Larry got to take a 4 mile walk with me thanks to my new strength and we rewarded ourselves with a juice freeze! "Hey. I did something to my knee."
If I had a dime for the number of times I've gotten a text/phone call/frantic meet up that begins with this phrase...I'd have a jar full of dimes.
I don't think my knee is given much thought by others - I wouldn't expect it to be. They can't write a 9-month blog about this crap - that would be awful for them. My knee is given a CONSIDERABLE amount of thought, however, when a family member or friend has that "oh no" moment where they are succumbing to the fear of having done the blasted ACL.
My heart drops for that sentence. To be clear, I don't know JACK about knees. I know a lot about ACLs. I can usually give the thumbs up or down within a couple of seconds, though I'm no doctor. And then I see it. The realization. The butwhatamigoingtodo look. I don't know why ACLs are an epidemic. But everyone knows someone who has done it, which allows everyone to know they don't WANT to do it.
I give general advice. Listen to your PT. Don't count on a timeline. Continue to exercise. But...I usually know...there really isn't a perfect way to prepare for an injury that takes the wind out of your sails, especially for active individuals. Finally, I just say, "It will be ok. You'll be fine."
That's what my dad said to me the night before I went in for my third surgery. I wrote a blog about being a badass and taking care of this recovery like a boss. I was motivated and monitored and muscular going into everything, and somewhere along the way, I hit roadblocks, speed bumps, and uphill battles. Despite it being my third go-around. I didn't do things perfectly, though I did them better. So my advice to the "first timers" and devastated newcomers to the exclusive, but unwanted club is not necessarily warranted. "It will be ok. You'll be fine" is really the only truth I have to share.
Because it's true. It will be ok. And you and I will both be fine.
This past week, almost exactly 7 months post-surgery to the day, I hit my stride. I'm not 100% recovered, but I'm close enough to have some peace of mind while I reflect over the past 8-9 months.
As I sat with one of my friends last week after she got the news about a torn ACL, I empathized. I know those fears. Fear of weight gain, fear of inability to participate in socially active activities, and fear of the poor recovery. Those are all real things. Real fears. Watching someone else go through them is more out of sight, out of mind. Knowing you're about to go through them yourself is a quick, hard hit. I saw myself in 2011, the first time I tore my ACL. And then again in 2013. And then again in 2014. I saw each of my "former selves," who had pushed through each surgery. I'm not the same person. I missed out on a lot, did things wrong, and dealt with other cruel and trying moments without the ability to rely on my physical outlets.
Perhaps I wouldn't ever pick that journey again, but I am grateful for the person it has helped me become.
You know that feeling when you first have a crush on someone? You can't wipe the smile off of your face, and everything seems happy and sunny? You pick out a better outfit, cook a better meal, and walk with that extra pep in your step? You bite your lip to conceal your little secret and the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, but anyone can see that you're glowing.
I have that right now. Not for a new love, but for a familiar feeling and accomplishment. I have that feeling for my knee and its progress. I have that feeling for reaching that sprint that I've been dreaming about for the past chunk of a year. I'm giddy over hard work that has paid off - I don't know if 2011 me could appreciate that type of feeling.
Nothing is perfect. I'm not the me I was in the months leading up to this blow out. I actually thought that me had it all figured out. Rather than see this injury as a set back that drew me back from that me, however, I think it was more of a humbling experience. Of course I didn't have it figured out. And this was a nice reminder that I am on the constant path to becoming a grown up.
If I had a dime for the number of times I've gotten a text/phone call/frantic meet up that begins with this phrase...I'd have a jar full of dimes.
I don't think my knee is given much thought by others - I wouldn't expect it to be. They can't write a 9-month blog about this crap - that would be awful for them. My knee is given a CONSIDERABLE amount of thought, however, when a family member or friend has that "oh no" moment where they are succumbing to the fear of having done the blasted ACL.
My heart drops for that sentence. To be clear, I don't know JACK about knees. I know a lot about ACLs. I can usually give the thumbs up or down within a couple of seconds, though I'm no doctor. And then I see it. The realization. The butwhatamigoingtodo look. I don't know why ACLs are an epidemic. But everyone knows someone who has done it, which allows everyone to know they don't WANT to do it.
