After a successful exercise day my nurse aid, Eric, and I started talking about what made an exercise successful. My nurse aid said that I would do well if I really wanted to do it; if I put my mind into it; if I did it with enthusiasm. If I started with the inner conviction that I would fail, I would. Then, Eric went farther: he gave dogs as an example. They never gave up; they would persevere against all odds. I was very puzzled and asked for an explanation, which Eric promptly gave me in the fashion of an account.
An anthropologist who was living with the Kalahari bushmen went with them to a baboon hunt. Baboon hunting is customary among bushmen, and they do it with the help of a dog pack. Since baboons are incredibly strong, dogs corner them so that the bushmen can spear them. This time, however, the anthropologist noticed a change. Amid the pack chasing the baboons, he spotted a three-legged dog running energetically after them.
Who knows what could have caused him to lose a leg? Perhaps a previous encounter with the apes, or a near-death clash with a member of the species. Yet despite his loss, the dog kept running along with his pack, the baboons on the mire. I remembered what my friend had said to me. To persevere, I had to believe – to believe in life, and in myself; to believe in my ability to triumph. I had to celebrate my small achievements, even if they were small. I had to keep doing my exercises as a gesture of love for Eric and Nathan.
I had to learn from the dog, I thought. I had to want to walk, climb on and off the books, do all my arm exercises: move back and forth, up and out; lift and cross over, move across my right arm and leg; and try to reach my chin, over and over. I should practice without seeking perfection. No matter my tiredness, my reluctance, my sense of defeat, my high standards, I had to want to do my exercises; I had to keep my recovery on the mire.
An anthropologist who was living with the Kalahari bushmen went with them to a baboon hunt. Baboon hunting is customary among bushmen, and they do it with the help of a dog pack. Since baboons are incredibly strong, dogs corner them so that the bushmen can spear them. This time, however, the anthropologist noticed a change. Amid the pack chasing the baboons, he spotted a three-legged dog running energetically after them.
Who knows what could have caused him to lose a leg? Perhaps a previous encounter with the apes, or a near-death clash with a member of the species. Yet despite his loss, the dog kept running along with his pack, the baboons on the mire. I remembered what my friend had said to me. To persevere, I had to believe – to believe in life, and in myself; to believe in my ability to triumph. I had to celebrate my small achievements, even if they were small. I had to keep doing my exercises as a gesture of love for Eric and Nathan.
I had to learn from the dog, I thought. I had to want to walk, climb on and off the books, do all my arm exercises: move back and forth, up and out; lift and cross over, move across my right arm and leg; and try to reach my chin, over and over. I should practice without seeking perfection. No matter my tiredness, my reluctance, my sense of defeat, my high standards, I had to want to do my exercises; I had to keep my recovery on the mire.
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