine. I decided I should drink with her since the other friend there with us is pregnant and can't drink. We chatted and laughed. Her spirits were good. I entertained with stories of my dating adventures. Mandy commented: "Shit, I don't even care anymore if I have a man. I just want my damn legs back." We laughed, but not because it was funny. We laughed because it was true.

Today I went for a ten mile hike. Halfway through, my legs started to hurt. I relished the feeling. I paid close attention to the feeling of my muscles moving. I was amazed at their ability to carry on, to get me from point A to point B. Every so often I stopped and stretched the muscles. Again, I took special note. Have you ever noticed what a truly awesome feeling it is to stretch out your working muscles?

My feet began to get hot, my sneakers started to feel tight. But my feet kept moving- heel to toe, heel to toe. Amazing. Now, my legs are sore. That wonderful "I had a great workout" kind of sore. Beautiful. I'll take a couple advil to prepare for the knee pain that will come later tonight.

Shame on me for being angry at my legs! Simply because they didn't look as good as they did in their youth. If I care about how they look so damn much, then I can stop whining and go to the damn gym more, now can't I?

I'm sending good thoughts, good energy, and good prayer to Mandy and her legs. Help me send wishes her way so she can have her legs back.