The Stretch

Touching your toes is about breathing out. Everyone says so. You exhale, you let your arms go, and they just travel. Mine stop somewhere around my shins.

I've tried exhaling at several speeds. I've tried it in the shower. I've used a doorframe, and a bed, and a very firm opinion.

My physical therapist is named Dana. In March she measured me at fourteen inches from the floor. In April, fourteen. In May, fourteen. She wrote each number on the chart, and I read them upside down, and I'm fairly sure it was the same pen every time.

At every session she holds a clipboard out at floor level, right where my fingers would land if things went well. I reach for it. I don't touch it. We both look at the gap.

Last week she lowered the clipboard.

I've decided that's progress for both of us.