Cleared

"Just cool your jets...you're doing this to yourself," stated my surgeon as I honestly admitted my Achilles was still not feeling 100%. "The MRI shows no tears or detachment, just inflammation from an angry tendon."

"Cool my jets?  Heck, there's only a sputtering candle flame! And screw that angry tendon, it's a wuss that is really interfering in my life," I replied.

So, with the wave of the computer mouse and a simple left click, the doctor's electronic signature cleared me to resume living life.

Ten months ago, life changing Achilles surgery was like stomping on the emergency brake pedal--everything came to a screeching halt and these past ten months has felt like an eternity.

My active lifestyle was immediately kidnapped and imprisoned in bed with a plaster cast encasing post-op pain.  The day after surgery brought unbearable physical pain--something I typically can tune out. But the throbbing heel bone crumbled my high tolerance where I begged for pain killers like a bad junkie jonesin' for a fix.  Pain gradually subsided in following days where pain killers were phased out ASAP.  I don't even like taking aspirin or ibuprofen for headaches and I abhorred how the pain killers made me feel.

Still, the cast and surgical injury sidelined any activity and when the heavy cast was cut off, my scrawny leg looked super-pathetic. But, the challenge was on.  I immediately began range of motion exercises of the ankle by pointing my toe and doing the alphabet.  Cursive letters were preferred over print as I schemed on how to shorten the long recovery.

"Now it's time for you to attend PT," prescribed my surgeon.

Ya right.  I showed up once and the therapist had called in sick and I never went back.  The receptionist was a sourpuss and the clinic smelled of mothballs. Surely I could rehab myself.

I prescribed crossfit workouts in my restrictive boot with many of the core exercises, such as wall balls and kettlebell swings, being done while seated in a chair.  Guaranteed I looked as stupid as I felt being the dunce in the corner of the gym, but it was the best I could do. As the Achilles felt better, I would press forward since Doc stated, "Let pain be your guide."

My Mistress, a wonderful series of single track mountain trails, saw me visit on crutches with short, hobbled jaunts that, when healthy, entertains me for hours while sweating all over her.

Oh-so-slowly the injury progressed.  Returning to the trails and visiting my Mistress was paramount.  Beginning runs were pathetic.  The tendon would become enraged with my ridiculousness and force me to walk.  I'd give it the middle finger and press on and it would soon return the middle finger gesture and force me to walk.  The Love/Hate relationship grew and grew.

"Can I do the Mudder?" I asked Doc in August.

"What?!  No!" he replied.

"You know I'm going to do it regardless of what you say."

"Alright...and if you tear it off the bone, I know how to put it back on."

"Deal!  I won't be stupid on the obstacles," I promised.

Still, my nemesis tendon argued and bitched about my activities where I called it horrible names and pressed on. Trail runs, crossfit WODs, and HIIT classes were squeezed in as much as possible with the tendon constantly rebelling.

I feared a tear or partial detachment and, after fighting a whole lot of bureaucratic nonsense, an MRI eliminated my concerns and only showed edema (swelling) at the attachment point.

So, being cleared with only some swelling has opened the gates.  A recent run on the Mistress was the best in 16 months. It was far from being fast, but I managed to grind out my favorite series of trails with no rest stops. Was the barely acceptable performance due to the Tylenol I took beforehand to alleviate a throbbing headache that felt like it was trying to pop my right eye out of socket? Or, the new Hokas I bought to run in (a weird sneaker for a future blog)? Or, the ideal shitty weather I thrive on? Or, the shuffled play list dropping the right songs at the right time? Or, running with my virtual pacer(s)? Or, the peanut butter/chocolate Cliff bar consumed at the trail head? Or, who knows...?

The reset button has been officially punched and I get to begin serious research projects on myself with lofty goals already set for this summer. 

Happy New Year.


WAHOO!