The New Year's Hike has been deemed dangerous and regression waiting to happen by my Physical Therapist, and considering the amount of bruising and agony it has taken to get me just close to where I was before this last slip up, I am sadly, but intelligently, following her orders. There will be no New Year's Day sunrise hike for me.
I'm bummed. I really am. It's a personal tradition of mine, and it's meaningful. Over the years, I've been joined by different, special people in my life, but for me, it has always been an important celebration of being healthy.
Wait. Is that ironic? I hike to celebrate health, yet I am deemed below the health bar to hike this year. What the...? Should I just have a gluttonous brunch and skip the sunrise and sleep in and have a seemingly "normal" New Year's Day since I can't make it? I'm not gonna lie. The thought crossed my mind.
But no. I will carry the tradition on in a slightly new form. Don't worry. For the 4 readers out there who can't seem to miss a blog episode, I will keep you ferociously updated with the change and progress in just a few short days. For now, I'm going to treat you to a little analogous, dim-witted thought.
This hike is the one time that I purposefully take time to acknowledge the self-pride I have in living a substance-free life, but I like to keep that part of me private and internally valid. It isn't a secret, it's just...mine. I am sharing about it, however, because I've drawn a parallel to my sobriety. Yes, that's a theme that many of my blogs have. The deep-seeded life lessons that are wrapped up in everyday life and can then be spit out as a reflective similarity to a torn ACL. I've done it again. Go on. Take a looksee.
I've been very candid about the wonderful, supportive people in my life. Those who are involved specifically because of my injury, and those who are simply my "people" who are in my corner for everything. While I have not individually mentioned many hugely valid people, I have also done the social media bit. You know - when people paint a pretty picture but hide all the ugly truths. Let's be honest, (myself included) we don't post pictures and statuses and interests that don't hold some sort of attention-grabbing quality. We want likes. We want laughs. We want attention. We definitely don't, however, want to be exposed.
What if social media was a screenplay of the late night arguments at home? Or of the 14 outfits you tried on BEFORE you snapped the photo? Of your body when you don't like it? We wouldn't be so inclined to market ourselves if we couldn't filter what it is that is said, right?
Newsflash. Blogging is the same shit. This entire thing could be a lie. Maybe I've never even torn my ACL!
Just kidding. That would be weird and tedious and downright stupid to write a blog for 6 months about an injury that sucks but doesn't exist. I hereby swear that I have, in fact, torn my ACL(s).
I have not, however, told you about the few unsupportive people in my life. I have led you to the many ups and silver linings; I have teased you with my moments of weakness, but I have not given any real indication of concrete crappiness. But alas, I have some. In the form of non-supporters. They are (for good reason) not a big part of my story, but they do exist. And they perpetuate my elementary school mindset of being bothered by not being liked by everyone, regardless of my feelings toward them. I can't stand you, but it's really important that you think I'm awesome. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.
I have this person. Let's call this person Phantom. Why would I choose any other name? Just go with it. Phantom is charismatic. He is not rude or abrupt or deceitful. I wish he was, because then it wouldn't be so hard to believe that he has the power to cut so deep. But he has. And don't read too far into my pronoun use. He could of course be a she.
Now don't get me wrong. The non-support is very coy. I might miss it if I didn't know better. It is decorated with smiles and teasing and years of knowing one another so as not to be so blatant. But it is.
Phantom likes to remind me what I'm incapable of. The obvious, yes - wakeboarding, snowboarding, contact sports, etc. He also likes to remind me that I'm a lesser version of who I used to be. "You used to be fast." "You used to be thinner." "You used to be better at __________."
These cuts don't slice all at once. They're sandwiched by friendly questions, hugs, and interest in other parts of my life. Tricky, eh?
On one hand, it makes it easier to shake off my own insecurities that Phantom voices himself because I become more inclined to want to prove him wrong, but on the other hand, depending on when the sentence strikes, my insecurities brood amongst themselves and create a whirlpool of notgoodenoughs.
The most hurtful thing that Phantom does is exclude me. I'm cut from the invite list of sporting events, games, and activities because I am cast as physically incapable, and therefore a burden. I'm not assuming. He has actually told me this. What's funny (and by funny, I mean interesting without any humor whatsoever) is that Phantom has cast this role on me before, pre ACL tears. Yes, here is my tie-in to the sobriety clause. When I first stopped my interaction with alcohol, I made sure to include friends and family in the conversation so as not to have to deal with the pressures of young adult lifestyle every time I stepped foot into a bar. Years have passed, and it was an easy transition (well relatively speaking) because of this.
The exception? Oh, but of course. Phantom.
