Not Dead Yet Day

It’s been seven years. That feels like a long time.

It’s been seven years since that Monday morning when I went up to ski for the morning … and ended the day laying paralyzed in a hospital bed.

But I didn’t die that day. So, in recognition of the anniversary of me not dying, I celebrate Not Dead Yet Day. Today, seven years later, just like every March 18 since 2019, I celebrated the holiday by skiing.

It was a beautiful day to spend the morning skiing with my family. 

Disagreements in a Civil Society

I don’t want to write this, because to do so will force me to wrestle some with the tragic reality of our current political climate. I really don’t want to post this, because history has taught me to expect that many people will respond with aggressive disagreements.

I’m gonna post it anyway, though, because I believe that one of the most important things we’ve lost in our public political dialogue is the expectation that it’s appropriate and healthy to disagree in a civil manner.

With that, here are my thoughts in reaction to the murder of Mr. Charlie Kirk.

It seems that this deplorable act of violence was probably a political act (though at the time of this writing, that assumption has not been verified). Even though our nation has a history of dealing with it, politically motivated violence is unnecessary and detrimental to the health and longevity of our society.

But violence is easy, especially when we don’t see the ‘other’ as being fully human. Military leaders have known for generations that it’s easier to convince soldiers to kill each other when the other side has been demonized – when one side becomes convinced that the other side is less than human.

Any time we make assumptions about another person based on their political opinions, we ignore the other person’s humanity (and we scrape away at our own humanity as well).

Is this where we are as a nation? It seems to me that folks with liberal political opinions demonize conservatives, and see them as less than human. It seems to me that folks with conservative political opinions demonize liberals, and see them as less than human.

In our society, it should always be acceptable to disagree. The free exchange of ideas should always be encouraged and celebrated.

But this is not what’s happening these days. Instead of encouraging political disagreements, conversation, and discussion, we’re jumping to conclusions about anyone who doesn’t agree with us – about all of their political opinions, about their motivations, and about their humanity.

We have to change how we operate. If we don’t make societal changes, we either won’t have a nation, or it won’t be worth living in.

It is absolutely unacceptable that Mr. Kirk was killed. He was a beloved child of G-d, and his life was valuable. The theological and political opinions he promoted are hateful, and should be ignored and argued against. But he absolutely should not have been assassinated.

We have a choice as a society. Either we decide to stop the violence that has woven its way through our political and social life, and then begin to behave and believe and act like we belong together ... or we continue to vilify one another, we continue to believe the worst about a whole category of people with whom we have political disagreements, and we continue to kill each other.

Nothing good comes from the latter choice, so I choose the former. In order to do what I can to work to bring about choosing to stop the vitriol and violence, I commit to at least the following:

• I will remember that those who disagree with me on political issues are beloved children of G-d;
• I will debate ideas, and will not attack the person who promotes those ideas;
• I will not vilify, denigrate, or disparage individuals or groups, especially those with whom I disagree;
• I will not make sweeping generalizations about those with whom I have political disagreements;
• I will point out and work to correct any hateful speech to which I am exposed;
• I will work to correct any comment which lumps a whole group (liberals, conservatives, etc.) together, especially when those comments are not obviously applicable to the whole group.

There’s no way that I, as one singular person, can change a whole society. But if there are enough of us who commit to making positive changes, then perhaps there’s a chance that we can reclaim a healthy and vibrant civil society.

$0.02

I Walked A Lot Yesterday

Me, struggling through
a beautiful landscape

I walked a lot more yesterday than I do on a normal and regular day. Interestingly, most of the walking I did yesterday was while pushing a bicycle.

See, what happened was that The Rift (the gravel bike ride I signed up for months ago) was yesterday. On the one hand, I didn’t train nearly enough for a ride of this length. And also, this ride beat me up quite a bit more than I expected it would. Some of the reason was simply that I was moving through this course for 12 hours; some of the reason was that the terrain was considerably more difficult, and more consistently difficult, than I anticipated. 

