This morning when I bear-hugged Sheri from the toilet and carried her to the hallway her arms were forced out because my arms were under hers. They got in the way when I carried her through the doorway and I was worried that I bruised or cut her elbows or triceps.

This evening I asked her if she had any injuries there. She did not, but she couldn't visualize how I could have carried her in such a way that would injure just her elbows. I put her in a bear-hug like I did in the morning, told her to go limp, and intended to carry her through the doorway. She is small in size. Her weight is in the 25th percentile for women, that is, 75% of all women are heavier than she is. (You can look up the statistics for yourself, but I am not telling you her weight.) This morning I picked her up just like she was a three year old. Didn't even think about it.

When I tried this evening I could pick her up, but it seemed like it took three or four times as much effort to pick her up and I struggled a bit. I couldn't just hoist her up and go like I did this morning. Then it hit me that it was the adrenaline coursing through my body that made her weight seem inconsequential. I have heard stories like that, but couldn't really picture what that would feel like. In the heat of the moment it didn't seem to take any more effort to move her than it would to take a bag of mulch out of the trunk in the summer. I guess it is comforting to know you have that reserve power boost you can use in emergencies.