Limpers get no respect
by Bob Batz
I limp.
Since I started limping I’ve come to realize that limpers get no respect.
You’ve heard of a famous American Indian named Running Bear but you’ve never heard of a famous American Indian who went by the handle of Limping Bear, right?
Politicians don’t “limp” for office, they “run” for office.
There was a hit song called Running on Empty but nobody has ever recorded a tune called Limping on Empty.
Nor has there ever been a cowboy movie hero named “Limpalong Cassidy.”
The sporting world hasn’t helped limpers any because nobody has ever invented a track-and-field event called a long-distance limp.
My uneven gait is caused by arthritis and at first I was really self-conscious about having a hitch-in-my-git-along, as they say.
Some days it is barely noticeable. Other days it is big-time noticeable.
Statistics show more than 45 million people in the U.S. have reported being diagnosed by doctors to have some form of arthritis. Estimates say that number will grow to 65 million by 2030.
Any way you cut it, that’s a lot of limpers, folks.
Many of those who have arthritis have adjusted to it. We are the folks who try to park close to the front doors at discount department stores, we rarely volunteer to take part in long-distance running events, we dread long flights of stairs and we prefer not to kneel during church services.
I push myself to the limit but the price I pay is pain.
I recently attended a Cleveland Browns football game with my son-in-law Steve.
“I’ll park close so you won’t have to walk far,” he promised and then he parked the car in Akron, or so it seemed anyway.
The first leg (no pun intended) of our trek from the parking lot to the football stadium was relatively easy for me.
The last 349 blocks were pure agony.
It was walk 15 feet, carry Bob a block; walk 10 feet, carry Bob two blocks.
I must admit the thousands of other people streaming into the stadium that day gave me my space. Perhaps it was out of politeness; then again maybe it was because they feared I would fall on them.
My trek ended after we climbed some 16 million steps to the upper reaches of the stadium’s storied “Dawg Pound.”
But limping isn’t all serious.
Two weeks after my football game experience I was leaving a discount store and when I got to the door I signaled a woman behind me to go ahead and I held the door open for her.
As she passed, I said “I’m slower than you are” and when she got outside she turned, flashed me a friendly smile and said “The slower you go, the more you see.”
I chuckled about that all the way home.
Contact Bob at bbatz@woh.rr.com