8th month injury update

I know that last month I posted the “8 month update” on my injury, but my math was wrong and I believe that this is NOW the 8^th  month.  Just another sign that I needed a vacation.

My buddy Keith is a gambler, and was taking a Thanksgiving trip to Vegas to stay in free hotel rooms.  Seemed like a no-brainer to me, so I joined in.  We left Spokane in his vehicle around 3pm on Saturday, and by 5 or 6am we were starting up the hill in the dark to Angel’s Landing in Zion.  It was a perfect start, as we crossed the bridge in the pitch black darkness, and ¼ mile further when we started up hill it had become light enough to see the trail.  It was a slow and steady hike up, approximately 1200 feet gain in 2.5 miles.  After the descent, it was clear that I was walking funny, and that my legs and glutes had given all they had.

After a trip through Valley of Fire, we headed into the Red Rock Hotel in Vegas.  Since arriving, I have been learning about how indoor people live, learning things like how to gamble, how to use a Valet, and how much to tip a bell hop.  Quite a learning experience for this old dirtbag hillbilly.

On Monday morning I pulled myself upright, stretching some tired muscles, then headed up to Red Rock Conservation Area to test myself on Turtle Head Peak.  TurtleHead is my yearly test of fitness.  Approximately 2.5 miles each way, with a gain of just shy of 2000 feet, ending at about 6000 foot elevation.  In the years past I have been able to get my time down to just under one hour, pushing myself to the ultimate limit the entire time.  In past years I have caught and passed a lot of younger people, including one military guy who felt this old Viking brush past him on the trail.  To get my time under one hour, I keep a fast pace the entire way, with NO stopping whatsoever.  To get my time any better, I would have to include “trail running.”

Now, for those who don’t know, I fell off a rock on March 18, fracturing 2 vertebra, breaking my pelvis in two places, and fracturing 4 ribs.  I spent 2 weeks in the hospital, refused any further treatment or a rehab facility as I don’t have any insurance, and merely returned home.  For the first two weeks home my kids had to take care of most of my needs and help me into and out of a wheelchair and bed, after that I was relegated to the kindness of my amazing neighbors who would pop-in often.  While in the hospital some beautiful climbing friends built a “Viking Siege Ramp” on the front of my house, so I had mobility and access.  I tried not to let it stop me, though it definitely slowed me down.  One week out of the hospital, me in my suit and her in a business skirt, my beautiful daughter Emily pushed me through a rain/snow/blizzard to the bus stop, got me downtown, and pushed me to a job interview.  On other occasions I would pay a neighbor kid to drive me out of town to court and conduct my duties in a chair.  Occasionally I would spend the 2 hours it took to get out of bed and dress myself, push myself to a bus stop (almost always in the rain) and ride the bus downtown to get a half hour’s work and take the bus home, typically taking about 4-5 hours to get in a half hours work.  One time I was wheeling down a hill and the tire came off the rim, leaving me in somewhat of a pickle.  I finally got the chair to a bus, and got us home.

I spent about 6 weeks in the chair, then spent about 4 days with a walker, about a day using crutches (nearly impossible with my back brace which came up into my arm pits) then went to “jimmy sticks” for a couple weeks, then to a cane (my beautiful Aunt Judy gave me my great grandfather Olaf’s cane, which I will always treasure).

It was with those memories and thoughts that I headed to the turtle this morning.  As I started up, I was concerned about my heart exploding if I pushed too hard, since it has been so long, so I wore a heart monitor and kept an eye on it.  As it turned out, my legs are too weak to even push the heart to a stress level.  For the most part my HR remained around 165, with a high of the day of 179.  Not much to worry about.  So the fight became one of getting my legs to keep pushing me up the hill.  The first half mile is merely a slight up-hill jaunt that typically acts as a good warm up.  WOW, today I was feeling my legs giving out by the time I even hit the up-hill portion.  Merely a couple hundred feet into the elevation gain, I already knew that there was no way I was going to finish the quest.  I kept going.  I tried to think of all of the inspirational people in my world.  Roo, who this year set a world record, completely shattering the old record of how many times she could one-hand lift a 40lb kettleball in an hour (712 times!!);  Brant Stevens, who in his 40s still boxes, fights MMA, and runs marathons and triathlons; Erin LaVoie, one of brother Bill’s old students who set numerous records in logging competitions.  In the end, it was not the “inspiration” of any of these people that kept me moving, it was solely the fear of having Roo learn that I quit like a “little bitch” that kept me moving.  I never got my mind to the point of “I must succeed,” rather just kept putting off my “failure.”  It was not my respect for Roo’s inspiration, rather the fear of her wrath that kept me moving.

At about ¾ the way to the ridge, I was at a continuing pace of about 4-5 steps, then rest, …  I looked behind me, and there were a couple people closing in on me.  At this point it is important to admit that I have a thing about people passing me.  NEVER on the turtle has ANYONE ever passed me.  Almost NEVER ANYWHERE does anyone pass me when I am walking, unless I am pacing with a group.  This is a pride thing that I will probably have to overcome in the near future, but someone is going to have to EARN the privilege of passing this old fat man if that is his/her intent.  Seeing people closing in, my pace quickened somewhat to about a 5-7 step then rest, as that is all I could muster.  All of my thoughts turned to having to come to grips with someone passing me.  My fear of being passed even surpassed my fear of admitting failure to Roo. 

Finally, at 1:07 hours I hit the ridge.  The ridge is an accomplishment, but the climb is surely not over.  I estimate an additional 350 – 400 feet of elevation after the ridge, but not as steep.  I took about a minute rest to strengthen my mind, then headed up again.  Finally, at 1:27 I topped out on the summit.  There was a guy standing on the summit, and I did not see him in front of me, nor did I see him coming up behind me, so I cannot guarantee that he did not pass me.  The mere fact that I could NOT GUARANTEE that I had not been passed took all of the “glee” out of reaching the summit.  This is a mental “weakness” that I had better overcome in the next few years as I get even older and fatter, or I will start to experience “failure” on too many occasions.

On the descent I felt weak and fragile for the first third, but by the time my body had loosened up again I was walking down the hill like a stud.  On the descent I caught and passed numerous younger folk, thus renewing my faith in the old fat guy and giving myself a good feeling about the day.  AND IT WAS a beautiful day, in Vegas, with a buddy, hiking the turtle, 70 degree weather and sunshine. 

Yep, I need to live down here!