Phantom dislodged the idea of life sans alcohol altogether. He said it was in my head. He disagreed. Loudly. He made fun of me and compared me to other people who were more fun. He told me about functions he was hosting that I was not to attend simply because I would not be drinking. You see where I'm going right? No drink = no party. No ACL = no party.
First world problems.
I'm bummed. I really am. It's a personal tradition of mine, and it's meaningful. Over the years, I've been joined by different, special people in my life, but for me, it has always been an important celebration of being healthy.
Wait. Is that ironic? I hike to celebrate health, yet I am deemed below the health bar to hike this year. What the...? Should I just have a gluttonous brunch and skip the sunrise and sleep in and have a seemingly "normal" New Year's Day since I can't make it? I'm not gonna lie. The thought crossed my mind.
But no. I will carry the tradition on in a slightly new form. Don't worry. For the 4 readers out there who can't seem to miss a blog episode, I will keep you ferociously updated with the change and progress in just a few short days. For now, I'm going to treat you to a little analogous, dim-witted thought.
This hike is the one time that I purposefully take time to acknowledge the self-pride I have in living a substance-free life, but I like to keep that part of me private and internally valid. It isn't a secret, it's just...mine. I am sharing about it, however, because I've drawn a parallel to my sobriety. Yes, that's a theme that many of my blogs have. The deep-seeded life lessons that are wrapped up in everyday life and can then be spit out as a reflective similarity to a torn ACL. I've done it again. Go on. Take a looksee.
I've been very candid about the wonderful, supportive people in my life. Those who are involved specifically because of my injury, and those who are simply my "people" who are in my corner for everything. While I have not individually mentioned many hugely valid people, I have also done the social media bit. You know - when people paint a pretty picture but hide all the ugly truths. Let's be honest, (myself included) we don't post pictures and statuses and interests that don't hold some sort of attention-grabbing quality. We want likes. We want laughs. We want attention. We definitely don't, however, want to be exposed.
What if social media was a screenplay of the late night arguments at home? Or of the 14 outfits you tried on BEFORE you snapped the photo? Of your body when you don't like it? We wouldn't be so inclined to market ourselves if we couldn't filter what it is that is said, right?
Newsflash. Blogging is the same shit. This entire thing could be a lie. Maybe I've never even torn my ACL!
Just kidding. That would be weird and tedious and downright stupid to write a blog for 6 months about an injury that sucks but doesn't exist. I hereby swear that I have, in fact, torn my ACL(s).
I have not, however, told you about the few unsupportive people in my life. I have led you to the many ups and silver linings; I have teased you with my moments of weakness, but I have not given any real indication of concrete crappiness. But alas, I have some. In the form of non-supporters. They are (for good reason) not a big part of my story, but they do exist. And they perpetuate my elementary school mindset of being bothered by not being liked by everyone, regardless of my feelings toward them. I can't stand you, but it's really important that you think I'm awesome. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.
I have this person. Let's call this person Phantom. Why would I choose any other name? Just go with it. Phantom is charismatic. He is not rude or abrupt or deceitful. I wish he was, because then it wouldn't be so hard to believe that he has the power to cut so deep. But he has. And don't read too far into my pronoun use. He could of course be a she.
Now don't get me wrong. The non-support is very coy. I might miss it if I didn't know better. It is decorated with smiles and teasing and years of knowing one another so as not to be so blatant. But it is.
Phantom likes to remind me what I'm incapable of. The obvious, yes - wakeboarding, snowboarding, contact sports, etc. He also likes to remind me that I'm a lesser version of who I used to be. "You used to be fast." "You used to be thinner." "You used to be better at __________."
These cuts don't slice all at once. They're sandwiched by friendly questions, hugs, and interest in other parts of my life. Tricky, eh?
On one hand, it makes it easier to shake off my own insecurities that Phantom voices himself because I become more inclined to want to prove him wrong, but on the other hand, depending on when the sentence strikes, my insecurities brood amongst themselves and create a whirlpool of notgoodenoughs.
The most hurtful thing that Phantom does is exclude me. I'm cut from the invite list of sporting events, games, and activities because I am cast as physically incapable, and therefore a burden. I'm not assuming. He has actually told me this. What's funny (and by funny, I mean interesting without any humor whatsoever) is that Phantom has cast this role on me before, pre ACL tears. Yes, here is my tie-in to the sobriety clause. When I first stopped my interaction with alcohol, I made sure to include friends and family in the conversation so as not to have to deal with the pressures of young adult lifestyle every time I stepped foot into a bar. Years have passed, and it was an easy transition (well relatively speaking) because of this.
The exception? Oh, but of course. Phantom.
