#atropy

I stopped wearing them to work this week. I love them terribly, but I woke one day to realize the muscles in my calves were the consistency of jelly, wobbly and loose, all skin and shin. They were atrophying, and scared I pulled a pair of old black boots from last winter out of the depths of my closet, secretly happy they’d survived the post-brace shoe purge.

They are not good boots, worn in the bad way my feet wears down shoes - the left heel off-balance and slick. But they are better then most other shoes I own and they fit my feet without braces.

Once I realized what was happening I went to the gym, three times this week, pushing my legs on the elliptical, feeling the lack of strength in the inability to do calf-raises, in the wobble as I walk from machine to machine, unsure.

As I eased into wearing them, they became a given - they are still a terrific godsend. I find myself trolling around my neighborhood with an ease reserved for athletes. I have no hesitancy about walking two or three or four or five blocks to the bar or the restaurant with my roommate or friends. I am not worried about tripping after a few drinks, not worried about being too tired to get home. They are sweet human freedom made of carbon fiber and plastic.

But I also started wearing them to work every day because I liked floating around the office, motoring myself from desk to desk, shirking the use of my muscles - what minimal use they get anymore - for that feeling. But I don’t think I need them at work, where most of the time I am parked at my workbench peeling adhesive off the spines of books and sewing pages. It is true I feel very tired at the end of the day when I don’t wear them, an overall fatigue that I don’t have on the days I do take them with me. On those days my energy is boundless and I am more alert, more personable and present.

But what is the balance? I cannot wear them all the time, because whatever the future holds I still have my legs and control of the muscles in them. I don’t want to loose what I have, and I’m a little afraid once gone, it’ll never come back.

She was happily snuggled sideways in one of the stained waiting room chairs, her brow crushed into a focused little squint as she read her current book, a work by Welsh, Irvine Welsh. "The fuck are you doing Begbie..." she trailed off as she heard the sliding doors rattle open, eyes widening as the hot topic of the hospital awkwardly strolled in. David Nolan. She felt like the paparazzi, but she needed to know how he'd managed to sneak out. Old Pete, the burly security guard, had plucked her from the ground on various occasions during attempts to leave. She really did need to leave soon though. One last fling. She hopped to her feet, or rather, her new pig slippers and scuffled over, tapping him on the shoulder. "Can I...help you?" the man slowly asked. Boy, was he still screwed in the head. Or maybe in the crotch. Belle knew that little Mary Margaret had been dutifully reading at his side for quite a long while. Married or not, I'd put 'em together.

"Hi, I'm Belle. Names aside, I just need to know how you left?" she rattled on quickly, not wanting to keep the man. David paused, nodding as his extremely clear blue eyes looked off. "Well, I, ah...I just walked out."