I give general advice. Listen to your PT. Don't count on a timeline. Continue to exercise. But...I usually know...there really isn't a perfect way to prepare for an injury that takes the wind out of your sails, especially for active individuals. Finally, I just say, "It will be ok. You'll be fine."
That's what my dad said to me the night before I went in for my third surgery. I wrote a blog about being a badass and taking care of this recovery like a boss. I was motivated and monitored and muscular going into everything, and somewhere along the way, I hit roadblocks, speed bumps, and uphill battles. Despite it being my third go-around. I didn't do things perfectly, though I did them better. So my advice to the "first timers" and devastated newcomers to the exclusive, but unwanted club is not necessarily warranted. "It will be ok. You'll be fine" is really the only truth I have to share.
Because it's true. It will be ok. And you and I will both be fine.
This past week, almost exactly 7 months post-surgery to the day, I hit my stride. I'm not 100% recovered, but I'm close enough to have some peace of mind while I reflect over the past 8-9 months.
As I sat with one of my friends last week after she got the news about a torn ACL, I empathized. I know those fears. Fear of weight gain, fear of inability to participate in socially active activities, and fear of the poor recovery. Those are all real things. Real fears. Watching someone else go through them is more out of sight, out of mind. Knowing you're about to go through them yourself is a quick, hard hit. I saw myself in 2011, the first time I tore my ACL. And then again in 2013. And then again in 2014. I saw each of my "former selves," who had pushed through each surgery. I'm not the same person. I missed out on a lot, did things wrong, and dealt with other cruel and trying moments without the ability to rely on my physical outlets.
Perhaps I wouldn't ever pick that journey again, but I am grateful for the person it has helped me become.
You know that feeling when you first have a crush on someone? You can't wipe the smile off of your face, and everything seems happy and sunny? You pick out a better outfit, cook a better meal, and walk with that extra pep in your step? You bite your lip to conceal your little secret and the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, but anyone can see that you're glowing.
I have that right now. Not for a new love, but for a familiar feeling and accomplishment. I have that feeling for my knee and its progress. I have that feeling for reaching that sprint that I've been dreaming about for the past chunk of a year. I'm giddy over hard work that has paid off - I don't know if 2011 me could appreciate that type of feeling.
Nothing is perfect. I'm not the me I was in the months leading up to this blow out. I actually thought that me had it all figured out. Rather than see this injury as a set back that drew me back from that me, however, I think it was more of a humbling experience. Of course I didn't have it figured out. And this was a nice reminder that I am on the constant path to becoming a grown up.
That's a thing, right? Like...when you "become" a grown up, is that it? You look back on non-grown up life from a distant tunnel, but you never actually revert to anything less than that? I think that's prohibiting and unlikely. It's the same with my knee. Sprinting at my full speed, brace and pain free these past few days doesn't mean I don't have sight of the many moments before that was a possibility.
It feels good, though, and I'm giddy about it.
I'm also incredibly grateful. I'm grateful that I have taken the time to get to know myself throughout my recoveries. I'm grateful for the challenges that arose in order to push me to limits I had never considered - not just physical, but emotional and mental. I'm grateful for the unwavering support from so many - even when I haven't relayed my gratitude. I'm grateful for being 7-months post op and sprinting. I'm even more grateful for the people who helped get me there though.
I'm grateful for going through the journey - and still being on it. I saw my friend's face. It's a long time. She wants it to be 9 months from now...NOW. For once, my knee became the object of envy. I know that feeling. I would do anything to be closer to the end than where I am now.
But I'm grateful for those moments because they make every new bit of progress that much sweeter. Those moments of wearing that brace in 90 degree heat, wearing flats to the black-tie party, and the moments of eating too much, doing too little, and feeling sorry for myself were all real. The outsideofknee life events that have gone on during the recovery have hurt just a bit more without the ability to hike and run and rollerblade away my pain. But I'm grateful that I've gotten through it in different ways. I've grown up, but I'm aware that BEING a grown up isn't necessarily an absolute. I guess a more accurate statement is, I'm growing up.
