The Walk

When I stepped into the unit, I found Mom walking down the wide, 25 yard-long hallway. As if blind, she bumped against the right wall which caused her to straighten her inner steering mechanism and veer back towards the center. Her gait was driven, forceful, not fast but definitely furtive, her head bent slightly forward like when we're drunk and our bodies are drawn by some green exit sign to the world beyond or a faraway lavatory's magnetic pull towards relief. The difference being that she didn't stagger. She wasn't inibriated.



Lacking shoes, I saw that a flap of extra blue sock hung out beyond her right toe like a tiny, cozy flipper while a thick red sock snuggled around her foot perfectly. Her definitive step thumped out a clear drum beat across the carpeted plywood flooring. I worried in that moment that walking without foot support would hurt her, cause the bone spurs in her heels and the bunions on the lateral left to scream out. She only grimaced slightly, perhaps because when I caught up with her, she'd reached the end of the hall, the locked exit door, the closure of any escape her mind might have conjured in some single, or, perhaps repetitive moment.

Was she trying to get out? Or, was she trying to get out of the disease that seeped into her intelligent mind? She'd tried on numerous occasions to escape: once she saddled up next to the nutrition staff who carted in an 8-foot metal box filled with hot food trays for the residents. As he wheeled out, Mom stepped in line with his cart and slipped out the door to freedom, to the unlocked, assisted living area where the senior aged front desk woman caught her heading out the front door. "Mary! Are you going out for a walk?" She knew that Mom was a Houdini of sorts. "You'll need a coat. It's quite cold outside." And from there, she escorted Mom back into the locked Alzheimer's unit where she could take a stroll within the confines of the locked courtyard and gardens.

Walking kept her going. She wasn't idle until the disease began to affect her balance -- about a year later. Her muscles and tendons stiffened and she spent a lot of time in a love seat rocking up and back in ab-killing half-crunches. I tried these at home and couldn't accomplish even half the amount she did during one visit.

Who needs an Ab-Cruncher (for three payments of just $19.95 + shipping & handling if you act now!) when you could simply try following the Mary Strohecker exercise regimen? She did half-crunches from the cushiony couch, like a rusty bear trap's jaws that opened only slightly before slamming shut again. She was a Jack LaLanne fan forever, starting many mornings with his 5am televised exercise routine before she headed off to work. While I sat beside her in the over stuffed couch, I wondered if this was one of the episodes he recorded: non stop crunches during a cocktail party.

Mom walked. She walked endless laps in the hallways, she once told me 'to keep her muscles loose. Everyone here is so staid and stale! Nobody moves!' She'd windmill her arms then tuck her elbows in and ante-up her velocity in a power-walker mode. For as long as possible, she walked away from, or perhaps, tried to escape the Alzheimer's that crept up on her and nibbled away at her life, intellect, love, and energy.

That green EXIT sign never allowed her to get away from it.