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