This Norman Rockwell painting hangs in my bedroom.  I see an “outsider” standing above the crowd, saying what’s true for him.  Courage.

Yesterday, standing up took on a new meaning.  I had my first gym session with a trainer named Maryna.  She is also my friend.

I had visions of free weight exercises, beyond my usual routine of strength training machines.  Nope.  Our hour focuses largely on me standing up.

I’ve stood up since I was a kid.  From a chair, I push down on the arms, or on the inside of my thighs, just above the knee … and up I go.  Not yesterday.  Maryna asked me to press down with the balls of my feet while leaving my arms dangling.  A pure movement – no assistance.

It was new

It was hard!

To do it easily, I need a strong core.  I don’t have one.  Humbling.  And fascinating.  I’ve spent 77 years standing up in a Bruce way … and I’m being asked to change.  So I can be stronger.  So I can continue living in my “fifty steps up” apartment till I’m 90.

I agreed to do it

I’m a work in progress, which is better than not being a work at all.  Later in the day, I was jolted awake by the presence of hands on thighs once more.  This morning, though, my rising from bed was unassisted.

I now sit in Lloyd Coffee Eatery.  Their chairs are comfy … and low.  I assess my chances of standing up without my hands as being approximately 0%, with the likelihood of pain 80%.

Let’s give ‘er a go, shall we?

(Praying)

I decided just now that I need emotional support.  So I told my story to the woman sitting at the next table.  She started cheering me on.

And …

Not even close!

I could barely get my bum off the seat.  Nowhere near achieving a vertical body.

However, some of Lloyd’s chairs are higher, the type you’d see in a cafeteria.

So I try again.

Yes!

Piece of cake

The woman smiled.

***

My task is clear.  Sometime in the next five years I will rise freely from a soft Lloyd chair.  Today is today.  Tomorrow is tomorrow.