Why I Play Hurt

     A woman I know took a high-speed tumble on a mountain bike. She’s grateful she’s alive, not paralyzed, and that therapy is increasing her strength so she can maneuver a street bike now. But she’s mourning that she’ll never be able to engage in extreme sports again.
     I get that she’s grieving over what she’s lost, and I won’t go into an "organ" recital of all that ails me compared to her. I’ll simply welcome her into the Fellowship of the Fractured, the cadre who have learned to do what we can. To withdraw from what we can’t. Whether we’re hamstrung from physical, emotional, or age limitations, we smile through our pain. We try not to embarrass ourselves in a world that values vitality.
​     In a stretching class I attend, the teacher warned, “Don’t do anything that hurts.” The man next to me chuckled. “As if I can do anything that doesn’t hurt.” I relate to that. Those of us in the battlefield of compromised health are pros at playing hurt. We are richer for our adversities. We’ve discovered that gems such as compassion, patience, and gratitude are mined in the darkness of pain.