Range of Motion

With each passing day I find myself regaining a little more range of motion in my right arm. Recovering from a collarbone break is a long process that requires patience, but patience is not a skill I naturally have. I’d like to snap my fingers and poof, find myself magically at 100% health. Healing is not always measurable in days, however.

I heard an interesting metaphor for the process of aging: you are essentially stuck in quicksand, and at some point you will fully sink. The most you can ask for is a few tools to shovel the sand away temporarily. Some of these “tools” include diet, exercise, and sleep. Without them, you’ll sink faster.

“Just keep moving” tends to be my own mantra. Or as the bone break taught me, “Use it or lose it.” Four weeks in a sling cost me a great deal of mobility that will take awhile to regain.

To think that I was set back so far from just a month in a sling is eye opening. A life of inertia is surely crippling to one’s range of motion. I see it often in the office: the typical office employee could never dream of running one mile, nonetheless 26 miles. Heck, I’m not sure most can jog 400 meters comfortably. Can the typical employee even kick up his or her feet? It seems doubtful unless supplemented with some sort of cocaine-like stimulant beforehand. Granted, many do not care, as money and career are supposedly the priority, which culture does preach. I also note though that most are oblivious to the gravity of what they’ve lost. I’ll choose mobility any day.

A 40-year-old sedentary type and a 40-year-old routine exerciser are not biologically the same age range. This I’ve seen visibly. Their vitality and appearance are vastly different, almost as though they are not both Homo sapiens.

At running events, for example, it is common to see a 50-year-old capable of running fast speeds for hours at a time. It barely seems possible when first introduced to such feats. I remember running the mile as a child, for example, and winning by default simply because most of the kids couldn’t run the whole thing. Yet it is easy when swept in the excitement of such an event to believe that the norm is to cover vast distances, often at a quick base, with just your feet, and to do so well into your later years. An office will remind you that it is not the norm in America. The norm is a struggle up a flight of stairs. The norm is a pained shuffle from the car to the desk. The norm is a drive-thru food order, or these days, a phone app food delivery service.

As I write I realize the magnitude of my own desire to “just keep going”. Above I mentioned quicksand. Most nightmares I’ve ironically had since childhood involve running, but feeling slowed, or sinking in quicksand. In nightmares that involve swimming, the pool is often too dark for me to see and I quickly find myself lost. Or maybe my goggles leaked water to blind me. This doesn’t surprise me because nothing scares me more than stopping. I don’t necessarily mean stopping a daily exercise routine either. I mean stopping movement. Stopping the bikepacking adventures, the runs, the ocean swims, and the occasional game.

If given the choice, I’ll choose motion every time. Give me a shovel and I’ll see how long I can stay above the quicksand.

All Candles Burn to the Ground Eventually

“All candles burn to the ground eventually.”

This was oddly my first thought upon waking this morning. Shortly after, as my dreams dissolved into a bittersweet nothing, I completed my final physical therapy session. My jumps and hops felt pretty good, as did a brief jog. I hadn’t jumped in five months. I was just happy to be jumping.

I have an at-home therapy plan to work out the last of the joint stiffness/ache/lack of mobility. But for all intents and purposes the ankle is healed. I’m ready for full activity.

Sometimes we all need a little help. I wanted to heal my foot on my own and stubbornly tried. Realizing after months of futility that it wouldn’t happen, I sought a doctor, and later a physical therapist. Healing took a lot out of me. It took time, money, and resources. I am lucky. I realize that.

I think about the potential alternative a lot. When I first felt my body hit the road and felt my ankle twist backwards and then quickly rip sideways, my first thought was that my walking days were over.

My foot doctor said the same: “When I first saw your foot, I thought it was done for, that we’d find bone fragments everywhere and ruptured tendons far out of place. I can’t believe the scans showed it stayed intact.” I’ve had a few low points in life, and the act of dragging myself and my bicycle off the road to a nearby sidewalk was certainly among the lowest. There’s a scar by my knee that gives me chills every time I glance at it.

So I lucked out. I’m back to normal, only five months later, and I don’t take that for granted.

I have mixed opinions on the act of praying. I think it’s somewhat selfish and delusional to think that one vessel is entitled to a personal relationship with a universal creator. Suffering is far too indiscriminate for that and the universe is far too vast to expect attention to a petty problem (or, sadly, even a significant problem). Selfish prayers have contributed to idiots praying for football game wins.

On the other hand there is something meditative about searching inside for what one is seeking, and connecting to a “higher self” (or higher calling) to realize one’s own need for change. That, I think, can contribute to evolution. I see use in that.

I don’t know if it’s a prayer so much as a glance up into the sky and a silent “thank you” echoing through my mind. Endings tend to be anticlimactic and often brutal, but damn that would’ve haunted me if my runnings days ended bloodied and sprawled on the side of a road by a tire store.

My candle will burn out eventually, but today is not that day.