Today is one of those days where sitting still is agony.
As I rearrange my legs yet another way to try and achieve some semblance of comfort in my rigid office chair, everything in my body is screaming for me to leap to my feet and run. To go do cartwheels in a field; crash a Zumba class; sprint down the road to the Fraser River and just dive in, water quality be damned.
I’ve gone to the bathroom four times this morning, just for an excuse to get up and do something.
This is a sad state to have arrived at, I realize, when I reflect upon my life thus far. A very sad state of being for me indeed.
I have climbed mountains.
I have snowboarded down other mountains.
I have cycled lakeside hills and forest trails. Run long distances over plains and in stadiums. I have walked unnecessarily long stretches in the dark and the cold, over city bridges and along country roads, when the thought of being squeezed into a bus like a sardine was too much to bear.
I was not built for stillness.
And yet I sit in this office, day after day, moving nothing but my arms and hands, to either type or bring coffee to my lips.
What am I doing here?