The Fight With Gravity

…Or Playing With Possibility.

I’m on the plane, tired again.

Or am I still tired from yesterday? Or the day before that? Or the day before that?

There’s a pattern to this tiredness. Unless I interrupt it with some form of exercise, everything begins to blur into one endless thought:

I need to lie down.

And if I’m not careful, I can lose entire days inside that loop.

Swimming is best.

There’s the water, and there’s the exercise—but more than that, when I’m in the water, I’m not disabled. For all intents and purposes, it’s an even playing field.

Well, almost.

While I’m swimming, I look just like everyone else. It’s only when I climb out that gravity takes hold and brings me back to earth—literally.

Then the fight resumes.

I make my way towards the next physical challenge, and then the next, as though piling them one on top of another might eventually make all of this easier.

Train harder. Get stronger. Keep moving.

But I also have to watch for diminishing returns, as though my body were an investment portfolio—except I’m not playing with money.

I’m playing with possibility.

The possibility of becoming stronger. The possibility of holding on to what I have. Perhaps even the possibility of a cure.

The experts tell me that isn’t going to happen.

Or is that simply something I told myself a long time ago?