5 Centimeters Per Second (Redux)

This story first appeared on this blog in September 2013. I have revised this story (rather heavily in some aspects) so that I could submit the piece for my university's literary magazine. There are two other creative writings being posted today that were also put forth for that end. In writing this story, I hoped to convey messages about myself, my disability, and the awesomeness of books.
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Today I visited Powell’s, a Portland bookstore famed for its size and variety of selection, including a book on Kurt Cobain’s life. I had been excited for quite some time to go there in a concerted effort to find 5 Centimeters Per Second, a book adaptation of a film very important to me. Instead of taking my manual wheelchair, I chose to walk, which was not an insignificant choice for me. I had to imagine myself as strong enough to get everything I wanted; exploration suddenly became very daunting. In the past, my legs were more capable of supporting my weight. Back in October 2012, as a sophomore at Oregon State University, my legs weakened due to overexertion caused by traversing the university’s gargantuan campus and my academic work. Today marks nearly one year after my setback, as the summer before my junior year dwindles.

 To most people who know me, “the past” is vague and means nothing. For years, I had so much trouble telling people that I have Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy, a neuromuscular disorder that weakens the leg muscles among other effects. In the winter of my freshman year at OSU, I went to a dance hosted by the Residence Hall Association of the campus. While there, I steadily grew weaker until my legs felt stiff - the classical sign for me to sit down and rest – but still I asked my friend to dance. I endured and enjoyed the dance, even though I had come very close to exceeding my limits. Feeling so exhausted, I collapsed into a chair to regain my strength. The next day my friend made a joke about my bad dancing but she felt very guilty after I told her about my disability. She responded by telling me I was actually good at dancing. I seem so normal upon first glance, so few would suspect that I have such a condition.

With this story in mind, one can see that I struggle with physical exertion, even though seeing me walk would suggest that nothing is wrong. Today I was able to walk farther and for longer than I could one year ago. Despite having to sit down quite often, I still managed to travel through the bookstore. Sitting down helps the fatigue but it accumulates much more easily for me than for other people. To and fro I walked, curiously examining my surroundings. For me, walking requires changing my gait to minimize stress on my legs; I walk with my feet relatively far apart to improve my balance. I found Powell’s especially challenging because of its labyrinth-like layout: staircases separated rooms with names like “Gold Room,” even if both rooms were on the same floor. The act of climbing a staircase, for me, is especially challenging because I tire so quickly. To make matters worse, I wanted to buy books from many different genres, requiring me to travel across the entirety of Powell’s. I spent a period of a couple hours gathering the books I wished to purchase. Feeling compelled to obtain a murder mystery novel, I grabbed And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie.  Then I acquired two Haruhi light novels – the first and fourth ones – and the first volume of the Oreimo manga.  Despite flagging strength, I was able to find my target: 5 Centimeters Per Second.  Having purchased these items, my journey was gifted with physical findings that I could take back with me. I had adventured through Powell’s, even though I had not taken my wheelchair.

I fancy myself strong of mind despite having below average endurance. Today, I had walked like a “normal” person while being aware of my fluctuating strength, urging nervousness. For someone who frequently uses a scooter and sometimes a wheelchair, I was mildly apprehensive, even though I enjoyed looking for the books I wanted to buy.  I drew from the strength of my mind and did not falter, hoping that in the end I could find everything I wanted. When it came time to leave, I panicked because I was at the back entrance, when I had agreed to meet my mom and sister at the front entrance.  I ended up, despite feeling anxious and sore from so much walking, traveling around the building to the front entrance where the car was parked. Feeling exhausted, I sat down in the car. Finally, I could just rest and not worry about my seemingly borrowed strength that was disappearing quickly. My mom and sister were frustrated that I had walked all the way to the front entrance but in the end I had arrived without too much suffering. In my moment of victory, I reviewed the books I had purchased.

Strength is such an abstract concept for me because I can easily become exhausted. I am strong enough to walk but quickly I must rely on adjusting my walking to avoid completely tiring out. I take pride in my intellect and value it over my physical weakness yet seeing many people walking around and checking out books without any problems is isolating. Through this experience, I had realized that my legs could once again firmly support my weight, offering me an abstract idea of confidence. I am glad, though, that I could truly adventure, a feeling I haven’t gotten in a long time.