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I had my first physical therapy appointment today. With each push of my legs on the elliptical machine, I said a word of prayer in my head: Get. Me. Through. This. Lord. One. More. One. More. Let’s. Do. Good. Work.

I’ve always been terrible with exercise. That’s one of my biggest regrets in life. I hit the reset button a few weeks ago though, so I don’t plan to repeat regrets. I want to be fit. I don’t want to just get back to where I was before sickness completely dragged me down. I really want to be athletic. I’m tired of being a lazy twig.

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This would be so much easier without the dizziness from medications, the swollen feet keeping my shoes from fitting, the lack of ability to listen to motivational music.

This is the part where I laugh, because just a few weeks ago I was thinking “this would be so much easier” if I had new lungs.

Shake my head and…

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The physical therapist is speaking into a dictation app on my phone, which is placed just above the workout machine. She’s telling me about how rapid progression will be. About how she had a patient who got to do all these “Firsts” because of the lung transplant: first concerts and all that.

I push a little faster. It hurts so bad. My incisions feel like they’re tearing, my shoulders are burning, my legs cramping. Nah, it hurts so good. I love this. I am feeling muscle weakness before lung weakness. This is amazing. I am so blessed. I can’t wait for the future.

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And dang. Those post-workout dinners are indescribably tasty.

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My goal is to mountain bike with my dad again.