Two wild horses

Recently, more and more time in each session of my rehab has been dedicated to doing a variety of exercises in a standing position. This is following on the work I’ve done using the Neuro Kinetic Pilates method that I’ve learned in Maui and almost always using the Core Align, an amazing piece of Pilates equipment that allows me to push my limits in a standing position while remaining safe and secure and minimizing the risk of falling. (See this previous link to remember what I’m referring to)

By finding new ways to establish movement through my lower body, I’ve encountered a new challenge. I call it the shakes. Put simply, my legs start to shake… and shake… and shake… and just when I think I may be done, my legs shake more. The video below is a perfect example of what I’m talking about and it occurs after some 15-20 minutes of doing squats or lunges or any of the other exercises I’ve been doing recently to target my quads and improve my standing stability.

It took me a while to really understand what this was. At first, when I would tell some people experienced with SCI, they would shrug it off and say that it’s simply clonus and just another typical example of the cervical level injury that I suffered. Clonus is defined as “involuntary and rhythmic muscle contractions” and it is commonly seen in many people with spinal cord injuries. But, like the doctor testing your reflex by tapping your knee with a hammer, clonus is also a reflexive result and can be tested for and replicated by a practitioner. After doing these tests with me, the PT scratched her head in confusion and confirmed that I definitely didn’t have signs of clonus.

So what’s with the shakes?

As with nearly everything else in my path of recovery from SCI, I’ve had to figure it out myself.

To put it as simply as possible, until recently, the controlled movements that I had in my legs were all based on a single movement pattern. Since I was first able to start bridging and standing up independently with a walker, I’ve contracted my leg muscles using a specific pattern of engaging them and it’s gotten me really far.

But since I started doing some new standing exercises a few months ago that target completely different muscles, I’ve established a new pattern of movement and carved out a new neurological pathway. Muscles that haven’t really contracted or have only had minor contractions and been overpowered by other dominant muscles are finally being forced to contract. And since my spinal cord can’t manage the communication between my brain and my legs as effectively as possible, those muscles start freaking out and shaking like crazy. It often feels like I’m trying to stand on two wild horses hell-bent on roaming the countryside.

It takes an extraordinary amount of mental effort for me to keep working these new patterns and strengthening these new neurological connections but it’s a great sign that I’m able to gain new movement and work underutilized muscles that are being forced to step up to the plate and show their stuff.

While I get annoyed with the shaking since it forces me to slow down and struggle through the movements, I still take it as a positive thing. If establishing new neurological connections, gaining strength in previously underperforming muscles and finding new ways of movement mean that I have to deal with two wild horses shaking like crazy, then so be it.

Swim like a cannibal pioneer

Throughout my journey of recovery from spinal cord injury, as I’ve maintained my focus and commitment on reaching my ultimate goal of getting back on my feet and walking, I’ve learned the value of setting and working towards smaller goals. The proverbial mountain I’m trying to climb is bigger than anything I’ve ever experienced and I have been, and continue to be, in it for the long haul. I’m proud of the progress I’ve made and the accomplishments that I’ve achieved (all of which I was told I wouldn’t do) but I would be lying if I said that my journey has been anything but arduous, full of challenges, breakthroughs, moments of immense frustration and moments of unparalleled hopefulness.

Because of the immensity of my goal, I have found focus and comfort in setting smaller, more attainable objectives and working towards those. The best example of this was the months and months of hard work I did that was dedicated to the moment I would be able to finally stand up on my own and ask Brita to marry me.

I’ve previously shared my newfound love of being in the water and swimming largely because of the freedom I feel from the weightlessness and the relief of pain from not having to deal with gravity and its impact on my body. Last summer, I set a goal to complete a 2.4 mile open water swim and I thoroughly enjoyed the process of training as well as actually completing the swim. But I remember that the moment it was over, I was already looking ahead to the next challenge. A couple months later, during a trip to visit friends, Brita and I swam in Lake Tahoe’s smaller, slightly warmer, less sexy and well-known but still gorgeous neighbor: Donner Lake.

Since I was seeking a new swimming challenge and wasn’t quite able to find an existing event that could serve the purpose (the swims weren’t long enough or they were relays with too much distance or the water temperature and other conditions were too challenging), I decided I would make up my own event and the answer couldn’t be more obvious.

Though I toyed with the idea for quite some time, it’s only recently that I finally put the pieces together and decided that my new challenge would be to circumnavigate the perimeter of Donner Lake, which by my best Google Earth estimates, comes out to 5.8 miles.

