It’s common knowledge that my legs don’t usually like me to walk but lately they don’t like it when I try to stand either.

 At first I thought it was a fluke: I went to stand, to get out of my chair while I was at work, and I had to sit back down right away. Both my legs had given way and, if there had not been a chair below me, I would have fallen.

I figured it was a fluke, a freak chance that both my legs spasmed at the same time. I thought nothing of it. But more and more now, I have to pay attention when I’m standing.

It’s as if my legs get comfortable while I’m sitting and they don’t have to support my weight. It’s as if they are more quick at voicing their unrest, their out rage, by forcing me to fall on my ass.

The other day, waiting at the Husband’s work, I tried to stand when he came out of his office so that we could leave. He saw me sway, saw me have to sit back down hard. He put an arm out for me so that I could get my balance and I caught it, held it until I could sit back down.

“What happened there?” he asked.

 “I couldn’t stand.”

It’s happened at home too, trying to lift myself from the comfort of the couch, the seduction of the sofa. Bright searing pain flares up both my legs the moment I try to stand.

The other day, I felt my left leg give out while I was walking and had to let myself fall into a cement post. I held on to it, almost as if it were a lover, for support.

I know that the cold weather plays a part in how my muscles behave.  However, I wish that for one day there would not be pain while I walked, sat, strolled or meandered. But this is a wish that won’t come true.

So now, more than ever it seems, I have resorted to my old trick of counting. I hear the crick and crack of my muscles, of my bones and I count to get myself past the pain. I count to get myself beyond the soreness, the outcry of my muscles.

I count so that I can remember how to breathe.