<p>I admit this is an odd question, but as someone who has never been able to walk independently, I wonder why people value the ability to walk (and run, jump, dance, carry things, walk up stairs, etc.) so much. I mean, I can see the utility in some of it, like walking up stairs, and perhaps the fun in things like dancing, but I guess, having never experienced walking, I just can’t fully wrap my head around why it matters so much to people. Is it fun? I suppose this is somewhat like that old saying about describing a sunset to a blind man, but I’m just curious.</p>
<p>I don’t think walking is fun, exactly, but I do think it’s satisfying in the way a lot of physical movement is satisfying. </p>
<p>If you have the use of your arms, think about how you feel going to the gym and using those arm muscles. When you work out your arms at the gym, you can feel a burn, see what your body is capable of, and simply feel happy giving yourself that work out. Running is satisfying because of that work out: you can feel your muscles working and you can see the results by how fast the ground is moving underneath you or by how far you’ve run. In order to run well, you need to challenge your body to do more than it normally does. You probably think mostly about the legs, but the real challenge is often in your lungs and your will power to continue even if you’re in some pain and really need to push yourself to continue.</p>
<p>The satisfaction in walking is somewhat different. I do like using my leg muscles. If I spend a long time sitting or lying down (especially if I’m sick or something), I can feel that I’m not using my muscles. It’s strange. I guess it’s like knowing how to play the piano, seeing a piano, and not playing. Why wouldn’t you want to play? If you do sit down to play, even if it’s something very simple (comparison: walking instead of sprinting), you feel some satisfaction from exercising that part of you. I think there’s also a notion of independence to it. For able-bodied folks, walking is almost the definition of independence. That’s of course not a notion held by most people who are in wheelchairs or have other reliable ways to get around. People who can walk, though, depend on it. Usually the only experience people have of not walking is after injury or during serious illness when they became dependent on others. In those cases (like being very ill or having a sprained ankle), people may not have any way to get around. Even if someone has been given crutches, a walker, or a wheelchair, the person has no experience with how to get around that way and may feel pretty helpless, at least at first. </p>
<p>Anyway, I’m not sure whether I explained myself well, and for all I know everybody else gets a different value out of walking/running/etc. than I do.</p>
<p>Independence. The ability to go anywhere, anytime, without needing assistance. You are lucky the US has made it easy for people with disabilities in many situations. Being able to go up stairs without needing to find/wait for an elevator or going to a ramped entrance. Going on rough terrain in the woods, sand, water without help. Much faster than needing a walker/wheelchair et al. Easy to suddenly decide to get up from a chair, go do something trivial and return. Flexibility, options in getting from point A to B. All of the above just leading a mundane life. Then there is hiking in the woods, walking in crowds…</p>
<p>I have worn glasses/contacts since age 6. I would have loved to be able to see the clock by just turning my head without picking it up and holding it close when I first woke up. And all the other inconveniences of myopia- seeing while swimming, no fogged lenses, time spent cleaning glasses/contacts, inserting/removing contacts… Other analogies for mobility can be made. </p>
<p>You may not get too many responses to your query as many will not wish to point out how much you miss when not able to do something most people don’t give a thought to. It is always better to have an ability than a disability- it is much more convenient. Another analogy- it is also better to have than not have money, one can survive, even thrive, without riches, but life has more possibilities with funds. You may not miss what you never had and may not realize the efforts others make to include you in their activities- you must have a nice circle of people who make you feel good about yourself. Congratulations on being well adjusted to your mobility needs.</p>
<p>Good addition on the independence issues. I didn’t even think of a lot of that. It’s very automatic.</p>
<p>I think the most difficult part some people is when they were once able to walk and move independently, and to lose that ability, due to an injury or illness. My mother-in-law is now confined to a motorized wheelchair, due to a stroke. She hates it, and I often think that if she could focus on all the things she CAN do, instead of what she lost, her outlook on life would be much better. I wish she had your outlook. </p>
