I Count Myself Lucky

I count myself lucky. 

I will likely never regain the physical capacity that I lost three and a half years ago. Once in a while, it really bums me out. 

This morning, for instance, I remembered some of the jobs I’ve had. I’ve worked on a construction site, I’ve had a couple of jobs in restaurants, I’ve hauled hay (the old school way from 35 years ago, where you walk through the field picking up 75 lb bales one at a time and throwing them onto the trailer that’s driving through the field). 

I realized this morning that during the time I’ve been a pastor, I always had in the back of my mind the idea that if the church ever decides that they don’t want me in this role any longer, I could go get another physical job like I used to do. 

Except that this morning while I was thinking about those jobs, I realized that I probably wouldn’t be able to do them now, because I haven’t regained enough mobility. 

The truth is that I probably won’t ever need to get a physically demanding job again. And I can get around well enough to do everything that I need to do without any accommodation - two truths for which I count myself lucky.

Nobody Cares: Train Harder and Ride Faster

I sewed a patch on my gym bag a couple months ago. It says, “Nobody Cares: Train Harder”. Not too long after that, I saw an advertisement for customizable headset caps to go on bicycles. I ordered one that echoes the gym bag patch - “Nobody Cares: Ride Faster”.

I look at these when I start to slow down during a workout or on a training ride. They remind me that I’m in charge of my own fitness. I could come up with lots of excuses to go easier in training. However, the excuse won’t make me any fitter. Putting in the work will. 

I’ve spent the past couple of years getting used to being resigned to the truth that I’ll never have the physical capacity that I used to have. Not too long after I was released from Craig Hospital (one of the premier Spinal Cord Injury rehabilitation facilities), folks asked me if I was 100% recovered. I replied that I was not, and never would be, back to full capacity. 

And I’ve repeated that statement plenty of times over the past three years. I repeated it enough that I started to internalize the message. It was a slow and subtle attitudinal shift, but I went from:

* working diligently to regain as much of what I had lost in the aftermath of the accident as possible, to

* working some, but writing off my limited capacity to the accident.  

The other day I was riding my bike home from work. As I started up the one significant hill on that route, I started to slow down. My subconscious mind allowed me to slow down, because I wasn’t in shape like I had been before the accident. Then my conscious mind remembered the headset cap, ignored the excuse, and rode faster for the rest of the climb up and over the crest of the hill. 

As gravity started to help me out on the downhill, I passed by a bus stop at a wide spot in the road. I remembered that spot as being a place where I had to stop to rest when I first started commuting to work by bicycle after the accident. 

I will likely never regain the physical capacity that I lost three and a half years ago. I’ve decided, though, to ignore that reality - and to train harder and ride faster. 

$0.02