Injuries suck!
But what’s worse is the recovery.
And why?
Everyone understands the nature of injuries. It doesn’t matter if it’s during athletic training or in a train wreck, rolling your ankle or being injured in a roll over car accident, a fall off a ladder or any of a myriad of other afflictions that await the unsuspecting or the distracted. They come in all types of unpleasant wrappings with differing levels of morbidity and threat to one’s mortality.
But the recovery?
Ugh!
Consistent hard work and its sidekick, pain. It’s like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid; Donald and Daisy Duck; Capt. Kirk and Spock, heck, might as well include Esmeralda and Quasimodo.
The key word here is “consistent”.
The temporal nature of recoveries is what is so irritating. Injuries mostly, but not always, happen in an instant. Recoveries, though, occur at roughly the same speed as glaciers melting or tectonic plates shifting.
Why can’t it be the other way around?
I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much because me, mid-recovery is infinitely better than me, back when being assailed by my woes of 5 months ago.
It’s just that you want things to return a bit faster is all.
And I know my now 67 year old body has more than a little to do with the slothful nature of my return. I’m not saying I’ve lost a step but evidence points in that direction.
On top of all this, I went back to see my shoulder guy and he tells me I have Viking’s disease. I told him that’s impossible because Lutefisk makes me nauseous. But then quickly I thought about it and it started to add up. My wife is Scandinavian.
I love Swedish meatballs.
And I have standing, twice yearly Dermatology appointments.
I started to get prideful of the exploits of Leif Erikson and Eric the Red but the Doc interrupted me with a quick rabbit punch of reality; it’s Dupuytren’s Contracture is all; far less grave than being descended from a bunch of plundering murderers but significant in an odd way nevertheless.
So I read up on it and things started making sense to me. My rehab has made me realize something about this weird body of mine. Flexibility has been something I have always worked on but had less to show for it than one would expect. And now, my muscle memory is, well, Drew Barrymore’s character in 50 First Dates had a better memory. So things seem like Groundhog Day, where I get up and go through the same routine my Physical Therapist set up for me, day after day after day.
My entire right arm has Dupuytren’s Contracture!! Jeez, maybe my entire body!
And with all these stretches and exercises to keep straight; my study at home has picture after picture on the wall of older patients engaging in the particular activity my P.T. wants me to do. I swear, if someone stumbled into the study without knowing anything, they might think I was a serial killer that knocked off elderly and posed them in strange positions.
I never should’ve watched Dexter.
So, I know generally what’s happening.
I’ve just plateaued out.
Now the real work is coming. And again, don’t get me wrong; I am really thankful I’ve made it to this point. I’ve had injuries in the past and have gone through similar courses of recovery. When younger and less patient I even contemplated a different course.
Twenty-eight years ago or so, I got so desperate looking for an assist in my personal recovery that I heard through a friend of this older guy that had some Laotian Ginseng Arrowroot; extremely rare and expensive but guaranteed to aid the rehabilitative process noticeably.
And all natural.
When I met the guy at the Seattle Public Library just after it opened, on a Wednesday, no less, I immediately knew I was in for a rocky ride when he says he needs to get a drink at the only bar he knows is open that early in the day. It’s 2 blocks away and part of an Italian restaurant I’ve eaten at before.
Good food.
Anyway, we get there and I order a Virgin Mary because I‘m not much of a drinker. . .especially at 9:30 in the morning. He has a Manhattan, of all things, I mean I’ve been there! Were the only ones in the place except for this really, really big older guy at the other end of the place.
Did I mention that he was huge?!
Five tables between us and him sitting at the bar.
He barely looks comfortable but is managing somehow, nursing a drink. The guy that I’m with, Sylvester but he goes by Sly, keeps looking over my shoulder at this guy while he tells me how he’s going to the horseraces this weekend and he’s going to go vertical in a pick 4 with the favorite singled in the last race but then go horizontal on other horses in that same last race.
I had no idea what he was talking about. He lost me when he went off on the pari-mutuel wagering concept.
Heck, I just wanted the organics!
Anyway, out of the blue Sly just sits straight up, pushes his chair out and starts walking over toward the big guy. He motions me to come but I hesitate; like any rational person would.
Yet there was something in how he beckoned me.
An assured, all knowing look; hard to explain.
I mean, I just met the guy.
A second later I was on his heels.
We came up on this massive guy and Sly just stands a few feet away. The guy couldn’t help but notice so he swivels in his chair to face him.
It was Wilt Chamberlain!
Chamberlain lends a quick look my way before fixing his gaze on Sly. Sly asks, “Excuse me, didn’t you graduate from Overbrook High in Philly in ’53?”
The Philly accent was perfect.
Wilt answers with a sort of quizzical, “yes” and with an equally vexed look on his face.
Sly answers, “So did I! Wow, what a small world. Go Panthers, huh!? What a crazy time!”
Chamberlain smiles back at him. Nothing more is said for. . . at least 4 seconds; but it seems like 15. The entire time Sly is smiling and bobbing his head.
More subtle than a bobble-head doll but not by much.
Right when I’m about to ask to shake Wilt’s hand, Sly says, “So, what have you been up to since we graduated?”
There was like, a three second pause during which Chamberlain looked at the guy with an “are you serious” look.
He knew immediately the guy was kidding and he burst out laughing, bellowing long and deep. The two of us followed suit and a minute later we were sitting down drinking together.
Oh yeah, the magical arrowroot?!
No such thing.
And that’s the point; no shortcuts.
Now, about this “condition” I have. It all comes courtesy of Sarcopenia. Nope, not an Egyptian Chippendales dancer.
It’s the tendency toward muscles weakening, as we age. And it swoops in and commits itself to the less active. I’m four months into my return and I finally have a toehold.
That’s what it comes down to; it all becomes a matter of finding a place in the sand to draw the line. Once there, you battle to stay for as long as you can before you give ground and then you hold your ground as tenaciously as possible again. And while you do your own personal “line drawing” it is important to have great people around you to make it easier, more palatable or special.
You all draw the line and do your thing.
Sort of like the people of America!
Like the freakin’ U. S. of A.!
TWIM is like that.
We all have our stories of how we got here and they are as varied as can be. But one thing is for sure; we are stronger, together, because of it, than if we were on our own. And TWIM is special because of each member; and stronger because of the collective.
Correction!
Not the “collective” because that’s too linear. We’re multidimensional! There is this “synergistic” energy about us that make the sum of our parts greater than the addition of each separate unit.
And even though we have this pandemic to deal with, the tendrils joining us are still there.
I can feel it.
I see a time in the not so distant future when we will be all 37 strong once again; at a meet, shoulder to shoulder.
And in battle we will come together and the score will add up to more than the individual total. And sure, I know you’re thinking relays and strictly speaking you’d be correct.
But not completely!
Not even close!
Synergism!
Be there, stand with us and feel it.
You know it’s going to happen.
Just a matter of time.
Be a part of it!
PNA Champs 2022!
Go TWIM!
*The Chamberlain anecdote is based on a true story.
