"I am resilient. I trust the movement. I negate the chaos, uplift the negative. I'll show up at the table, again and again and again. I'll close my mouth and learn to listen." Resilient by Rising Appalachia
I was coming up some stairs today, carrying a (very heavy) load of laundry. Each step required thought: place my right foot, engage my quad, trust, confidence, up--over and over again. It was slow and labored. I was steady, but only because of the total concentration I was giving it.
I am use to bounding up stairs. I am use to moving quickly throughout my day. I am use to feeling strong, like stronger than what I might expect to feel at my age. But I wasn't feeling any of that coming up those stairs today, so I started to sing: I am resilient. I trust the movement. I negate the chaos, uplift the negative. I show up at the table--again and again and again...
It's been more than six months since I had surgery on my knee--complex knee surgery, as my PT reminds me often. No big surprise, the recovery hasn't been linear, and I'm good with that. If running has taught me anything it's that the path, for running or life, isn't linear. But what has surprised me is how slow and laborius the rehab has been. I think it's surprised everyone around me. "Recovery at 56 is very different than at 36," someone told me recently. Boy howdy is that ever true. Especially as a 56 year old woman who's hormones are on their own wild ride and have something to say about the healing process.
But I was staying strong, working hard, and keeping my eyes on the road ahead, and was actually kind of proud of myself for how I've taken the bumps in stride, until last week. I had a six month check in with the surgeon and got the news that, although everything has healed beautifully, I've lost some of the flexion in my knee, likely due to a build up of scar tissue. I can try, with my coach, to see if we can negate the chaos and uplift the negative (i.e. break through the blasted scar tissue), but if not I will need a second procedure and the surgeon will break through the scar tissue.
That was a big bump.
In Minnesota we have cavernous potholes that open up in the streets when winter is over and the temperature warms. You can be cruising along on a beautiful spring day with the windows down and summer on the horizon when BAM! The last remainder of winter will reach out its' bony fingers, grab a tire, and you bottom out in a pothole. That's what my visit with the surgeon felt like.
Damn Minnesota winters. Damn scar tissue.
It's normal to feel frustrated by life's potholes, but letting them ruin the rest of the spring season is not an option. Not for me, anyway. That's not the athlete I want to be. That's not the person I want to be. I want to show up at the table, again & again & again, no matter how many times it takes. Screw my age! Screw my hormones! Screw my setbacks! I'm alive and everything is opportunity.
I've been building this mindset in myself very intentionally over the last few years, but this news hit hard and I felt it, and then I began to focus on it. I started to lose sight of the big picture and all the work I'd done. I began to lose sight of what I had kept front and center for months--that this experience was never going to be easy, and I was also never promised that it would be quick. I was always going to have to dig in, and then dig in again, and then dig in some more. And then, maybe, some more after that. I started to get lost in the fog when my coach's voice cut through like a beacon: Hey Diane, you're standing on the edge of a slippery slope.
Thank god I have a coach. Thank god I have this coach. Thank god I've done the work on my mindset. Thank god I could hear him, and thank god I learned to listen. Thank god the fog cleared instantly. I felt like one of those old cartoon characters that gets bonked on the head and they do a big head shake and now they're seeing clearly again. I snapped back fast, and I knew exactly what to do: eyes up, lots of gratitude, do the work. I can even be grateful for the setback from this vantage point--I trust the movement. It's all just part of the story.
Long story short, this scar tissue has to be broken for me to move forward well. According to the surgeon I could leave it where it is if I just want to get up and down from a chair or in and out of the car, but I want to get in and out of a car and up and down a hill and over and across a trail. I want to squat down and get a pan out of the back of a cupboard and impress my grandchildren some day when I'm sitting cross legged on the floor. So, given that, either I break through the scar tissue or he does. And, given that fact, one way or another the next few months are going to hurt. So be it. I am resilient.
There's another verse to this song that will serve me well over the next few months, too...
"I'm made of thunder. I'm made of lightening. I'm made of dirt, yeah. Made of the fine things. My father taught me that I'm a speck of dust, and this world was made for me, so let's go and try our luck.
I've got my roots down
down
down
down
down
down
down
down
down
down
down deep..."
So I'll take a deep breath and go back to the table. Again. And again. And again.