70 hours of physical exertion

Disclaimer: graphic images at the bottom of this post.

I. DID. IT. If you asked me 4 months ago if I would be right where I am today, I would have said you were crazy. Today was my last day of physical therapy. I'll take you back. Back on August 15th, I headed out for long bike ride as the last training before a week long hiking trip in Zion. I had been training for a 48 hour race that got cancelled due to Covid, but decided to keep my training up and just do some mega hikes instead. On mile 18, I was coming down a hill (on the sidewalk) when a car decided to turn just as I was crossing in front of her. And she hit me and ran me over. After some good drugs and xray after xray, it was determined (thank the Lord) that I only had a broken foot. The rest of what I would sustain would be soft tissue damage, bruises, cuts and circulation/nerve issues. For the next 6 weeks, my foot was splinted and I crutched around battling depression and a lot of anger. Anger that I had to cancel my hike with a friend I hadn't seen in so long, anger that I couldn't finish doing summer activities with my toddler and anger that now on top of being a full time mom and a full time employee, I had to deal with this too. My body was bruised from being knocked over, from the bike landing on top of me, from the force pressure of the car. My shoes had tire marks on them, my clothing were shredded and the pain that I was in made my c-section feel like child's play. After the initial 6 weeks, my doctor said that I had extensive damage to three of my toes, my ankle and this strange spot in the middle of my foot (later determined this spot got the brunt of the compression force from the car wheel). So I spent the next 5 weeks in a walking boot trying to bare weight on my foot and convincing my brain that I could walk on it. I got frustrated...very frustrated. I couldn't do it. I have always been able to pick up on sports easily, and my mind has always been very intertwined with how my body moves, but I couldn't do it. My frustration turned into more anger and rage. It was frustrating that my mind was ready to do it, but my body was just refusing. I got to the point where I started crying every night and knew that I had to do the one thing I hated...ask for help. With some encouraging words from a friend, I called my doctor and asked him to write me a script for physical therapy. It was time to get healed.

So on October 25th, I walked into my first PT appointment. I started easy, try to move a towel with my toes, walk across the carpet and try to get a roller from the front of my foot to the back. I didn't do any of them on my first appointment, but something inside me, that competitive athlete saw a challenge and I just had to get it accomplished. I told my physical therapist to push me as hard as she thought I could go, that she was only to say stop if I was in physical pain, but my mind needed to get pushed and she needed to be the one to do it. Doctor appointments came and went and the news ranged from really grim to astounding miracle. It was a roller coaster, physically and emotionally.

Fast forward 2 months, 3 times a week, 70 total hours and today I walked out of that office running a mile (at a 10:00 pace), lifting 175lbs with my legs (75 with my bad foot) and my mind focused and more driven than it ever has been. I still have a long way to go. The doctor is saying I need 6 more months of therapy before my foot can recover from the many other issues that it has, but the therapists believe that I can do it on my own, at home.

I thought I was ready. My mind thought that I was ready to walk and take strides, but my body held back. My body knew that it needed a push to recover safely and in the hands of a professional. So, tonight, I am going to have many beers to celebrate a milestone that 4 months ago I NEVER thought I would ever see. As I look back on the pictures and videos of where I was, I am shocked how strong I am both mentally and physically. I couldn't have done this without a support system and I am truly grateful for all those in my life that gave a shit about my recovery, wished me well and were my cheerleaders (and still are). I want to thank the doctor's and therapists, my husband for picking up the slack and just reminding me what I was fighting for everyday, my friends and family who just reassured me that everything was meant to be how it was and those that shared their stories of being hit by cars (there are more out there than I thought!). I also want to thank my bezzie who dealt with frustrated text messages and never once faltered in never ending support and truly got my mind focused day in and day out.

My challenge for you today is two-fold. First, celebrate the small wins. I still have 6 more months of personal PT and healing, but I am going to celebrate this milestone because it feels so good to feel some accomplishment. So celebrate yours, even if it is just getting out of bed. Second, know you are so much stronger than you think. You may be in a situation where the outlook doesn't look good or there are too many ups and downs, but your mind and your body were built to be resilient. Trust them, trust me...you are strong.