Sunday may belong to the Lord, but Saturday, May 31st, belonged to the devil

Saturday, May 31, 2014

My wife and I are at the cottage. I am rested and feeling pretty good. My wife is occupied with those things that occupies wives.

I decide to do my 3 mile walk.

I start off down the street, jog across the highway and head north, walking in the ditches in case I fall. There is a spring in my step. I am happy and enthusiastic. At the one mile mark(approximately), I gingerly cross over the creek by way of the "Use at your own Risk" footbridge. It is old and scarred with repairs here and there. It bounces and sways as I cross. Now, when I think about it, that rickety old bridge may have foreshadowed things to come. I am beginning to tire but I shake it off and continue, past the marina and tennis courts, dismissing the dollop of doubt that is occuping my thoughts. I am heading toward the town "center". Approaching the town's boardwalk, I feel something is amiss. Something is not right. My legs are not working like they should be, as they have always done, never abandoning me, even when I punished them with 12 mile runs. They are starting to feel weak and rubbery.

Evil forces are at work here.

"It's only my imagination," I tell myself, aware of my tendency toward hypochondria .

But then I start to slow down.

I have always been a fast walker / runner and in my past life, I would have had a difficult time walking this slowly. I continue another 100m and not only am I walking slower, I am beginning to weave, much like I did in my halcyon days of over-drinking. My stride is turning into a shuffle and I do not find this the slightest bit amusing. In fact, I am worried. I cannot lengthen my stride or in anyway control my speed. I think anybody watching will brand me a sot.

I push on. Try as I might, I cannot speed up and the weaving is becoming more pronounced. Still 3/4 of a mile from the cottage. OCD forces me onward, step by plodding step. It is tortuous. My body is being pulled forward and to the left. I begin to fear a fall. I am 2 blocks from home and afraid to cross the highway. I am just too slow and jogging is out of the question. I picture myself falling in the middle of the road.

I sit down and call my wife on my cell, "Can you pick me up?"

I tell her where I am (at the end of the street) and she says, "I will be right there".

Four minutes later, I am in the cottage, sitting down and the weird feeling I had is disappearing.

I know now I could not have crossed the highway let alone make those 2 blocks!

I am fine after an hour or so, but this is my first encounter with PD that scares me.

Oh well, all's well that ends well (for now) but I ask you, what would we do without wives and cell phones!