I dreamt I was whole again last night.
I was able to walk without pain and without losing my balance. The dream was so real that it seemed like real life. I remember that, in the dream, I ran a marathon. The pavement was hot under my feet, the pavement stained my feet black.
The fact that I was running in a marathon should have been clue number one that it was a dream. The second clue should have been that I was running it barefoot.
When I woke this morning, it felt as if I had indeed run a marathon. I stretched my legs and was rewarded instantly with sharp muscle spasms that shot up my legs. The muscles tensed so quickly and painfully that I could do nothing but lie there for a moment, thinking of my dream to help get me past the pain.
This doesn’t happen too often, this instantanious spasming, but when it does I think it is the worst of the pain I have to go through. It’s so painful I have no choice but to let it pass.
I count again, this time getting to fifteen before I feel like I can breathe again. The pain doesn’t go away so easily this time. It stays with me, like a family member over staying their welcome and I massage my legs to get them working again.
At the bus stop this morning a woman asked if I was okay. I replied that yes, I was.
“You look like you’re limping.” she says to me.
“I suppose I am.” I reply. I can’t wait for the warmer weather when they put back the benches. I would give anything to sit. But even sitting provides little relief.