First, I must apologize for the long absence. Sometimes when you're living life you lose track of time.
By the end of 2013 I could barely walk more than a few blocks without back seizures forcing me to the ground, literally. I often found myself daydreaming that while hobbling down some random street a Steinway would break free from its swinging cable three stories above and crush me like a cartoon character. I just wanted it to end.
By the end of 2014 I could hike up to 8 miles, albeit in a great deal of pain. The pain wasn't completely limiting me from moving, but it certainly made life far more difficult. The piercing pain I had experienced the year prior was replaced by a deep, and at times over-bearing pressure that, while not enough to make me reach for a gun, still weighed heavily on my spirit.
Today, the final day of 2015, I went for a spirited ride on my sexy-as-hell titanium Kona Honzo in the Santa Monica mountains and hit some sweet jumps! I was far from pain free, but I can ride. And that in and of itself is a massive victory.
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| I hit the much smaller jumps... |
I started (really) riding the mountain bike in May. Now, when I say I rode my mountain bike, what I really mean is I rolled downhill like a snail on quaaludes, and pushed my bike uphill like an asthmatic sloth. Every ride was painful, and the hours after each ride were filled with anxiety about every little twinge and lightening strike down my back and left leg. But as the weeks and months passed things improved, and the mechanical and structural pain turned into muscle pain.
There was a total of 20 glacial months between bike rides. Twenty long, brutal months wondering if 1.) I would be able to ride again, and 2.) If I could manage to turn a crank, would I split in half. Those fears were quickly addressed and now, 7 months since hocking up my lungs at my first Wednesday Night Skeggs ride in over two years, on a good day I can handle 40 miles in the saddle with up to 5,000 feet of climbing. And I can even manage to keep some of my old shredder riding friends in sight on the descents. I'm far from pain free on rides. Riding is still a lesson in patience and my thresholds are tested with each passing mile. Right now in fact, my back is burning up a pretty good storm after today's ride. But I CAN ride. Physically I can turn a crank, stand and mash, bounce off rocks, and put this bit of titanium and polycarbonate wizardry in my spine through it's paces. And for that I'm grateful.
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| My year in numbers. I didn't start recording my rides until June, so for 6 months these are respectable stats and more than I had hoped for. |
2015 was my year of regaining some strength and finding a place physically where I felt the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't indeed the N Judah train bearing down on me. There are moments, not entire days, but delicious, blissfully serene moments where I'm almost pain free. No pressure, no tension, just a sense of what I think (and hope) most people feel as they walk through their days. And I plan to string together more of these moments until they form a complete day.
I've got another series of stem cell injections planned at the beginning of the year. But this time we're going all the way up my thoracic spine as well. No more playing games. It's go time. The stem cells worked wonders rebuilding the torn ligaments in my SI joints, so I'm hoping it can help with the cranky facets in my mid back.
At the start of the year I had certain hopes and goals, but wouldn't say out loud what most of them were. Over the summer I rode trails in Oregon and the Sierras, and covered hundreds of miles aboard the mighty Honzo in my backyard, AKA the Santa Cruz mountains, appreciating every drop of sweat that gleefully danced down my cheeks. Goals achieved. My hopes and goals for 2016 are bigger...but I'm keeping those a secret as well.
This time next year I hope to be reporting that I met or exceeding my goals for the year both physical and personal, and that pain is an even greater distant memory. And for those of you who have followed my journey, thank you for your time, and I wish you the best year imaginable.
Peace out my friends!