Yes it’s more than double what I did last summer, yes it will be at 6000 feet of altitude, and yes with my steady but very slow pace of swimming it will likely take me the equivalent of a cross-country flight, but I couldn’t be more excited about it. I want the swim to be about so much more than just my personal commitment to work towards this goal (I’m going to do that no matter what) so I’m inviting friends and others to join me in this endeavor. Whether swimming is completely new or a familiar activity, working towards a personal goal, whatever that may be, is what I want to encourage.

The non-profit that a few friends and I recently established (more to come on that on a future post) will be organizing the swim and raising money for our mission. If you’re interested in participating, you can join as a swimmer or non-swimmer (there are options to kayak, paddleboard, or just simply hang out, cheer and support), just comment on the post or contact me individually.

Because it’s in Donner Lake, near Donner Pass and everything else named Donner, the swim is the Donner Party Swim. For those of you not from Northern California who didn’t hear the story of the Donner Party pioneers (yes there was cannibalism involved) a thousand times as a child, educate yourselves here.

Before my injury, with a fully functional body, I could barely swim a quarter of a mile in the pool before gasping for air and calling it quits. Two years ago, I could swim no more than a couple hundred meters but only with a snorkel and many rest breaks. A year ago, I thought it would be nearly impossible to swim 2.4 miles in open water. Now, it’s time to work towards something much bigger and more challenging, to prove that I can do it, but also to remind myself that this will be just another step in my larger journey of recovery and reaching my ultimate goal.

Dimming the muscle switch

With the arrival of 2016, and with it the continued realization that time passes faster and faster every year, it makes me reflect back on the goals and objectives that I set for my recovery last year, to the unfinished goals that I will carry over into the new year and to new objectives I will set for my continued path of spinal cord injury recovery.

I can confidently say that my body has changed significantly in the past year. In the last couple of weeks especially, I’ve been doing a lot more work in standing positions and my trainer has challenged me and in turn pushed the limits of the Pilates equipment (which have probably never been used for some of the exercises we do…) by coming up with novel ways of strengthening my current abilities and building off of those to challenge my body to find the next steps of function.

As a result, my endurance to stay standing – while much less than I would like – is noticeably better than it was even a month or so ago. I’ll share a video below to show one of the recent exercises I’ve been working on and one that went from needing a lot of assistance a couple of months ago, to now being able to control everything relatively smoothly on my own.

So where do I go from here?

One of my main goals for 2016 will be what I’m calling “dimming the switch.” I use the analogy of a light switch because it applies quite well to what I’m referring to.

Right now, the engagement that I get to the muscles of my lower body generally works like a light switch, meaning when I turn a certain set of muscles on or perform a particular movement, those muscles are on 100%, working hard, contracting strongly. When I decide to change positions or turn off, everything just kinda releases all at once. So I’m stuck with a light switch; on or off; 0 or 100%, with not much control of the in between.

For example, in the video above, if I were to try to bend my knees or do that same exercise in a light squat (which I must admit would be rather challenging for anyone), I would crumple to the ground, unable to dim that switch and maintain control of my stance. I either have to stay with legs locked straight or I get nothing at all.

You see where I’m going with this right?

The dimmer switch is essential to any kind of functional movement that I’m working to regain. I have to be able to control some muscles at 50 or 70% and not just 100%. Not only that, but I also have to relearn and retrain myself on how to differentiate one side of the body from the other. In other words, if I’m going to be able to successfully take steps, my left leg must be able to bear weight and be at 80 or 90 or 100% contraction while the right leg is lifted in the air and taking a step. It utterly blows my mind to think about how a healthy body and spinal cord can so naturally manage a movement pattern like walking that may seem simple, but is actually startlingly complex as it’s a consistent dimming up and down of different muscles at all times.

Like so much of what I have understood since my injury, our bodies and our movements are incredible and should not be taken for granted. It’s easy to underestimate just how much is involved with a seemingly simple set of movements, until you’re faced with an entirely different body that doesn’t react the same way.

So I will dedicate 2016 to finding that dimmer switch and being able to control my lower body movements more fluidly and effortlessly.

Grateful for more than the gobble gobble

I started writing this blog just over three years ago today, on the eve of this all-encompassing American holiday, and now I look back to the third blog post I wrote, just before Thanksgiving where I listed the reasons why I was thankful despite the horrific nature of my situation and being only four months out from my spinal cord injury. Fortunately, every reason for gratitude I listed on that day still applies to my life today, with some notable additions of course, and it makes for a good opportunity for me to recognize one particular thing for which I’m recently very grateful.

