For any athlete or relatively active person, there are few things that can be worse than a debilitating injury.
Let me start with a disclaimer: this is a lengthy rant/vent about the frustrations that come when a naturally active person is "put on the shelf," so to speak. In fact, it is so lengthy that I've decided it is best shared in two parts.
This is part one.
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Over the past three weeks, I've found my way back into the rink and on to the outdoor sheets of icy cool glass that were once so familiar to me growing up. After nearly two years on the injured reserve, I feel as though I'm learning to walk all over again. So how did I get to this point?
I was never an elite athlete. If anything, I considered myself a jack-of-all-trades athlete who wasn't great at any one particular sport, but relatively competent in a wide variety of activities. I played hockey competitively for most of life. Football joined that fray for two of my three years in high school with a year of cross-country running sandwiched in the middle. Apart from that, I played soccer and baseball recreationally. I like to consider myself a golfer, but realistically, I just chase the little white ball from left to right and back again -- military golf, if you will.
Back in January 2010, all of that came to a halt.
It was actually quite simple. There was no screeching, no crashing and burning, just a sad, slow collapse that led to nearly two years of limited physical activity.
It was the week of Anti-Freeze at the University of Alberta (U of A). I had just completed the final semester of my degree during the fall term. With nothing to do other than job hunt and hang around, I volunteered my time with the students' union on campus.
The first question you probably have is, "What the heck is Anti-Freeze?"
Most post-secondary institutions engage students with some of "welcome back" each September. The U of A is such a go-getter that it hosts a second such week during the winter semester. Considering the frigid, sub-zero temperatures that are common in Edmonton during January, this second week of welcome is appropriately called Anti-Freeze.
Back to my demise.
It was extraordinarily cold on this day. I can't recall which specific day it was, but it was close to the end of Anti-Freeze. I had been outside for three hours running an event. It was so cold that I had to wear ski goggles to protect my eyes. Any sliver of exposed skin was frozen in minutes. Finally I hit a breaking point and needed to go inside. Three hours of standing in one place when it's more than 40-below with the windchill doesn't exactly do much to keep the body warm.
For anyone who has ever volunteered or helped organize any week of welcome event on a university campus, you know it amounts to go-go-go" all the time. Not surprisingly, I moved inside and was immediately put to work moving tall wooden bar tables -- no big deal. Unfortunately my body did not feel the same way.
I picked up what would evidently be my final table of the afternoon. Immediately upon lifting, I felt a shooting pain fire through my right hip. It circled the joint and made its way down the inside of my leg, leeching all my strength at the same time. My first reaction was to welcome the inferno that had traveled through my leg -- all of a sudden I was warm again! Too bad it was for all the wrong reasons.
I was left with swelling in my leg, next to no strength and a dreaded visit with the family physician.
My initial suspicions were confirmed by my doctor, who then referred me to a surgeon who would consult and then set an operation date to repair the damage.
My consult with the family doctor took place in February. It would take more than six months just to get in for the next consult with the surgeon. Sigh.
Over this six-month void, I tried my best to keep active, primarily with light jogging, nothing more. According to the family doctor, this was the most physical activity my injury would tolerate. Anything else would cause further damage.
Unfortunately even the light jogging didn't last long as I began to experience more discomfort. Mix in failed attempts to play nine holes of golf, toss the pigskin and Frisbee in the backyard -- I was more than sick of the rut I had been forced into against my own will.
Fast-forward to September 2010 and my consult with the specialist.
"We can get you in sometime in December," he said.
Great. Another four months of sitting around.
December came and went. The surgery was performed without a hitch along the way. At least that is what was thought immediately post-op.
Despite being all sewed up and supposedly put back together, I was still facing a two- to three-month recovery that allowed nothing more than walking.
At my follow-up appointment, I received news that would turn out to be even more angering and frustrating than the initial injury.
I would need a second procedure.
Now I realize there are many people in the world who have had it much worse than I did. I realize I should thank my lucky stars that my injury was reparable. I realize some people never have the opportunity to be as active as I was through my formative years.
But for a healthy and active 20-something kid who values physical activity in his life, this loss had wide-spread impacts across all areas of my life.
The first and most obvious impact was physically. I quickly lost a significant amount of coordination and strength.
The second, and arguably most serious impact, was mentally and emotionally. Sports had always been a release for me. Physical activity allowed me to let go of my stresses and focus on nothing other than the task at hand, whether that was on the ice, in the gym or elsewhere. Without this release, I became lethargic, unmotivated and generally frustrated with the general direction of my life.
This frustration was a trend that would grow and extend for far longer than I would wish upon anyone.
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Part two will come sometime down the road...
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As always, music finds a way to connect itself with my experiences. If you aren't a follower of my Twitterfeed or Facebook timeline, then you won't know this, but I've been head-over-heels about the latest release from blink-182. Here is what I've got for you today:
"When I Was Young" by blink-182
I woke up today surrounded by blackness
The small morning sun devoured the process
It's always been fun when I get a bit nervous
And it's hard to say but I feel a bit weightless
The more I admit, I feel a bit anxious
The more I go on, the less I can face this
And those rotten things that live in our shadow
We walk on the line of death and the gallows
And hope that we clear a path we can follow
It's the worst damn day
(It doesn't hurt that much)
Of my life
I made a mess today
(It doesn't hurt that much)
But I'm alright
It doesn't hurt that much
When I was young, the world it was smaller
The cities were vast, the buildings were taller
I felt really strong -- my parents seemed stronger
But life has a way, it showers with greatness
Then takes it away, those pieces that made us
Then teaches you things you'd never imagine
We all get the same -- the memories, the burdens
The pictures we made, they still form a pattern
They cautiously say, "Does it all matter?"
It's the worst damn day
(It doesn't hurt that much)
Of my life
I made a mess today
(It doesn't hurt that much)
But I'm alright
(It doesn't hurt that much)
It's the worst damn day
(It doesn't hurt that much)
Of my life
I made a mess today
(It doesn't hurt that much)
But I'm alright
It's the worst damn day
(It doesn't hurt that much)
Of my life
I made a mess today
(It doesn't hurt that much)
But I'm alright
(It doesn't hurt that much)
It's the worst damn day
(It doesn't hurt that much)
Of my life
I made a mess today
(It doesn't hurt that much)
But I'm alright...
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