RSS Feed
Print Story
E-mail Story
Valerie Schultz: A pretty body is great; a working body is better
| Friday, Mar 14 2008 11:56 AM
Last Updated: Friday, Mar 14 2008 1:36 PM
“Look at ya! Look at ya! There’s something different … “
BAKERSFIELD.COM HOT TOPICS:
Loading Stories
Advertisement
“She’s got legs, you idiot!”
— Scuttle the Sea Gull and Sebastian the Crab, to their mermaid friend Ariel, who has traded her voice for a pair of human legs Disney’s “The Little Mermaid.”
Once I found myself eavesdropping while sharing a hotel Jacuzzi with an older Scottish lady and her niece.
“Thanks for these grand legs,” said the old woman very quietly, stretching one leg out of the water.
“Who are you talking to?” asked the younger woman.
“Oh — sometimes I talk to God,” she replied. “I forget to keep it quiet.”
I looked at her legs across the spa, from under the camouflage of my sunglasses. They didn’t look so grand to me.
“You’re thanking God for your legs?” pursued the younger woman, adjusting the top of her pink polka-dot bikini.
“Not that they’re much to look at,” said the old woman in her Scottish brogue. “But how grand that they can stand and walk.”
I glanced down through the water at my own legs, which I am so used to dismissing as too freckly and unglamorous. But they do stand and walk and get me where I want to go, which is grand. So I secretly said thanks, too. I made a promise to myself to become, in retirement, a batty old lady who chats with God.
The older we get, the more we appreciate the parts of our bodies that are still in good working order. We care less about appearance, and more about function. Gratitude replaces vanity. We also gradually realize that this is the only body we’ve got, so we’d best treat it kindly, in the hope that it will last for as long as we need it.
When the many muscles and long bones of the legs work together, we move with easy strength and grace. When just one thing breaks down, we limp. And then we understand in a very real way the interdependence of all the parts.
My mother has had trouble with her knees for years: It’s painful for her to get around on them. Her doctor has been unable to cure what ails them. I imagine she looks back at her younger days and marvels at her past mobility: all of the stretching, pivoting, bending and springing into action that a mother of six does in one day.
We take our legs for granted, until they begin to fail us, or until we meet someone who has lost the use of theirs.
I’m afraid I suffer from a mild form of Restless Legs Syndrome, better known to fans of “Seinfeld” as the “jimmy legs.” When I am overly tired, I cannot remain still. My legs have a will of their own, and I am compelled to move them every three seconds. This can be a trial for my long-suffering husband, especially when he is trying to go to sleep. “Got the jimmy legs?” he’ll ask, when I am readjusting the position of my legs for the zillionth time. My legs keep us both awake.
But I’m awfully grateful they’re still kicking.