I’ve shared my experiences at length about the unique therapy I’ve done in Maui and its incredible contribution to my recovery but one of the biggest challenges I always had after coming back home from Maui was the struggle to find ways to continue doing that Pilates-based therapy. I always felt like I would make these huge gains in Maui, only to return and have that momentum of improvement stall. Luckily, that isn’t an issue anymore.

Absolute Center is a busy, successful and well-regarded Pilates studio a short drive from where I live and in recent months, it has become my primary place for rehab and wellness. When I met the owners of the studio, I don’t think any of us expected our encounter to lead to the establishment of a legitimate program geared towards people with spinal cord injuries completely different from their usual offerings, but that’s what has happened. There are scores of Pilates studios all around the country and the world but it took the curiosity, progressiveness, and forward thinking of the studio owners to recognize that there was an opportunity to provide this population with a viable option for this kind of Pilates based therapy.

My last few months of training and being able to continue working with the same principles and techniques that I learned in Maui have been invaluable for my recovery. I’ve seen greater gains in a short amount of time by virtue of being able to consistently train in a supportive environment and amongst talented and knowledgable people who are committed to help me reach my short and long-term goals. Additionally, a number of other people with spinal cord injuries have been training there too and as a result, alternative and creative approaches to spinal cord injury recovery are being explored and pursued.

I am grateful for meeting these people and having the opportunity to maximize my recovery efforts and I’m excited see how a more persistent commitment to this therapy will show itself with the improvements in my body by the time I go back to Maui again.

While I must admit that I don’t love turkey or a lot of typical Thanksgiving fare (which is why we make a somewhat less traditional feast!), what I do love about this holiday is the notion of taking a moment to be grateful. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone.

 

Another toe wiggle (finally)

If you’ve been following my recovery and reading my blog for a while, you may remember the post I wrote about waking up one morning and being able to wiggle my pinky toe with full control. This happened six months after my injury and at the time, I thought it heralded the process of most every muscle in my body slowly but consistently coming back under my full control. I was wrong…

In the two and a half years since, I have worked harder towards my recovery than anything else in my life. My day to day life was, and is still, 100% focused on recovery and on working towards my all important goal of getting back on my feet and walking. But despite all of that hard work, I didn’t regain function the way I was expecting. It was more than a little disheartening to regain full control of a body part, expect it to continue, and then tick off the days and weeks that went by without any further recovery of function. I’ve obviously made a huge amount of progress since then, which I don’t want to discount, but there was something so satisfying about regaining absolute control of any body part in my lower body that I didn’t experience since then… until now.

It seems that the pinky toe wanted a friend, that it became lonely and wanted a companion to dance along with it on my right foot. We’ve all been in that situation at a party, work event, or gathering where we don’t know anyone, where we long for companionship, where we hit the apex of desperation for someone, just anyone, to come along and give us a reprieve from our isolation. (Ok I admit that’s a little over dramatic but just humor me…).

Well the wait is over for my pinky toe.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed something different in my right foot and when I looked down, I saw the second toe, the Co-Captain of the toes (yes that’s a Seinfeld reference, enjoy), wanting to join the movement train. Unlike the pinky though, moving the second toe was very subtle at first. I had to try really hard to make it move. But once that pathway of communication to the toe was open, all I had to do was hammer it over and over and over. And everyday after that, it became stronger to the point where now I have 95% control of it.

Ok so you may be thinking, “What is so important about a toe? How does that help with the goal of walking?” Well the answer is simple. If all of my recovery was supposed to stop after one or two years, like the doctors predicted, then the fact that I’ve regained control of any part of my lower body confirms how bogus that thinking is. More importantly, it shows that a new communication pathway has been established from my brain, that a signal that previously couldn’t get through is now able to make its way to its destination. And if that’s possible, three years after my injury, then anything is possible from here on out. New pathways can be established, new muscles can be innervated, new movements can occur and the hope of regaining more function is very much alive.

It may just be a toe but it’s a validation, however small, that everything I’m working on is leading to results, and that more recovery is going to come.

Standing in the Southwest

We all have sacred places, locations that have a strong link to our emotions and memories, that register some kind of greater meaning within us. One of my most sacred and favorite places in the world is the high desert plateaus and canyons of southern Utah and northern Arizona.