<p>Her experiences have also opened my eyes to all the weak attempts at making some facilities “accessible”. While may places are great, I have let many people get a piece of my mind when we’ve had a struggle getting in and around in a building, or the supposed “handicapped” restrooms that make it overly difficult on the people who need to use them.</p>
<p>In college, I was inspired by a grad school on campus who was blind. He was a runner, a skier, and an outstanding musician. People like him, and you, teach the rest of us how to have a much healthier outlook on life.</p>
<p>Tobia_e: I’ll give you as honest an answer as I can, since you did ask, and since this is something I think about virtually every day. As wis75 says, I do feel a little awkward answering when I’m touting an ability that’s out of your means, but I recognize your candor, confidence, and embrace of your own abilities, so I will answer in kind.</p>
<p>About 12 years ago, I lost the ability to walk unaided for more than a year. I was hit by a car, and both legs were broken, one of them very severely (comminuted fractures, healing issues, several surgeries.) I went from wheelchair to walker, to crutches for a very long period, to a cane for quite a while longer. For me, the experience was humbling and enraging at the same time. I hated the awkwardness, the dependence, the limits. My home was not very accessible, lots of stairs, wide doorsills that kept me inside. I have always been a walker–walking is what I do when I need to think, and I was angrily frustrated by not being able to do so. I missed out on activities of my kids, who were forced into being more independent and taking on more responsibilities (not a terrible thing, in retrospect, but guilt-making at the time.) Because of the healing issues, I felt for a time it would never get better, and I’d be better of just cutting off the errant limb. I know that sounds crazy, but that’s what it felt like at the time.</p>
<p>After the passage of time which was really not as long as it seemed then, I finally regained the ability to walk. I felt like I had the old me back. I’ve become more cognizant of the blessings of my life, and have always felt that way since, through some major crises (the usual life stuff.) Even though my family is in the midst of a minor crisis at this time, I remind myself that I am a fortunate person. This morning, with some heavy stuff on my mind, I will go out and walk before work, and i’ll feel better for it.</p>
<p>Perhaps it would be different if I had never had the ability, but having lost it, then regained it, it truly is something I never take for granted. Which reminds me not to take more important, vital things in life for granted, either.</p>
<p>Like garland, I have had an injury that temporarily took away my ability to walk.</p>
<p>I was frustrated by the awkwardness and dependence, too, and by the fact that everything was more difficult and took longer. But I recognized that much of the problem was due to my environment rather than my body.</p>
<p>I couldn’t take a shower – but it wasn’t because I couldn’t walk, it was because I live in a two-floor house, and the only shower is on the second floor. If there were a decent-sized bathroom with a shower or tub on the first floor, I could have taken a shower easily (with the aid of some cheap adaptive equipement).</p>
<p>I couldn’t go out of the house without considerable assistance, but it wasn’t because I couldn’t walk, it was because every entrance to my house has steps. Given a ramp or an apartment building with an elevator, I could have gone anywhere I wanted with the aid of the local wheelchair taxi service.</p>
<p>I was actually pleasantly surprised by how independent a person can be while using a wheelchair – in situations where the environment allows it, such as the first floor of my house or most well-designed public buildings.</p>
<p>I’m not much of an outdoors or sports person, so I didn’t care about the changes that a wheelchair poses with regard to those activities. But I realize that for some people, these would be huge issues. Also, I have a desk job, where walking is irrelevant. For some people, the limitations on job choice posed by being unable to walk would also be a major issue.</p>
<p>Personally, though, I found that I could do, on my own, most of the things that mattered to me – working (from my home), doing at least some housework (though I kept getting the wheelchair tangled in the vacuum cord), shopping (online shopping is a wonderful invention), and taking care of myself physically (though this part involved some lessons and special adaptive aids provided by the friendly OT). It was difficult and time-consuming, but I could do it. (I had injuries that involved the leg and arm on the same side, which is somewhat different than having a problem that involves both legs but not the arms. For example, I did transfers differently than a paraplegic would. But in general terms, I suppose the degree of complexity of dealing with a two-leg problem is probably similar to that of dealing with a one-leg, one-arm problem, even though the techniques are different.)</p>
