Recovering from a surgery that just removed parts of two muscles that I will never have back while watching Olympic athletes in the best shape of their lives compete in intense physical tests could go two ways.
Option 1: depressing. I could lay there remembering all the sports I used to play, wondering whether I’ll be able to play them again one day, even though I know the doctor said I’ll have full mobility again, but I currently can’t even sit up without rolling over on my side and pushing up with my arm so that seems very far away.
Option 2: inspiring. I could listen to the stories of these athletes who have overcome adversity, who have trained every day, who have dedicated years to achieving their goals, and I could think about what I want to do when I’m able to fully move again, what sport I want to get back into or discover for the first time, what hike I want to accomplish, what bike ride I want to be ready for.
I chose Option 2. I will not let this get me down. Tristen is gone, and for the first time in a decade I won’t have pain in my right side when I try to do the simplest of athletic activities. This recovery period is limited, and while I’ll carry the mark of him for the rest of my life, I will not carry the pain. When I am fully recovered, have completed my physical therapy, and finally feel no more pain, there are no limits to what I can do.
I am already making a mental list of physical feats I want to accomplish. It all starts on September 30th, when hopefully my PT clears me to get on a stationary bike and join team Ginger Strong in the fight against rare cancers at the NYC Cycle for Survival. Of course I’d like to run and play on a team again, but of all the things I did, I miss hiking most. The scenery, the sense of accomplishment when you summit a peak, the hours or days spent just appreciating this earth – I want to hike the Long Trail, I want to hike the Lost Coast, and one day I want to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro. Really I just want to be active again. Get out there and sweat, feel like my body has overcome this sedentary phase and can take on anything I challenge it to.
In the beginning of the Olympics I was watching Women’s Rugby and suddenly heard two words I never thought I’d hear in the Olympics: synovial sarcoma. One of the USA women, Jillian Potter, was diagnosed with synovial sarcoma in her late 20’s. Hers was Stage 3, mine is Stage 2, so our treatments have been different (Jillian had to go through chemo, which I have luckily been able to avoid, although I may still need radiation TBD), but here she was, two years later, competing on an international stage in a seriously tough sport. When I first saw her story, I broke down. Here was a face with the diagnosis, images of a hospital, talk of chemo making her weak – at that point I still didn’t know if mine was contained or not, so I’d been burying the worry that it had spread to my lungs and I too would need chemo. But after I let that fear and sadness wash over me, I let it go, and found inspiration in her story. If she can come back from this thing and be there, I can come back from it too. Right then I became a US Women’s rugby fan.
The Olympics are an amazing time when our world joins together to watch one thing. Not news, not violence, but good old-fashioned athletic competition. People from different countries help each other, cheer for each other, and celebrate their victories together. For a traveler who loves the world and a patient recovering from surgery it was the best possible thing to watch last week.