I first came to this region in 2005 when I was working as a trip leader for guests on biking and hiking tours and taking delight in seeing their faces when they experienced this truly special place, unlike any other in the world. It was always the same story, everyone signed up for the trip mostly because of the draw of the Grand Canyon. The other areas we would visit were usually more of an afterthought, an asterisk next to the statement of having seen one of the natural wonders of the world, or as us trip leaders would jokingly refer to it, “the biggest ditch in the world.”

The result was always the same. People usually hadn’t heard much about Bryce Canyon or Zion National Park (not to mention Red Canyon, the Kaibab plateau, Cedar Breaks and some of the other places we passed through), but once they saw all of it, they almost always admitted that the Grand Canyon was just a part of a truly spectacular area, and the other national parks would often cement their presence in their memories stronger than the big ditch.

I spent a good part of three summers in this area, visiting these parks over and over again yet I never got bored of the dramatic cliffs, canyons and geological formations. So it was only natural that when I found out that my fiancé had never been to any of these places, we decided to make a road trip out there. In order to make the long drive a little less painful, and to continue to explore our own state of California, we decided to throw in Death Valley National Park too, for good measure.

I wasn’t sure how I would react to visiting these places again after an eight year hiatus, and more importantly, now in a very different physical situation, where I wouldn’t be able to do the hikes I had done so many times or share my favorite peaks and viewpoints with Brita. What would it be like to visit my sacred place but without the physical ability to experience it as I remember? Was I setting myself up for disaster?

The answer, probably not surprisingly, was mixed. On the one hand, it was extremely difficult to be in beautiful and memorable locations yet constantly feel limited by where I couldn’t go, what I couldn’t see or relive again. On the other hand, I was able to share these places with Brita, to experience seeing them through her eyes and taking joy from that process. Not to mention that simply being in these places, with or without hiking and climbing up to the tops of the mountains, was soothing for my soul. At the end of the day, seeing the late afternoon sun shine on the massive, red, sandstone cliffs of Zion confirmed to me that I had made the right decision to come back.

For the last couple of months, I’ve been practicing standing up by myself, unassisted, in a walker and while it’s certainly not as effortless, long-lasting or smooth as I’d like it to be, it’s a measurable improvement from before. It was only natural then that throughout our road trip we would pull the walker out of the car, and I would rise to my feet and at least get a slightly higher view than from the wheelchair. While it wasn’t a replacement for the inability to go on a hike, and while I still long to climb back up to those peaks and descend into those canyons, it at least made it a tiny bit less painful and a whole lot more memorable. This sacred place remains sacred to me, and nothing that has happened to me physically can take that away from me.

Grand Canyon
Grand Canyon
Grand Canyon
Grand Canyon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zion National Park
Zion National Park

My hips don’t lie

I’ve been back in Maui again, doing the incredible therapy that I’ve described in previous posts, and working on an entirely different set of objectives this time. I came here with a couple of ideas of where I wanted my efforts to go considering where I am physically right now. I’ll try to explain as clearly and concisely as possible, and it all begins with the hips.

Over the past few months, my exercises and efforts have involved more subtle aspects of my body development. Specifically, the stability of my hips and pelvis have been a central point of my ongoing therapy. In fact, I dramatically changed some of my exercises in recent months to eliminate detrimental compensatory patterns and to ensure that I was retraining my nervous system and muscles in the correct position, giving everything the best possible chance to succeed.

The reasons are simple: 1) Without hip stability, the rest of me is shaky and ineffective. Or put another way, how will the top floors of a four-story building be stable if the second story is swaying and shaky? [See my recent post about this to learn more] 2) Without proper hip positioning, I could be arching my back or compromising my spine which in turn could compress my spinal cord further (the last thing I need) and restrict the flow of nerve signals from my brain to my lower body. 3) It’s difficult to think about taking effective steps with my legs if the pelvis and hips are out of position or I’m trying to establish an entirely new pattern of movement that my brain, spinal cord and body aren’t accustomed to.

As a result, when I came to Maui on this trip, Alejandra and I discussed how best to move forward to achieve the next steps in my recovery. In her words, the human gait is incredibly complex. There are a variety of different muscles involved in different ways at different times in order to perform different objectives. While there are ways to overcome or compensate for some of these muscles being weak, there are others that just cannot be ignored or undeveloped, if one is to take effective steps and establish a sustainable walking pattern.

