I've never been a big fan of fitness. I know it's good for me. I am glad when I'm done and sweaty and with a few calories less to my name (or body), but I don't necessarily enjoy it. I never understood those people who tell you they just love to exercise, they couldn't live without it, etc. (and with a straight face too). But, I do realize now what a blessing it is to be able to do something like that; even if it’s not your favorite thing.

For all the years I was sick, doctors told me to exercise. "You'll be in real trouble if your muscles atrophy," my very first neurologist said when he diagnosed me with a rare type of neuropathy, and then every visit thereafter. "But I can hardly move my legs it hurts so badly," I'd rebut. "Well, you better figure something out," he non-chalantly repeated. Within months, atrophy started to set in. The most exercise I got was hobbling to and from the car. I couldn't drive because my legs were too weak from the disease to lift between the gas pedal and the brake. Getting from the bed to the bathroom made my heart race. I was clearly out of shape and even worse, I had zero choice. The prescription for atrophy and pain? Exercise. It was a vicious cycle that I was stuck in -- with seemingly no way out. I suddenly silently snarled at everyone who could exercise but chose not to. "It's a gift," I'd think. This horrible beast of a concept I've hated all these years is a freakin' gift. Who knew?

The pain worsened even through months and months of physical therapy. I couldn't do much because I was in pain -- and subsequently a lot of the pain was caused by losing function in my limbs as a result of being deconditioned. The thought of exercise not only plagued me because it was one of my least favorite activities, but because it was yet another thing I couldn't do. As the years went on, my age started to creep up and my muscle tone continued to plummet. I reached the point where many people who have never exercised enter into the I-have-to-do-it-or-I'll-be-sorry phase. I quickly took on an I-can’t-do-it-and-I-hate-that-more-than-the-treadmill attitude, with no immediate hope for relief.

Today, after two months of embryonic stem cells and physical therapy (although light physical therapy compared to what I've had in the U.S. over the years), and a month of being home; I just out walked my dog. We went to the park and walked briskly three times around the track and then explored a riverbed that I've always wondered how to get down to. We half-hiked, half-slid down an embankment and walked the trail for awhile, then back up (a hill) to the car. He's lying on the floor dead asleep now and I'm here, typing this with gusto.

Dr. Shroff and Dr. Ashish, if you are reading this.....no, I didn't overdo it. Chavi, if you are reading this.....no, I didn't skip my regular physio today.

I finally kind of see things from the point of view of those "crazies" who love exercise, although I'm far from becoming one. For me, it’s not the actual activity I have come to appreciate. It’s that my body is actually capable of strong and steady movement free of pain. The revelation that I have accidentally tired out my two-year-old Boxer/Rottweiler who is seemingly always on an energy high, is just the icing on the cake.

Here’s to exercise -- may I never forget the horrific days I couldn’t walk, so I always recognize this beautiful feeling of success.