I'm grateful for gifts people have given me that have truly made a difference! The blender, art supplies, thoughtful cards and sentiments. I'm grateful for trainers and professionals who have been there every step of the way when it came to dos and donts in the gym. I'm so grateful, I'm giddy.
Maybe it's because I've been here before, or maybe it's because I have never been to THIS exact place before. Maybe I'm older and more experienced or maybe I'm more open to my youth and lack of experience. I have no idea. But I've had my Forrest Gump moment. I've shed the brace, hit my stride, and made it far enough along to feel just as badass as I once projected.
I see the fear in people's eyes for me when they see me picking up speed or participating in activities. I'm fragile in their eyes. What if I do it again? It hasn't been long enough.
Yes. Anything could happen. I think I have proven that to be true. Sure, I'm more cautious now, but certainly not to the extent of over-doing it. If I can go from a torn and triad lifestyle to a giddy and grateful pattern of growing up, I have plenty to keep me focused on doing what feels right. I'm not immune to blowing out my knees again just because it's happened too many times already. I'm not blind to everything that came before this just because I feel invincible (well, relatively speaking) and wiser.
I feel for my friend who is just starting the long trek, but I am aware that she will have moments similar to mine. And in the scheme of our lives, these moments will be short and few compared to all of the other ones we compile.
And I know that in the end, it will be ok, and I'll be fine.
And if that's not the case - chances are it probably isn't the end.
It feels good, though, and I'm giddy about it.
I'm also incredibly grateful. I'm grateful that I have taken the time to get to know myself throughout my recoveries. I'm grateful for the challenges that arose in order to push me to limits I had never considered - not just physical, but emotional and mental. I'm grateful for the unwavering support from so many - even when I haven't relayed my gratitude. I'm grateful for being 7-months post op and sprinting. I'm even more grateful for the people who helped get me there though.
I'm grateful for going through the journey - and still being on it. I saw my friend's face. It's a long time. She wants it to be 9 months from now...NOW. For once, my knee became the object of envy. I know that feeling. I would do anything to be closer to the end than where I am now.
But I'm grateful for those moments because they make every new bit of progress that much sweeter. Those moments of wearing that brace in 90 degree heat, wearing flats to the black-tie party, and the moments of eating too much, doing too little, and feeling sorry for myself were all real. The outsideofknee life events that have gone on during the recovery have hurt just a bit more without the ability to hike and run and rollerblade away my pain. But I'm grateful that I've gotten through it in different ways. I've grown up, but I'm aware that BEING a grown up isn't necessarily an absolute. I guess a more accurate statement is, I'm growing up.
I'm grateful for gifts people have given me that have truly made a difference! The blender, art supplies, thoughtful cards and sentiments. I'm grateful for trainers and professionals who have been there every step of the way when it came to dos and donts in the gym. I'm so grateful, I'm giddy.
Maybe it's because I've been here before, or maybe it's because I have never been to THIS exact place before. Maybe I'm older and more experienced or maybe I'm more open to my youth and lack of experience. I have no idea. But I've had my Forrest Gump moment. I've shed the brace, hit my stride, and made it far enough along to feel just as badass as I once projected.
I see the fear in people's eyes for me when they see me picking up speed or participating in activities. I'm fragile in their eyes. What if I do it again? It hasn't been long enough.
Yes. Anything could happen. I think I have proven that to be true. Sure, I'm more cautious now, but certainly not to the extent of over-doing it. If I can go from a torn and triad lifestyle to a giddy and grateful pattern of growing up, I have plenty to keep me focused on doing what feels right. I'm not immune to blowing out my knees again just because it's happened too many times already. I'm not blind to everything that came before this just because I feel invincible (well, relatively speaking) and wiser.
I feel for my friend who is just starting the long trek, but I am aware that she will have moments similar to mine. And in the scheme of our lives, these moments will be short and few compared to all of the other ones we compile.
And I know that in the end, it will be ok, and I'll be fine.
And if that's not the case - chances are it probably isn't the end.
RSS Feed