As a reminder to anyone who’s read my descriptions of Alejandra’s method and approach, muscles aren’t treated individually but as a system of muscle lines connected by the fascia, connective tissue that covers and connects every part of the body to the rest. But to make it easier to understand, there are two primary muscles that I’m working during this trip that are both essential to retraining myself to learn to walk.

The first is the medial gluteus on the side of the butt. I never realized how important this relatively small muscle was until now but it is crucial for the gait pattern. When you shift your weight to one leg in preparation to take a step, without a functioning medial glute, your opposite hip (the one taking the step) would drop down, throwing off your balance, straining your back and spine and making it harder to swing that leg through and take a step.

The second muscle is the psoas, which I went into a bit more in my last post so I’ll spare most of the details here. Needless to say that the psoas is the key component in actually flexing the hip off the ground and allowing you to swing it forward. Most of everything we’ve been doing in Maui has revolved around these two muscles, and how they interact with each other.

This video is a good example of both of these muscles working together. As I pull my leg forward, I’m working my psoas and as I extend back I’m using my medial glute.

In this second video, I’m standing on the Core Align, stabilizing my right leg through the medial glute (as well as quads and other muscles), which allows me to use the opposite medial glute to engage and kick my leg out to the side, all the while trying to keep my hips and pelvis aligned.

I’m not trying to downplay all of the other muscles involved in walking, but these two muscles, and the work I’ve been doing with them emphasize the importance of pelvic stability. As Shakira says, “my hips don’t lie.”

A repetition is an event

“Remember Ar-aaaash, make every repetition a separate event.”

These were the words, expressed in his slow, charming Alabama drawl, of one of my trainers a while back during a rather challenging exercise. He was a corky guy, eccentric yet affable, and I probably only worked with him a handful of times, but he had an eclectic knowledge of the body and liked to share his experience which was largely based on his years as a professional body builder.

He said that when it comes to many repetitive exercises, most people think only about completing the desired number of repetitions. Instead of that approach, he suggested that it’s not important whether you’re doing six, ten, or twenty repetitions but that you shift the focus from the completion of the entire set to an intense concentration on each repetition as its own end goal.

Clearly, the idea of “making each repetition count” wasn’t a new one at all, but the way he expressed it, his suggestion to think of each as an “event,” resonated with me.

The reason I’m thinking, and writing, about this now is that I’ve reached a point now in my rehabilitation where this advice is especially useful. In the last couple of months, much of what I’m working on has been extremely specific, focused and calculated exercises targeting small muscles and newly established and still weak neurological connections. These aren’t movements I can just complete unconsciously or with minimal attention. Now, I have to concentrate more than ever to turn on certain muscles, turn off other muscles that want to take over and dominate the movement and give every ounce of mental energy I have to try to strengthen a dormant or underutilized neurological connection.

After all this time, it’s still really hard for me to describe what it feels like to deal with a damaged neurological system.

It’s not like anything I ever experienced before my accident. It’s nothing like being on a long run or bike ride and battling complete exhaustion to fight through to the end. It’s not like being in a weight room and challenging a previous feat by adding a heavier weight, gritting your teeth and muscling through the movement. Nor is it like getting into a challenging yoga pose and trying to contort your body into a pretzel-shaped position.

I have to concentrate so much more on each specific aspect of my movement because I’m not only engaging the muscles that I do have control of, but I’m trying to reestablish those damaged connections. That’s why treating each repetition as a separate event is such great advice. It slows the entire process down, demands tremendous brainpower and forces me to prepare, complete and analyze each repetition with focus and determination. I also like that it can be applied to any repetitive movement or practice, not just physical exercise and it allows me not to take any practice for granted. Slowing down and treating each repetition as its own event can only benefit my continued recovery.

Oh the people you’ll meet…

For those of you Dr. Seuss fans, yes the title of this post is a play on the well-known story, “Oh the places you’ll go!” and it’s so relevant to all of the people I’d like to acknowledge in this post.

It’s easy to dwell in the negativity of all of the things I cannot do right now due to my injury. Every single day, I have to actively make an effort not to go down that path, not to get trapped by those “can’t” thoughts because all they bring me are negative emotions: resentment, envy, frustration, impatience, and distress. One thing that helps me through this process is appreciating all of the incredible people that have come into my life as a result of this injury.