Everyone had the option to choose between the 200k course or the 140k course. I registered for the longer course, and expected that if I could make it to the first rest station before the cut-off time, that would indicate that I could probably finish the whole course. However, thankfully, I didn’t make it in time.

When I rolled in to the check point late, the course bouncer walked up to my bike with a knife before I’d had a chance to stop, and literally cut my race number off my bike. I got cut off. And then he gave me the option to either turn around and backtrack the 50k to the start, or to keep going but ride the 140k instead. I was really tempted to turn around and take the shortest route back to where I could rest. And I’m really glad to have finished the shorter course. I’m also glad for my new friend Lavan, who suggested when I got cut off that we ride together for the last 90k (and who took the above photo of me walking my bike up a hill).

The Icelanders have a sense of humor,
which can be poignant and timely 

There was a moment, when I was riding alone and before the cut off checkpoint, where I really wasn’t having any fun at all, and was ready to just throw in the towel. I was struggling physically, and I knew that there was a lot more physical struggle to come … and those things added to the mental struggle.

I’m really glad to have finished the 140k course, but I have to admit that I wasn’t actually glad to still be out on the course 100% of the time I was out there riding – and especially not when I was walking. I’m really glad to have finished the 140k course, because I was able to prove to myself that I’m still at least somewhat capable.

I haven’t decided that I want to do The Rift again. Also, I haven’t decided that I don’t want to.

It's Gonna Be Ugly, and it's Gonna Be Beautiful

 I signed up for it all on my own. I signed up, all on my own, to ride my bike farther in one day than I've ever ridden before. And the ride I signed up for is on gravel. 

First Post-Accident Gravel Ride

Before, long ago, I didn't think twice about signing up for a long bike ride. Before, long ago, I rode my bike a lot more than I do now, and I was in significantly better physical shape then compared to now. So I could sign up for a long ride, and then just go and do it. But I haven't gotten my cardio fitness back. And while I was never really all that strong - since the accident, I certainly haven't been able to regain especially my leg strength. 

I'm worried that I won't be successful in completing this ride in a couple days. If I am able to finish, it's gonna be a struggle. 

The ride is in Iceland. It goes up into the highlands lava fields, to the general area where earth is separating from earth and magma bubbles up becoming lava, then cooling to become rock. The scenery on this ride promises to be surreal and amazing. 

So it seems like I'll get to suffer in the midst of a wondrous landscape. I have a feeling it's gonna be ugly. And it's gonna be beautiful. 

Betrayed

When the snow is good, and the slope isn't too steep, I can kinda keep up. 

I went skiing last week. I was at a theological conference where we study early in the morning, we study later in the evening, we pray together morning and night, and we have free time during the day. This conference happens near a ski area, so many of us spend our free time on the slopes. 

I had gone to this conference, and skied with some of the regular attendees, before I broke my back and injured my spinal cord six years ago. The vertebrae have healed. The spinal cord injury, though, is something I’ll be affected by for the rest of my life. My muscles don’t work the way they’re supposed to. 

All things considered, my spinal cord injury is relatively mild. I can walk without crutches or a cane. I can ride the bikes I was riding before the injury. I can ski on the same gear I was using when I was injured. But I don’t ski as well now as I used to be able to do. 

Beautiful snow conditions

When I ski on powder or on snow that isn’t entirely packed down, I have more control over my skis. I can turn where I want, and I can ski a little faster because that right ski tracks where I want it to go and I feel like I’m in control. In those conditions, I am in control. I can kinda keep up.

By contrast, when I ski on snow that’s packed and rutted by other skiers or that’s icy, I have no problem turning right. I feel secure, confident, and in control. But when I turn left in those same conditions, my right ski and boot and foot and leg and butt chatter around, and I feel like I’m not in control. I’m not in control. So I ski really slowly on those slopes. 

Before the injury, I was a decent skier. I wasn’t super fast, and I wasn’t great on the most challenging slopes. But I could mostly keep up, and I almost always felt like I could control my body; I felt like I could make my muscles do what I asked them to do. 