<p>I assume that if my problem had been permanent, I would have had to move to a home that did not pose so many barriers. I think I would also have at least tried to find out about vehicles that I could manage myself.</p>
<p>But there would still be barriers. One of the ones that would really bother me, I think, is the inability to visit most other people’s homes. Also, I would think that going out in bad weather, particularly winter weather, would be a continuing challenge. Travel of any sort would be more time-consuming and difficult than it is for a person with no mobility impairments. And the lack of other people’s understanding and appreciation of the needs of people with mobility impairments must be a very irritating ongoing problem. (Anyone who parks illegally in a handicapped space should be shot on sight.) The fact that people stare at you and assume that anyone with a physical impairment must also be mentally impaired must also be an irritation. (How can people not realize that having a mobility impairment means that you need MORE skills, not fewer of them?)</p>
<p>I don’t particularly consider walking fun. I value it mostly because we live in an environment that works better for people who can walk than for those who can’t. If I had been unable to walk permanently, it would be the inconvenience and limitations of that situation that would bother me, not the inability to walk itself.</p>
<p>What value? Well, I literally spent thousands of dollars this year to maintain my ability to walk (after insurance covered even greater expense). I chose to have a plate permanently installed to strengthen my femur (and allow me to get around with just a cane) rather than use crutches for only 3 to 4 months. I value walking and independence a lot–for the pleasure it brings, for the ease of getting around. If I had to choose between driving and walking, I’d take walking. </p>
<p>Why? For me, a daily walk of three to four miles stabilizes my life; I don’t know how else to describe it. I get out six days a week. I watch the seasons change. I’m out in the spring mists/rain, the summer dry, the fall winds, and the winter blahs. Some days I get out before dawn because I can’t wait. If I had to, I’d figure out how to do that with a wheelchair or scooter or whatever… but I honestly hope I never have to.</p>
<p>I thought this thread was going to be about a lawsuit. Sorry, lawyer brain. </p>
<p>A big part of the enjoyment for me is just standing up. I’m tall, and I love my height. I like walking around with a nice high view of things.</p>
<p>But if I lost the ability to walk, I’m confident that I would want to keep plugging away at my life. The thought of losing my sight or the use of my hands is much more frightening to me.</p>
<p>I am always noticing if buildings are handicap accessible or not. We just went to a wedding in a fancy hotel. It was an older building and had some elevators, but many reception rooms were on 1/2 stairways up from a grand hallway. They had some sort of rigged elevator thing on the stairs but it looked awkward and I’m sure you have to request it (and have the assistance of a hotel employee) to use it.</p>
<p>So sheer convenience is the best reason for being able to walk indoors, IMO. </p>
<p>But as the saying goes, most of us are only temporarily able-bodied.</p>
<p>Hi,
Thanks for all the responses, and don’t worry about making me feel bad–if I haven’t come to terms with being disabled for 19 years, it probably isn’t going to happen any time soon. As it is, I’ve always felt somewhat “lucky” (relatively luck, I suppose) that I was born this way–I’ve never really known what I’m missing. It’s not that I have a good attitude about it or anything like that; it’s just that walking to me is a bit like flying to everyone–it looks fun and useful, but I don’t have any real idea what it would be like. For example, my disability causes my muscles to twist naturally in weird ways that are really unnatural and probably painful for anyone else, but I always have to wonder, “How can you NOT stand with your leg twisted in?,” “How CAN you sit with your legs back?,” and so forth. To me, this feels normal, even though it shouldn’t, because it’s all I’ve ever known. A blessing and a curse, I guess.</p>
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<p>I’m not trying to start a fight here, but I take a bit of offense to the implication that I’m a burden on my friends— with some things, like getting around our horribly inaccessible sorority house, yes, I’m a burden, and I feel bad about it, but I believe that my friends are my friends because they chose to be–that they see something likeable in me and that they chose to be around me, despite my human flaws, physical and otherwise. Maybe I’m naive, but I’d like to think my friends and family see me first and foremost as another person, for all that entails.</p>
