Keep Going

I sat on the beach a few weeks back and thought I might go for a walk. It'd started to seem like I moved to this great city with great weather yet I spent much of my time sleeping, or working, or reading in my bed. Watching marathons of The Wire as my muscles atrophied, as my body gave in to the disease. I sat on the beach thinking that I had come out here to find more, to seek more, to do more. I got up and walked a couple of miles and when I came back, I felt good.

I've always been fairly athletic but after a lupus flare or hospitalization, I tend to give up. To lay down. For a long time, I let it make me lazy. I let it take control. And I was tired of feeling that way, so after my walk on the beach, I went for a jog. And then a run. And then a hike. And it hurts but it hurts in a good way, the pain proving the change, the change I need.

Sometimes a good distance feels like a slap in the face to my sore muscles. So I stop and stretch my legs, pulling them, forcing the air into spaces tight and mad. The stretches feel like stopping for gas after you hit 100 miles and the E is blaring and you're tired and thirsty and out of fuel. I stretch, switch the song on my iPod, and continue on. I look at my wrist: KEEP GOING, written in black marker before I left the apartment. I go higher.

Soon, I will turn around and go home and feel anything but defeated because even though I struggled and my breath was short and my legs are tired, I am doing more. I am pushing myself. I am seeing beyond the disease.

I am not my disease, I am me.


  1. I think I may know where the running out of gas analogy came from... Proud of you, Bud.

    1. Yea, there was definitely no overreaction to that! ha ha. thanks.

  2. Keep It up Kel!

  3. Woot! Love to read this!

  4. SOOO late to comment on this. (I'm behind on my favorite blogs.) But I had to say... "keep going" on your wrist is totally stealable. As in, I am going to steal it.

    And, you rock.