Now, by contrast, I feel betrayed by my body. And it’s not just on the ski slope. Church pews, icy sidewalks, flights of stairs, automobiles, and curbs are a few of the obstacles I encountered over the past week when I wasn’t able to make my muscles do what they were supposed to do. 

The thing is, my injury isn’t a humungous problem. I feel a little embarrassed writing this post, because I worry that some of my seven readers will think I’m complaining about something that isn’t noticeable, and so isn’t actually an issue. 

But I notice. My movement is hindered. My confidence is limited. I feel betrayed by my own body.

Back Squats and Squat Cleans

I did back squats earlier this week. They were programmed at the gym where I work out, but I couldn’t get to the gym that day … so I did a few sets in the garage. I hadn’t done back squats for years, maybe not since I broke myself over five and a half years ago.

Back squats scare me now. I’ve been front squatting since the accident with no (psychological) problem. See, if the bar is too heavy during a front squat, you just drop it in front of you. But if the bar is too heavy during a back squat, you have to move quickly to get out of the way when you drop the bar it doesn’t land on your back. And I get worried about injuring my back, especially since I don’t move very quickly or with much agility any longer.

But this week I sucked it up, put some (light) weight on the bar, and did some back squats. Something wasn't quite right, though. So I shot some video of me squatting, and it was ugly. It was obvious that I don’t have the range of motion I once did, and I have almost no strength in the bottom of the squat.

These things were on my mind yesterday when the coach at the gym told us that the cleans in the strength portion of our workout were supposed to be squat cleans. I haven’t done squat cleans for years, probably not since I broke myself over five and a half years ago. I had lost much of the mobility and quickness and explosive strength that’s necessary to do that movement safely.

Back when 60 kilo cleans were easy

So yesterday at the gym I thought, “I’ll do power cleans instead” … until I remembered the ugly squats from earlier in the week and recognized that I won’t ever build up strength and mobility in the bottom of a squat without actually doing the work. So lightweight squat cleans it was. Twelve reps. And three of them, for the tiniest part of the lift, felt almost perfect.

I still wish my current physical limitations would just evaporate, that the injury to my spinal cord would magically heal itself, and that I would be able to move like I used to. I still look with nostalgic envy at other people in the gym when they're lifting as much as I used to lift. But my muscles still don't work the way the should. I still have a hard time placing my feet exactly where I want them to be when I approach the bar. The lifts are still not as smooth as they should be. I still limp when I walk away from the barbell … and everywhere else.

But for those three reps, a tiny part of the movement felt like it did six years ago. I had set up correctly before the lift. The barbell went up smoothly. I found just enough explosiveness from my quads and glutes that I felt it - there was that split second during the third pull when I extended fully, the barbell floated weightless, and I moved almost perfectly under the bar so I could catch it on my shoulders. 

Those three tiny moments, while the bar was weightless as I moved the way I used to, felt really good.

Frustration and Losing Hope ... ???

I was wondering if, or when, it would happen – and it has. I’ve gotten to the point of regularly being frustrated.

I’m not talking about work, or about family, or about politics, or about global warming. While each of those things sometimes is (or can be) frustrating, what I’m thinking about in this moment is physicality and movement.

See, here’s the thing. After I broke myself, when I was laying in an ICU bed, I remember being able to move my left arm, but not my other three limbs. I started at Craig Hospital in a motorized wheelchair. The switched me to a standard wheelchair after a couple days, which I used until I was released. I walked out of the hospital using crutches, and went home with a wheelchair in the car, which gathered dust until I returned it to Craig.

I spent months using one or two crutches to take some weight off of my legs while I was walking – and then moved to hiking poles, because my balance was still pretty bad. I don’t remember specifically when, but there came a time that I could walk without any additional support. I walked awkwardly, and felt like I looked like I was perpetually drunk.

For most of that time I was subconsciously hopeful, and expected that the way I was able to move would continue to improve. And for a long time, that’s what happened – I would regularly notice that some set of muscles was stronger or some movement more fluid than it had been. I subconsciously hoped, and almost expected, that those improvements would continue.