Phantom dislodged the idea of life sans alcohol altogether. He said it was in my head. He disagreed. Loudly. He made fun of me and compared me to other people who were more fun. He told me about functions he was hosting that I was not to attend simply because I would not be drinking. You see where I'm going right? No drink = no party. No ACL = no party.
First world problems.
Look. I really don't wish this injury upon my worst enemy. It's a mind warp. It has enough content to it to write a blog for half of a year, and it sucks in all honesty. It's not the end of the world or anything, but it's not great for anyone involved. So I don't want Phantom to tear his ACL.
But I would be lying if I said it hasn't crossed my mind before. Not as payback. But as understanding. Tearing an ACL and readapting to life is somewhat like sobriety. You're in the same places with the same people, but the voice in the back of your head is reminding you that you're limited in some capacity. That you're different. Perhaps you're not alone, but you are different.
It's the little things. Like cheersing or dancing or drinking games. The little things that may not be comfortable or even physically possible. Don't get the two mixed up. Dancing is an activity I enjoy regardless of any special liquid involved. My knees, however, have had major timeouts along the way. It's the hard work behind closed doors. The progress that only you can truly appreciate. The number of days away from the culprit and towards health.
Both can be mind-numbing and exhausting and difficult. Both take a lot of work, and oftentimes during inopportune periods of life. But the reward is quality of life. They both take patience and confidence and commitment. They take support and honesty and an awesome sense of humor doesn't hurt either.
And both can feel crazy shitty when people like the Phantom pick at them as character flaws. I don't think of my life choices or injuries or recovery from either as badges of honor. I just kind of think of them as part of me. I take pride in knowing what I know about myself, but that truly is the extent of it. So then why is Phantom so hard on me? I'm sure we can all list quite a few analytic terms and opinions, but it doesn't really matter. What matters is that Phantom exists. And to some extent, we all have had, have, and always will have a Phantom in our life.
But how much power can a Phantom really have? Maybe he is literally a distortion of my senses. Not a non-support person, but a non-exist one. Or maybe they're just one and of the same.
I suppose I give Phantom life. I enable the relationship because the balance of good and bad is off-kilter and confusing at times. Maybe I just want him around to see my success. How lame is that? I talked about privatizing my self-pride, yet needing that actualization to come from someone who's quite frankly kind of an asshole? Why do I do that?
Who knows? Maybe I love the challenge. Maybe it's just a toxic relationship, and I need it to appreciate all of those wonderful supportive people in my life. Maybe I know he means well, but it comes out as brooding, condescending garbage. All very possible scenarios.
For now, I keep Phantom around, but only at a safe distance. Like - a shadow floating around type of distance. You dig?
But I would be lying if I said it hasn't crossed my mind before. Not as payback. But as understanding. Tearing an ACL and readapting to life is somewhat like sobriety. You're in the same places with the same people, but the voice in the back of your head is reminding you that you're limited in some capacity. That you're different. Perhaps you're not alone, but you are different.
It's the little things. Like cheersing or dancing or drinking games. The little things that may not be comfortable or even physically possible. Don't get the two mixed up. Dancing is an activity I enjoy regardless of any special liquid involved. My knees, however, have had major timeouts along the way. It's the hard work behind closed doors. The progress that only you can truly appreciate. The number of days away from the culprit and towards health.
Both can be mind-numbing and exhausting and difficult. Both take a lot of work, and oftentimes during inopportune periods of life. But the reward is quality of life. They both take patience and confidence and commitment. They take support and honesty and an awesome sense of humor doesn't hurt either.
And both can feel crazy shitty when people like the Phantom pick at them as character flaws. I don't think of my life choices or injuries or recovery from either as badges of honor. I just kind of think of them as part of me. I take pride in knowing what I know about myself, but that truly is the extent of it. So then why is Phantom so hard on me? I'm sure we can all list quite a few analytic terms and opinions, but it doesn't really matter. What matters is that Phantom exists. And to some extent, we all have had, have, and always will have a Phantom in our life.
But how much power can a Phantom really have? Maybe he is literally a distortion of my senses. Not a non-support person, but a non-exist one. Or maybe they're just one and of the same.
I suppose I give Phantom life. I enable the relationship because the balance of good and bad is off-kilter and confusing at times. Maybe I just want him around to see my success. How lame is that? I talked about privatizing my self-pride, yet needing that actualization to come from someone who's quite frankly kind of an asshole? Why do I do that?
Who knows? Maybe I love the challenge. Maybe it's just a toxic relationship, and I need it to appreciate all of those wonderful supportive people in my life. Maybe I know he means well, but it comes out as brooding, condescending garbage. All very possible scenarios.
For now, I keep Phantom around, but only at a safe distance. Like - a shadow floating around type of distance. You dig?