In the last two years, despite dealing with the most vulnerable and trying circumstances, fighting so hard for every little accomplishment, I’ve been blessed to have met individuals who have impacted me positively and consistently raised my spirits. I’ve encountered genuine, passionate and optimistic people who have shown they are as committed to helping me achieve my goals as I am.

I have trainers and therapists who prove to me every week that they believe in my objectives and they’re willing to go out of their way to learn more about my injury and how to treat it. They illustrate their passion and excitement to me all the time and they go above and beyond their responsibilities in order to match my great expectations. They read books, watch videos, question their own habits and practices and try new things with me. They do it not because they should, not because they want to humor me or pity me, but because they genuinely care.

There are friends who volunteer their time, energy and professional expertise to help fill the holes of a medical system that has abandoned me. Friends who work full-time, yet sacrifice their Sunday mornings to show up and do core strengthening exercises in my living room. Friends who meet me every week for swim sessions, helping me get stronger and fitter in the pool in ways that I can’t do on land. Friends who donate their healing abilities to give me acupuncture treatment so that my sore and overused muscles can get a much needed respite from the rigors of everyday living. Friends who are willing to travel across an ocean with me so that I can have access to the best therapy I have found. Friends who donate their time to organize fundraising events so that I can continue doing therapy. Friends who encouraged me to start writing and sharing my story with the world. Friends who – before I could drive myself – would get up early and drive me to rehab, spending the entire day waiting for me and then drive me home.

Some of these people I’ve met since my accident, others I had known previously, but my friendships with them deepened. The common thread between all of these people is that my respect and admiration for all of them has hit stratospheric heights.

They’ve shown me that in an increasingly complex world, amidst a “reality-show” generation which popularizes and promotes tremendous levels of superficiality, banal cruelty, and obnoxious self-centeredness, there are people who rise above, who show up, who unwaveringly prove that there is still plenty of kindness, compassion and selflessness to be found.

You know who you are, and I’m grateful to you all.

Summertime Nostalgia

“So what do I need for backpacking this weekend? It’s going to be a shorter trip but I still need food, clothes, and supplies for three full days and nights… And next Saturday I’m going on a river float all day with friends, should be so much fun! Oh and I have to remember to borrow my roommate’s water filter for the next camping trip coming up in a couple weeks. Don’t want to be stuck in the mountains without sipping the good stuff from the streams and rivers!”

These were the typical thoughts running through my head during the summer time a couple years ago. Having spent the previous numerous summers working in the travel industry and with little free time, I had come to appreciate having the freedom to explore the many outdoors opportunities that were at my footsteps in Northern California. Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, the giant Sequoia trees, Big Sur, the coastal redwoods, and many of the gorgeous peaks of the Sierra mountains were all less than a half day’s drive from my urban life in the middle of San Francisco. I had the unique opportunity to live in a dynamic and fast-moving city and yet have access to some of the most beautiful natural scenery around; a truly fortunate situation to be in and one for which I was continuous grateful.

Fast forward to now and some things haven’t changed. My friends are still going on those backpacking trips, they’re still hard at work seeking undiscovered lakes or less traveled trails to explore and planning fun adventures. The river floats are still happening as are the epic day long bike rides that customarily include a pastry and coffee jolt or a cold beer conclusion. The roaring campfires (and the stories and laughter that come with them) are still burning strong, and the miles and miles of the fun-filled drives crisscrossing the varied topography of the California that I love so dearly are still being driven, albeit in slightly nicer cars reflecting the improved career trajectories of my thirty-something social community.

The major difference, of course, is that I’m not there.

It’s like watching a movie you’ve seen a hundred times but with one of the major actors missing. It doesn’t feel right.

To say that I’m envious of my friends’ adventures is the understatement of the century. I would give anything to be tromping through the mountains with a backpack on my shoulders, laughing and chatting and admiring the grandeur of mother nature’s best offerings. And honestly, the one thing that may be harder than not being on those adventures, is hearing about them first-hand and masking my frustration and resentment with my attempts to conjure sincere excitement.

So what’s keeping me sane this summer? Pretty simple actually. My desire to reach my shorter-term goals of recovery, some of which are looming closer on the horizon, fuel me just as much as a summer adventure would. I know that the sense of accomplishment I would receive from standing up on my own or taking a few unassisted steps in a walker would fulfill me more than these adventures did in the past. I’ve worked so hard for so long that seeing the fruits of my labor would give me immense satisfaction. While my current summer adventure is a bit more lonely, and a lot less scenic than my former escapades, the rewards are, to say the least, tantalizing, validating and worthwhile.