I used to be way more
graceful, less awkward

Recently, though, that subconscious hope seems to have vanished, because it’s been months since I experienced even a hint of physical improvement. And that feeling of frustration was exacerbated when I watched a video from this past weekend of (among other things) me walking – in which I looked almost as awkward as I felt.

Please don’t misunderstand. I am and will remain tremendously grateful that I’ve been gifted with this much improvement in mobility so far. And I intend to continue to try to regain the remainder of what I’ve lost. And simultaneously, it’s tremendously frustrating, when I’m walking up stairs, to have to choose between 1) intentionally being conscious to actively think about which muscles are working and 2) tripping.

We Went Bowling

We went bowling the other day. The weather wasn't ideal for being outside, so we went to the bowling alley (there was also an arcade, laser tag, a restaurant, and a bar). 

I enjoyed bowling back in the day. I remember going bowling a couple times with my family, and I went with my friends at least a few times when I was in high school. It was fun. I was never actually very good, and never cared that I wasn't. No, that's not true. I wished that I was good, but not enough to even want to think about spending a bunch of time getting good. I was good enough to almost always throw at least one strike every ten frames, and good enough to bowl 185 this one time. 

I always felt like my technique was decent, that I was in control of how I moved, where I stepped, and how aggressively I sent the ball down the lane. We went bowling once fairly soon after I got out of the hospital. I was ridiculously weak, had really bad balance, and was nowhere close to being comfortable with the new way my legs moved. So I used that ramp-thing that little kids use. But the other day I didn't use that ramp-thing. 

I bowled all on my own, assuming (without thinking about it) that I would be able to bowl just like I had done when I was young. Except when I took the first approach I was at least a foot and a half too far back. So I started my approach a little forward of where I always used to. And then I fell down. Twice. 

And I realized that I'm not able to bowl like I used to, My approach was much shorter than it used to be, my footwork was awkward and halting, and my arm swing was uncertain. So I had to figure out how to be better. So I slowed down, picked up a lighter ball, focused on the placement of my feet and my arm swing, and tried to replicate what I had been able to do before the accident. 

After a few frames that were mentally exhausting because I was focusing so much energy on which muscles move in which ways, I bowled a strike! I was briefly excited. But obviously I can't be satisfied with one singular strike for more than a couple seconds. So immediately after I bowled a strike I thought, "Well, if I can bowl one strike, then I can bowl two." So I did. 

After the second strike I thought, "Cool. Also, I've never bowled a Turkey (three strikes in a row). I wonder if there's any way under heaven that I would be able to bowl another strike right now." And I did. 

First ever Turkey. On the same day that I was struggling because I can't bowl like I used to be able to. 

So once again I was face to face with the reality that I'm physically different after the accident than I was before. And also I was confronted with the truth that I actually am able to work with or through my altered physicality to do new things, or to do old things in new ways. 

Which means, I suppose, that I'll continue trying to get better and stronger and more physically adept at whatever I try to do. 

Not Dead Yet Day

Yesterday we celebrated Not Dead Yet Day, the anniversary of the date I sustained a spinal cord injury. Yesterday was five years since I broke myself on the side of a mountain. We celebrated by skiing at Eldora, the same resort where I hurt myself. It was a beautiful bluebird day, and we were skiing on good snow that had fallen a couple days before. 

As we were driving down the mountain after skiing, I realized that we were traveling at probably the exact same time as I had traveled from the mountain to the hospital five years ago - this time we took the trip in a car instead of a helicopter. 

It was a good day because of the company. It was a good day because of the snow conditions. It was a good day because I'm still able to ski. It was a good day because I'm not dead. Yet.

My amazing wife took a couple photos of me skiing yesterday. The run I was on felt challenging while I was skiing. I made it down without wiping out, which I felt pretty good about. 

After we got home, I looked at the photos. That run looks really easy, and I look really hesitant. I don't look like someone who's taken on a challenging route, and navigated it successfully. I look like a beginner who's relatively uncomfortable in their body. 

