You Put Your Right Hand In

A number of years ago, as a new student to Pilates, I was informed by my instructor – an intimidating drill-sergeant sort of woman – that I was completely lopsided. I was, she continued, horrendously unbalanced – my right side completely dominating my left. Her tone implied that I was as close to a freak of nature as anything that she’d seen in some time.

As I grew to know this woman, I understood that I could not be bothered to take personal offense with anything that she said. Were I to do so, I’d be unable to take her classes. “Tough love” would be far too kind a term to describe her teaching style. In spite of – or perhaps because of – this, I returned over and over to her classes. They were amazingly effective.

Besides, I couldn’t afford not to go – now that I knew about my horrible affliction. However had I had managed to live in ignorance for so long? After spending many long hours and days pondering the dilemma, I identified the root of this evil. Juliet Juniper. Caninus Maximus Strongus: the ultimate restraint-resistant 70-pound ball of canine muscle. Not only had I been walking 3-5 miles daily with her for eight years, but I had been doing it using only my right hand. Even worse: She strained against the leash the entire time we were walking, and if she spotted another dog she surged forward with enough power to have broken through several heavy-duty collars in her lifetime. It was, I realized, no wonder that the right half of my body had developed super-human strength.

Sadly, identifying the cause of the problem did not fix it overnight. My life – instead – became much more difficult as I began to walk Juliet with my left hand. This sucked. Juliet could overpower my left side with no trouble at all, which proved to be quite problematic – and embarrassing – on several occasions.

Many years (and many left-side specific exercises) later, I’ve grown much closer to a “balanced self.” My left side is still not as strong as my right, but it plays a good game. Imagine, then, how disturbed I was to notice – last week – that my right hand (and other right-side parts, by extension) had begun to step in where it was not necessarily welcome. Without warning, it would reach for something that the left hand had intended to grasp, or it would assume control of a device just as the left hand had begun management.

Where, I wondered, had this attitude come from?

I had spent many years teaching my right hand that about the value of “stepping back,” of “working cooperatively.” Now it seemed as if none of these lessons had truly taken hold. After a period of thought, I identified a likely reason for this right-sided domination: my recently-developed addiction to the game of solitaire. The game I play is not just any solitaire....it is the sort of electronic solitaire that is available on my phone. You can imagine how handy this is. I play solitaire if I’m standing in a line, I play solitaire if I’m waiting for someone to meet me, I play solitaire if I’m talking on the phone. Sadly, I also play solitaire at many other times, including the time right before I drift off to sleep. Yes, that is right. Late at night, you can find me curled on my side, eyes drifting shut but hand – RIGHT hand – clinging to the bright face of my phone, moving the red 7 to the black 8.

It is embarrassing to admit to, this addiction. Even more so now that I realize the effect that is has had. You see, it is much easier to play solitaire with my right hand – especially if I am sleepy. As my addiction has increased, so has the strength and dexterity of my right hand.

This confession is not just embarrassing – it is detrimental. It is the reason that I find myself – tonight – working once again on reprogramming my body. LEFT hand, I remind myself sternly as I reach for the refrigerator door. LEFT HAND, I mentally shout as I lift ingredients off the cupboard shelf. Moments later, I reprimand my right hand for attempting to take control of the spoon.

As I eat my macaroni and cheese, my left hand – always a good sport – does its best to hold up its part of the arrangement. The first spoonful is so full of heaping macaroni that I nearly choke on it.

“That’s okay,” I assure my left hand, whose self-confidence is now flagging. “I’m really hungry anyway.”

The next spoonful contains a mere two pieces of macaroni. “Wow,” I enthuse, “way to adjust! You’re a fast learner!”

I hope that it doesn’t hear my stomach growling, protesting the slow pace at which dinner is now appearing. The third try is once again overflowing, and I briefly entertain the idea of letting the right hand – now sitting smugly next to the bowl, taunting me with its availability – take over. I see a tremor of uncertainty in the hand holding the spoon, and my resolve strengthens. My mouth closes firmly over the pasta, and I barely choke at all.