By mid-July I had dropped another 10 pounds, thinning down nearly 15% in 3 months and frighteningly close to the weight listed on my high school driver’s license. I’ve since bounced back up a bit to settle in right around 155 - a good lean weight for my 5’10” frame and 20 pounds lighter than I was at my heaviest after surgery. Thankfully with my increased activity levels and a little focus on diet, the shedding of surplus weight has not been difficult for me - and it has undoubtedly helped my knee.
I’ve not been to physical therapy for quite a while, and whatever you do don’t tell them this, but I don’t miss it. Not even a little. It’s true they did get me through some rough sections (the Stone PT crew in particular) for which I will be forever grateful. But at this point I’m quite confident that I can use the information obtained in a single session for many weeks without the joy of regular PT visits. Over the past couple of months I’ve been exercising and pushing and testing my knee every day on my own anyway. I am plenty motivated.
A few weeks ago I went out to play 18 holes of golf, not knowing if I would even be able to swing a club and secretly afraid to death that I might do some sort of damage to my healing knee. I did have to change my swing a bit to rely less on my right leg but I didn’t think it would make much difference in my game. Tiger had just won the US Open a week or two earlier with a torn ACL – and it’s not as if he’s a significantly better golfer than I am, so I figured I’d give it a shot. I did take a cart, which is not legal at the Open, but with the high degree of random accuracy in my game there was still quite a lot of walking involved. I managed two glorious pars on the day and was quickly reminded of my knee on the few occasions that I thoughtlessly started into a jog across the fairway in search of a wayward (and thus, I reasoned, likely defective) ball. In the end I got my money’s worth by getting to take well over a hundred shots, a dozen or so that actually went in the intended direction, and I walked much farther than I had on any other day since the Christmas “incident”. Most importantly, I didn’t hurt myself in the process. I was quite pleased with the results.
I’ve also recently been going out on my scooter. Ok, let’s get past this, yes, I have a scooter. And no, not one of those implicitly gay Vespa mini-motorcycle type scooters that you see gleefully scootering down cobbled European streets piloted by young artistes heading to the nearest picturesque Euro café for a latte and a scone. I’m talking about a simple old-school two-wheeled you push it with your own legs or it goes nowhere type scooter. And if you think you can push a scooter without bending your knee, well think again, Scooter. Although I’m right footed, I push with my left leg – a childhood leftover from my goofy-footed skateboarding days. This leaves my right foot, assuming all goes well, firmly planted on the scooter platform. The right leg must bend forward at the ankle and down at the knee, support the body through the push, and then straighten again, lifting the entire weight of my body back up in preparation for the next push. It has never seemed like an unusually challenging or heroic movement. Until now. Scootering puts my right knee in exactly the role it wants so desperately to avoid – moderately bent full body weight bearing. It is agonizing. At peak scooter output I am grunting and grinding my teeth through every push and my seven year old daughter on in-line skates still leaves me in the dust. She’s a good kid though and she always waits for me after she’s proven her superior abilities. The scooter has convinced me that my problem is not only the pain. Although it hurts plenty, I’m also still considerably challenged by the weakness in and around the knee joint. If I can survive another month of outings on the scooter with the roller-blading kid, that will surely change.
I’ve also been riding my bike at least once every week, heading out for increasingly longer rides on tougher routes, and pushing for more speed and better pedaling form. My times on set routes continue to improve and this past weekend I was able to stand and pedal up a hill - a very steep but reasonably short hill at about 50 pedal rotations long - for the first time since the injury. The pain was there but easily dismissed by the overwhelming feeling of power and strength and the imaginary fanfare that awaited me at the top as if I was cresting the famed Alpe d’Huez itself. Of course when I did reach the top there was no one there except for a single jogger who appeared genuinely concerned by what I realized in hindsight was the deep hurling growl, not unlike that of a sick dog, that came echoing from my lungs during those final few yards.
Despite the challenge (or maybe in part because of it) the bike has been my main vehicle for regaining movement and strength and sanity. My knee still suffers on long climbs, but it is certainly improving, and the specific discomfort in my knee is often lost in the flurry of pain signals as the rest of my body suffers right along with it. Misery loves company and there is no surer path to self-inflicted misery than pointing up a long climb and willing yourself to the top as fast as you can possibly manage. It is difficult, and distressing, and desperately rewarding.
A few months ago in a fleeting moment of blind optimism I signed up for the 2008 Tour de Tahoe. It’s just like the Tour de France except that it’s not a race and it’s not in France. It’s actually an annual ride around Lake Tahoe with about 1300 other cyclists. I did the ride for the first time a couple of years ago and the support staff and the riders were wonderful. I prepared meticulously and spread my effort perfectly across the 4 ½ hour ride. A walk in the park for serious roadies, the route sits at an average elevation of about 7000 feet and covers 72 miles with about 3000 vertical feet of climbing. It was and still is most difficult road ride I have ever completed. When I signed up earlier this year, I could barely walk around the block. A ride around the lake seemed like an impossible goal. But at the same time, September 7th seemed like a lifetime away. Now it’s less than six weeks. My longest ride so far this year was 32 miles, mostly flat, at about 300 feet above sea level, two days ago. Typically I do 25 miles with a couple of small climbs and I’m done for the week. I have a lot of work to do. I need some longer rides and more time at the gym. But I also really need this ride. For some reason, a significant contributor to my sense of who I was and who I am and who I will be is strangely bound to my ability to push myself around that lake. This time it holds more meaning than ever. If I’m ready by September, it will be just barely.
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