Which, I suppose, is accurate. Not only while I'm skiing. Awkward and hesitant is how I feel most of the time while I'm skiing. It's also how I feel most of the time when I try to do almost anything involving my legs. Climbing stairs, turning a corner while walking, putting my shoes on - these things all take intentional conscious thought, and feel awkward.  

Yesterday though (for maybe the first time in the past five years), a couple of the runs we took were really good. The turns felt smooth, I felt like I had control of both legs, and I was pretty sure I could have stopped when I needed to. I felt like I was skiing; I felt like I remember feeling on skis before the accident.

Those moments were fleeting. I went right back to feeling awkward and hesitant. But I'm gonna do my best to remember the good runs instead of dwelling on the others. 

Agility

I ran across some photos of me on a church league softball team that reminded me of how I used to be able to move. I was never the best athlete, but I used to be fairly light on my feet, relatively nimble, and capable of at least passable proficiency at almost any physical activity I spent much time attempting. I'm not nearly so nimble on the baseball diamond any longer. 

I also discovered that I'm also not nearly as agile at tennis as I once was. We got out onto the court recently with the elementary school aged boys, who had never played tennis before. I was about like you'd expect, including a few times when the ball was lobbed over my head. As I turned and started heading back to the baseline, I realized that at one time it would have been easy to make that shot; and now I wasn't going to get there in time. Walking is hard enough. Running in a straight line is tough, and making a turn takes a lot of concentration. Running while looking over my shoulder and needing to move to one side or the other is almost disastrous (if falling and scraping my knee is a disaster). 

Someone recently asked me if, early on in the post-accident recovery, riding a bike was easier than walking. At that time I had to strap a crutch to my bike so that I could walk when I got where I was going. So, yes. When I first got on a bike again, cycling was easier than walking. In fact, even now cycling is easier for me than walking. When I'm on a bike, I can just ride. When I'm walking now, if I want to not stumble, I generally have to consciously think pretty specifically about which muscles to engage. 

And walking is certainly easier than playing tennis, or baseball, or basketball, or soccer, or racquetball, or volleyball. But I had fun on the tennis court. And it might be fun to try any of those other games again, too. I guess that means I have to add some agility work back into my fitness routine. 

I Can Curl My Toes

I can curl my toes.

I just realized that a couple weeks ago. I don’t know when I regained that ability, but I can curl the toes of my right foot.

Standing up at BCH

A few years ago when I was beginning to recover after having broken myself on the side of a mountain, I started learning that some of my musculature no longer worked the way it used to. The first time I got out of bed after the accident, I couldn’t do it - what I remember is that it took four people to lift me from the bed to standing, and then to move me to sitting in a chair.

At Craig Hospital, the amazing physical therapists helped me learn to walk again. I’m really glad I have the amount and degree of mobility that I do, because no one was sure what my outlook was early on.  

Still, as much as I’m able to get around pretty well these days, I feel like I hobble around. I still don’t have quite as much control over some of the muscles as I used to - not quite as much control as I would like to have. I still limp when I walk, some days more obviously than others. Left turns on the ski slope are much more difficult and unstable than right turns. I have to use my hand to pick my leg up if I’m gonna step up on a higher step (or box, or anything else).

And I could not curl the toes of my right foot. Until just a couple weeks ago. 

Early on I was told that the first six months after the accident were the most crucial for working to regain whatever mobility I could; then, after the first six months, I could expect another 12 or 18 months of continued, but slower, recovery. I recall the staff at Craig telling me that after a couple years they didn’t know how much recovery was possible, because there wasn’t data. My own personal experience indicates that physical recovery continues to occur, though is much smaller and more imperceptible amounts. 

Imperceptible, at least until I notice that I can curl my toes, and I remember that I was absolutely not able to do so a year ago. 

fwiw

Pilgrims' Feet

I climb stones

which, having born the weight of

prayers

Stairs at the Church of the Nativity

hopes

     tragedies

     dreams

     celebrations

     sorrows

     longings

     memories

are worn smooth, concave

by generations of pilgrimage

Three Traditions

I got to travel to Israel and Palestine recently. In fact, I'm writing this from Palestine. Unless you completely don't pay attention at all, you'll know that this part of the world is a holy place for at least three religious traditions and billions of people. I was lucky enough to be there during significant religious holidays. 

