Push-ups were once my go-to exercise, easily able to knock-off a hundred at a time.  However, I haven’t tried to do one since my open-heart surgery seven months ago. Years ago, it would have gotten me through basic training if that had been part of my life. Give me 25, soldier! No problem, Sir, would have been my reply. “Can I do another?” It certainly got me through fraternity “Hell Week,” never hesitating to show off my strength. For the 15 consecutive years that I ran, I also did 100 push-ups every single morning. 

I’ve been going to the gym for months now, working out with some light weights on my arms and shoulders. There’s no longer the cautious feeling that my rib cage will crack again after it had been sawed in half. I was concerned about putting too much weight on my chest since my bones and cartilage still seemed to crackle and pop a bit. Lately, I’ve felt whole again, bumping up the weight on my overhead lifts. Slowly but surely, I’ll get my upper body strength back. 

This afternoon I finally decided to try a push-up. I was already on the floor using my forearms to stretch some back muscles. I friend of mine who’s a physical therapist suggested that I lay like that for a few minutes to help relieve my sciatica. While I was down there, I extended my arms into the familiar push-up position. Sadly, I was only able to do three, but maybe four tomorrow. It gives me a measure of how far I’ve regressed in that department. I’ll probably also be sore tomorrow, but it’s a beginning. I wonder if I’ll ever get back to doing a hundred every morning like elderly Mr. Kaufman of Englewood, Florida (about my age now) showed me in my teens. He inspired a lifetime of doing simple push-ups that suddenly aren’t so simple anymore.