Saturday, January 4, 2014

Back in the Bindings Again

Well, I was enjoying the cross-country skiing this year when something bad happened. It was the evening of Tuesday, December 17th. I was extremely stressed out, with end-of-semester duties & looming grading. It seemed like I would never get everything done, and I was scaling a wall of work that didn't seem like it would end until Christmas eve. Plus, I was trying to get ahead on household duties, knowing I would be having knee surgery the day after Christmas (torn meniscus). By 8pm, I was so wound up I knew I'd have trouble falling asleep, so I ditched everything to go for a moonlight ski. I even left Enrico behind--he offered to go with me--but I just felt I had to get out NOW. Alone.

It was a beautiful night, not too cold, clear, and the full moon was shining brightly. I could see the trail perfectly well, or so I thought. All the stress seemed to flow out through my skis, and soon I was flying along the trail. "Wow," I thought, "I feel great." I decided to go all the way to the I-94 bridge. Once I got into the trees in Lindenwood Park, it was a bit darker, but I kept pushing myself as hard as I could go. I just needed to. Then, suddenly, I hit a leaf with my right ski. That ski came to a stop, but my body kept going, stretching over my skis. I knew I was going to fall and made an effort to roll, but I only got so far as to swing my right hand across my chest, when I hit the ground. Hard. The impact knocked the air out of me, and I rolled to my side in agony. I could not get up right away. Basically, it felt like someone had just punched me as hard as they could on the left part of my chest, right where you would put your hand to say the pledge. I writhed around for a moment, took stock of my body, decided nothing was broken and then laughed at myself.

What a stupid clumsy fall!

Despite the impact, my intent to make it to the bridge prevailed, and I skied on, ignoring the pain. After I turned around, I saw some cars driving along the road, the passengers enjoying the Christmas lights up in Lindenwood Park. I decided I had to catch and pass the cars (insane, I know--I think I become a dog when I ski, no thought beyond "must chase"), so even though I had been skiing very hard (for me), I skied even harder. I chased down four cars, passed them, and stayed ahead until after I reached the section where the lights end, and they sped up, caught me, and passed me. It was only then that I slowed down a bit. I knew I was hurt, but nothing was broken, so I thought it best to just maintain a steady pace and get back home.

It was only after I got home and relaxed a bit that I realized I had really hurt my ribs. I had hurt them years ago in a fall during a mountain bike race, but I convinced myself that this was not really as bad as that. I slept all right and continued on my frenetic work pace the next day. It was only after 5pm, that I realized how very wiped out I felt. One of my grad students said, "You look really tired." Indeed, I did. In the following days, I was in constant pain. It hurt to breathe, and I dreaded having to sneeze. I realized that I probably had broken my ribs or damaged the cartilage. When I went in for my pre-surgery check-up, I mentioned it to my doctor, and he said, "Yes, they could be broken, but there is no treatment for that."
"I know," I said.
Somehow, I graded all those papers, working long, long days, through the weekend and right up until 5pm on Christmas Eve. I wryly thought, "Well, at least the pain keeps me alert to get this work done."
Honestly, I was looking forward to surgery just so that I could rest (and get some pain medication!)

The day after Christmas, I had knee surgery. It went well, and I got to stay awake and watch on the video monitor. I could see all these rough surfaces and watch as the doctor trimmed it all up. I went home and rested intensively for several days, gradually increasing my activity. At my one-week check-up, I felt great. The doctor took out my stitches and said I could return to my normal activities.
"So, I can go skiing?" I asked.
"Yes, but don't go too far the first time," he said.

I went home and got into all my ski gear and headed out. It was pretty cold, and I felt a bit awkward, but I didn't have any pain (except still a bit in my ribs), so I skied for half an hour and came home. The next day I biked for about 45 minutes. Still good.

Today, I skied all the way to I-94 again. I wanted to see if I could do it. Obviously, I didn't ski as fast as I did on that moonlit night, but I felt good. My ribs still hurt afterward, and it hurt to spit, but my knee was fine! Maybe I will be able to race after all this winter . . . We'll see.

So, in the end, I'm still a bit annoyed with myself for that stupid fall, but grateful to my doctor for a successful knee surgery. It was great to be on the trail, and it wasn't even that cold--one degree above zero, and a bit of wind. I was thoroughly warm after the first 5-10 minutes. The sun was out, but getting low in the sky, the orange color deepening against the snow, the trees dark and beautiful in the patterns they made against the sky. I love to be outside in winter. Although I enjoyed the much needed rest, a week indoors made me kind of sad. I love to breathe in the crisp winter air and feel the sun on my face. The joy it brings me makes me exclaim odd statements of gratitude as  I ski: "Beautiful!" and "Thank you" and "Pure Joy." Thankfully, there was not a single soul besides myself on the trail today to wonder if I'd lost my mind.