Easter Celebration in Bethlehem

Since I'm a Lutheran pastor, I wasn't really able to travel before Easter Sunday - so my son and I planned our travel to visit my daughter just after Easter Sunday in the Western Church. This happens to be a year when Passover and Ramadan and Orthodox Easter celebrations all overlap with each other.

There certainly is significant inter-religious conflict and strife. Still, and not to take away from the problematic realities of this holy place, to my perception it's a beautiful thing to know that while Passover is being celebrated, and while Muslims spend the days of Ramadan fasting before they gather together at sundown for a communal meal, Christians are bustling about preparing for Easter festivities. The way I see it, the reality that each group is practicing the disciplines of their faith alongside one another is beautiful.

Of course I know that there are undeniable conflicts between these religious groups; the sociopolitical realities of Israel and Palestine are more complex than this simplistic reflection can address.

And still, I think that there are worse things in the world than different traditions practicing their own disciplines alongside one another.

$0.02

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

Annual 14er climb

I have a tradition. Every year, on or near my birthday, I climb (or attempt to climb) one of the Colorado 14ers - mountains that reach to higher than 14,000 feet above sea level. I missed attempting a climb three years ago, because at that time I was still using crutches to walk down the sidewalk. 

These days even though I don’t need to use crutches to walk down the sidewalk, I still use trekking poles when I go hiking. They help me keep my balance when I’m navigating tricky parts of the trail, and they help me keep my balance on the simple and straightforward parts of the trail. 

The view from high on Huron Peak

This year we climbed Huron Peak. It’s one of the mountains that barely rises high enough to qualify as a 14er, topping out at 14,006 (according to 14ers.com). It’s one of the mountains that has a really straightforward and simple (but not necessarily easy) trail to the top. 

And I struggled. I struggled with (a lack of) fitness. I struggled with breathing at that elevation (related, at least in part, to the previously-mentioned lack of fitness). I struggled, like I do regularly, with making sure my foot ended up where I intended it to end up for almost every step of the 9.6 mile round trip. I struggled with lack of stamina, ending the hike completely worn out and stumbling over flat ground in the final two miles to the car. 

I continue to deal with the effects of a spinal cord injury that I sustained a few years ago, and I continue to deal with (relatively minor) mobility issues as a result of that spinal cord injury. The injury slows me down a little bit, especially compared to how much I might have been slowed down, if the effects from the injury were more significant. Basically, it slows me down enough that I’m frustrated by how I move, especially because I remember how I was able to move through the high country before the accident. 

And at the same time, even though I walk slowly and carefully and sometimes awkwardly, I actually am able to walk - not only down the sidewalk, but also through the high country. 

I’m continually back and forth - always thankful that I can move as well as I can, and always frustrated at what I’ve lost. 

Here’s the thing, at least for right now. Even though I am able to walk, I still wish I could still leap between boulders, and hop down steep trails, and bound down the smooth trail. I can continue to work on stamina and fitness. But I still lament that I might never have the ability to move through the mountains, or anywhere, the way I used to.

Advertisement for CrossFit

 It was three years ago yesterday when I was allowed to walk around the world without continuing to wear a brace which kept my neck and torso from twisting. In other words, three years ago, I got out of the turtle shell. 

PT in the turtle shell three years ago

One of the computer algorithms reminded me of that anniversary while I was working out yesterday. When I checked my phone after the workout, I saw the reminder - so I scrolled back to a few days prior to that anniversary in my photos, and found one of me doing a workout (aka, outpatient Physical Therapy) while I was still in the turtle shell. 

Being reminded just after a workout yesterday of where I was three years ago felt like a pretty good advertisement for CrossFit, especially because the post-workout conversation I was involved in had us looking up best times for one of the named CrossFit workouts (Nancy, if you’re curious - my best time is 15:07). 

At a competition six years ago

I was fitter before the accident than I am now. I was stronger, faster, more mobile, more agile, and generally more capable. And the fact that I was relatively fit is likely a significant reason that I’m currently not either in a wheelchair or walking with crutches. 