<p>Hanna, as someone who has impaired arm/hand function but more imaired leg function, I can say that personally I’ve probably struggled more with the inability to walk (many, many, many inaccessible building out there… the ADA is a paper tiger more than anything in my experience) than the limited hand function (impaired ability to write and do other fine motor tasks), though of course, it varies depending on the situation at hand and YMMV.</p>
<p>The world (physical, employment, etc.) is largely inaccessible to people like me. Even when I was a young child, I remarked to my parents that the world was “an obstacle course” for me. It can be hard and frustrating, but at the same time, I know that I am very lucky because my disability won’t progress or kill me. I also know that I am the type of child no one would want, the “severely disabled” infant that many would use in a pro-abortion argument. I know there’s a high, high statistical chance that I will end up unemployed, and that there’s probably, objectively, a lot of missing out on. I also know, however, that a lot of people get dealt much worse fates andthat there’s no guarantee that one of those fates won’t hit me as well. </p>
<p>I know I am disabled, too, but have nothing to compare it to, so I asked you the above question. Thank you for your answers.</p>
<p>To those of you who answered, I have one more query to test your way with words: What does physical balance feel like?</p>
<p>Thank you.</p>
<p>^^To me physical balance mostly doesn’t feel like anything. It just happens. I really notice it only in its absence - like when dizzy or otherwise tipping over for some reason.</p>
<p>Except in extreme examples, like trying to walk a tightrope or something, there is no sense of actively keeping balanced.</p>
<p>Try laying down on your back- say in bed- and raise an arm straight up. When your arm is in balance it takes very little effort to hold it up, as opposed to holding it at an angle, where gravity fights you. Standing balanced on two feet puts the forces directly in line with gravity, lean over and it is hard to stay upright.</p>
<p>You are lucky you have friends who enjoy your company. Everyone can be a burden to someone- the friend who takes forever to be ready to go someplace, the one who dawdles over lunch, the one who says just a minute and always takes much more time- all these people place a burden on those who must wait for them if they wish to include them in their activities. Attitude ameliorates any sense of a person’s actions (or lack of them) being a burden. There are times when people will have thought of doing something but quickly, even without thought, abandon the idea because they want to include you and can’t- a circle of friends doesn’t consider what they could be doing if only you were able to, they just do what everyone can, or find a way to help you do it. That’s why you are lucky- not everyone has people who care for them as you obviously do.</p>
<p>GReat question, tobia_ and good answer, wis75. </p>
<p>I would add that walking has been described as controlled falling. When you are in forward motion the weight is constantly being transferred, smoothly, from one leg or balance point to the other. It’s pretty neat that we learn to do this as, um, toddlers, and then don’t have to think about it anymore unless and until something interferes–an injury, an inner ear balance problem, old age.</p>
<p>As an analogy to your original question, I wish I could ask a bird how flying feels. To be able to negotiate through 3 dimensions! How DO they do it?</p>
<p>Or the klutzy among us would like to know how ballet feels (beyond beginner’s plies & pointing toes.) Leaping & twisting through the air and landing exactly where one intends to is pretty cool too.</p>
<p>Then there are the incredibly pliable Chinese circus gymnasts…:eek:</p>
<p>I guess my point is, your life is what it is, and you don’t really “miss” what you’ve never been able to do.</p>
<p>Live in Manhattan for 6 months and you tell me that walking is useless.</p>
<p>On the other hand, futurenyustudent, Manhattan would be an ideal place to live for people with some types of disabilities.</p>
<p>I’m thinking here of people who are able to walk but who cannot drive a car because of a physical problem such as limited vision. In Manhattan, the inability to drive a car is irrelevant. Practically everywhere else, it places significant limitations on your everyday life.</p>
<p>Marian, I know a wheelchair-user who tried living in our city but it just wasn’t convenient for him–had a great job but couldn’t get housing near it so transportation was a constant worry. He moved back to Manhattan where he had been before, and daily life is much easier*.</p>
<p>*Easier for wheelchair users; not willing to state categorically life is “easier” in other ways than here in the Midwest!</p>
<p>I walk because If I don’t, I will die that much sooner. Also it gives me a chance to talk with my spouse and exercise my dogs.</p>
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<p>If you could not walk, you could still find ways to exercise and reap the health benefits of physical activity.</p>