Some goals take more humility

Ten weeks ago my sights were set on Halloween.  I kept telling myself that by Halloween I should be able to walk with a minimal limp and no crutches for at least a mile at a time.  If I could get to that point, things would start feeling more like normal and my hip surgery would be a long removed memory.  While pain and a revolving limp are pretty familiar, I surpassed my goal.  I've been walking my boys to and from school, a quarter mile each way, for a month now.  Those obnoxious crutches found a home in my basement and most strangers would have no idea I've ever had major surgery. 

My youngest son was a "fierce spider."  My oldest, Captain America.

I've always been goal driven.  When I wanted something I would run out and take it, work my butt off and grab the opportunity.  I graduated college summa cum laude with a double major in three years.  Yeah it took a lot of late nights and hard work, I didn't play as much as many, but I saw the destination and I got there.  While satisfied, I always knew I would graduate.  It was my path.  There weren't bumps along the way, I didn't  have to practice any form of humility.  It was a diploma of pure grit.

This time I am combining hard work and humility.  I have permanent loss of feeling covering a large chunk of my hip.  When I reach my hand into the right pocket of my jeans, I can't feel it.  There's no sensitivity to touch over a 5 inch square patch.  The two scars are a window into my healing.  When they are red and inflamed, my joint is red and inflamed.  I've learned to find equilibrium in my workouts.  Push too hard and I can't walk for two days without a strong limp and major piercing pain.  Don't push hard enough and the entire joint seizes up in a restricting tightness that makes it equally as hard to function.  I'm trying to learn how to test that balance with muscles that grow daily. 

During hard training runs and races that felt like they would never end I always used to count my steps.  It felt easier as a direct distraction than any simple words.  1-2-3.  1-2-3.  Shoot, I employed this simple method while in full labor racing down Colfax Avenue on the way to St. Joesph Hospital, 45 minutes from our home.  I was fully dilated and cars kept pulling up next to us at each light pointing at me and laughing.  I was breathing hard and ready to tear their feeble heads off.  I stared intently at the clock on the dashboard.  1:45.  1:45.  1:46.  1-4-6.  1-4-6.  1-4-7.  Time is moving.  I am almost there.  

I started my rehabilitation on a bike.  10 minutes everyday for 2 weeks.  No resistance, but very painful.  Patience.  Week three I added 5 minutes.  I looked around at all the people sweating.  I was jealous.  Patience.  Within a couple weeks I added resistance to the spin bike and very slowly worked my way up to 45 minutes.  Patience.  My physical therapist told me to start using the elliptical, but watch carefully for soreness.  I only lasted 5 minutes the first time.  My femur danced garishly around the socket with every pull.  I cursed and jumped off.  After waiting two more weeks I attempted it again, cautiously. I've built up to 30 minutes on the elliptical with resistance, but I still can't handle more than 45 minutes of cardio at one time.  Patience.  Living in the moment is easier than always looking forward.  I find taking smaller bites out of a larger goal is much more satisfying than focusing on what isn't yet possible. 

Strength work is a part of my daily routine.  I ride the bike for 45 minutes and jump off for clam shells, bridges, ball crunches, free weights, planks, push ups, lunges, etc...  I've learned not to do the same exercises everyday.  Each week I ride the bike, swim, and use the elliptical.  My muscles are becoming much more balanced and I feel my strength growing daily.  My legs, glutes, arms, and lower back are all stronger now post surgery.  That is an honest victory.  I can't run yet.  That probably won't happen for another couple months at best, but when I hit the trails again I will be steadfast.   


~Roadburner

Be a Fan