Part of the reason that I can move around as much as I can now is luck. If my spinal cord injury had been complete, I’d be in a wheelchair no matter how fit I would have been before. But my spinal cord injury was incomplete, which means that I did not lose all sensation and muscle control. So I’m lucky because my injury could have been more significant. 

And also, part of the reason I can move around as much as I can now is because I had spent seven years working out in a CrossFit gym trying hard to improve my fitness - strength and mobility and agility and capability and persistence and resilience. 

I believe that the fact that I’m able to walk without assistance, that I’m able to move around the world in a way such that most people likely wouldn’t notice that I have a physio-neurological impairment, is (I believe) a huge nod to the effectiveness of CrossFit. 

$0.02

God is Good?

 "God is Good", he said to me. We had talked very briefly about the accident a few years ago; I had mentioned that even though I currently have some mobility limitations and some muscles that don't work like they're supposed to, I had started recovery in a wheelchair. 

"God is Good" was the reply. 

While I certainly believe that statement to be true, I find the context to be problematic. I don't remember much about the time I was in the ICU, but I do remember the doctors and nurses asking me to squeeze their fingers with my hand, to push down and pull up with my toes. I vaguely remember unsuccessfully willing those squeezing and pushing and pulling muscles to work. 

At that moment, I had use of my left hand; my right arm and both legs didn't work. It was a significant and real possibility that I was facing the prospect of learning how to move through the world in a wheelchair. 

What if I hadn't regained my ability to walk? What if my right arm was still useless, and I'd'a had to learn to be left-handed? Is God still good? 

I absolutely do feel fortunate that I've regained as much mobility as I have. I absolutely do believe that God is good. I don't necessarily believe that those two things are directly related to one another. I can't believe in a God whose benevolence is so directly tied to one individual's physical mobility. 

Almost Three Years

It’s been almost three years since I broke myself on the side of a mountain. We’re gonna spend the anniversary day tomorrow skiing with family and friends. 

That'd be a nice line to ski

From early on after the accident, people have asked when I’ll be fully recovered; or they ask if I have fully recovered. Early on, I started answering those and similar questions by saying that I’ll never be fully recovered; that I’ll always experience some lingering effects from the accident and spinal cord injury. 

I might be starting to believe that myself. 

Because while I continue to make improvements, those have become much more subtle - the kind of thing someone else would never notice. For instance, recently I’ve been able to stand up from the couch without pushing up quite so much with my arms. And I’ve been able to engage my hamstring a tiny bit more so that I don’t drag my foot quite as much when I get out of the car. 

I might be starting to believe that I’ll never recover fully. But it continues to be really interesting (and sometimes pretty frustrating) to experience life through a new body that all of a sudden (three years ago) didn’t work the same way it used to. 

Regardless, we’re gonna have a good day celebrating the three year anniversary of Not Dead Yet Day.

I Used To Move Like That: A Minor Lament

Last week we tried to summit a 14er - Mt. Princeton, which is known for the standard route to the summit crossing a long stretch of talus slope. Hiking across boulders is slower going than walking on a dirt-surface trail. 

My balance since I broke myself isn’t as good as it used to be; the control I have over the muscles in my leg is reduced compared to before I broke myself; every time I take a step, I place my foot carefully (and that goes for walking down a sidewalk … it’s a much more significant mental endeavor on uneven surfaces). 

On the way down, after we took in the gorgeous view, I was making my way very slowly and carefully across the talus slope. We paused for a moment to let another hiker pass us. After we shared polite pleasantries, he continued on his way. I watched him move quickly across the talus, and I remembered a hike we took a couple years ago. 

On that other hike a couple years ago, I was also passed by a guy who was moving quickly and smoothly down the trail. In my memory, he was carrying a small child in a backpack as he moved swiftly and smoothly down the trail. 

The guy on Mt. Princeton reminded me of the guy a couple years ago. Both of them moved smoothly, both of them moved quickly, and neither of them looked like they were rushing. 

I used to move like that.