Off I Go

Just seconds before the fall…. August 18th, 2009 at the Dreamers. Photo Credit: Bob Banks

This piece was born from big feelings that arose as I accelerated towards major surgery that had been in the works for a number of years. I started writing it in the final days before the procedure.   It will likely be the first of a few posts chronicling the process.  

On November 4th, a surgeon will saw through my tibia and fibula, externally rotate my lower leg approximately 15 degrees, hammer a nail in behind my knee driving it straight through the shaft of the tibia, and then secure both ends of the nail with screws.  

In many ways, this is a routine procedure.  Certainly for the surgeon, but at this point, for me as well.  I’ve had more surgeries than toes on my feet.  Yet, this one is different.  

This time we are correcting the deformity that was left by a different best in class surgeon.  He almost uttered the words “oops” upon realizing his significant miscalculation in the arguably complex equation that is second hand limb salvage after a year of failed efforts.  

This time we are addressing a primary source of pain that has literally been on my mind every day, often every hour, for the past 16 years.  Everyone’s pain is personal and I know as well as anyone that comparing pain is at best a fool's errand, but there’s something uniquely frustrating about my experience healing up until this point.  Chronic pain is debilitating because it devours precious mental and emotional energy.  My strategies for managing this resource suck have changed over time, and that process has been one of the most challenging educations of my entire life.  One of the keys to, what I’ll call “success” here, has been honing a sense of the balancing point between fight and surrender.   Something I will certainly be drawing upon in the coming weeks.

Yet, this intervention is about far more than chronic pain.  In fact, the primary source of pain - my ankle, is not involved this time around.  I’ll still be walking on a severely arthritic joint that has been battered not just by the initial accident, but years of wear and tear while being attached to the rest of my body in horrible alignment.  No, straightening my leg is about something bigger.  This is a reclaiming of balance and autonomy.  

It’s not lost on me that I’m obsessive, especially when it comes to things of the (my) body. Perhaps, a 15 degree rotational deformity would go more or less unnoticed for some, but for me and anyone else who lives so passionately in their body, it’s more than an annoyance.  There is not an activity where the deformity goes unnoticed.  I may mask the struggle well, but it’s down right maddening to move through the world with a physical base so far out of alignment, with nothing (trust me, I’ve tried literally everything) that can change the reality of twisted bones.  

My friend and mentor, Laurie Trieger used to remind me to “ensure my oxygen mask was secure, before helping those around me.”  Laurie is no stranger to service.  She’s a bad ass Lane County Commissioner with decades of nonprofit leadership experience.  She always helped me to remember that my ability to serve, support, and protect others is contingent upon my own physical and emotional reserves. Pain eats into this cache no doubt, but my literal lack of foundational strength has consistently added load to the already heavy lifts of helping those around me. 

It’s impossible to know how profound (if at all) straightening the leg will be, but nonetheless, this moment feels like days leading up to a small death.  Similar in nature to the days before the birth of my son, I’m walking through a door that will immediately disappear behind me.  There’s mixed emotions as I accelerate towards change.  I feel excited and horrified by what’s to come, but as the day gets closer, I find myself also feeling a bit of sadness.   

My world shifted in so many ways when I fell off the top of a highball boulder problem on August 18th, 2009.  It’s taken many years for me to see it clearly, but at this point there’s no dancing around the fact that it was incredibly traumatic.  Time has also helped me to see just how much of the past 16 years has been shaped by that moment - for better and worse.  Surviving this accident was a masterclass in learning to struggle.  I learned that fight and endurance could get me through many hard things.  Things like grad school, a marathon with 4000 ft of gain, a 1400 mile solo bike tour, hard sport routes (way harder than before my accident), and building small businesses to support myself along the way.  I grinded.  I grinded some more.  And I made them happen.  

I’m grateful for this education by fire.  Struggle is important.  Suffering can lead to amazing things.  

Yet, there are other ways.  More subtle, more powerful perhaps?  Learning to lead with vulnerability and letting things like love, gratitude, and curiosity drive progress is something I’m only beginning to learn… or maybe relearn.  

Every so often I remember that most folks in my life right now never knew me before the accident.  Perhaps this is true for others as they age, but I often feel like a stranger to my younger self.  There's a stark contrast for me between my life before the day I fell off the top of the Thimble of The High Sierra.

My high school and college friends would probably describe me as creative and emotional.  I was the President of my high school choir, the guitarist in a band that was sort of a cross between Primus and Tool, and an aspiring solo singer/songwriter who spent many hours scribbling in journals alone at cafes.

Mysticism was more than a curiosity.  It was a downright obsession.  I devoured books on the subject, often while my roommates were playing Edward Forty Hands downstairs (if you know, you know…).  I practiced Ashtanga yoga devoutly for most of my early twenties - 2 hours a day, 6 days a week.  This obsession included two months in Mysore India practicing with Pattabhi Jois, the Guru himself. I also studied philosophy in college with hopes that I might find some answers.  I found none, but got a little bit better at asking questions.  

With little actual professional skills I struggled to find work, but through a series of fortunate events including a transformative opportunity to work at a semester abroad high school in New Zealand, I got the push to pursue my passion for cooking and nutrition.  After completing a year-long program deemed Natural Chef, by Bauman College, I started a small business cooking for families in and around Santa Barbara.  For about 4 years, I lived a life that I often describe as “dirtbagging in style” where I was paid well and often traveled on other people’s dime.  The stories are countless.  I developed a reputation for my work and even offered a role running the kitchen at a popular natural foods restaurant.  

The trip to Bob’s cabin in August 2009 was a celebration of being offered yet another classy position - cooking for a billionaire’s family, when they were around, which wasn’t very often.  I would be paid well.  

So yes, I also climbed a lot back in that life.  In fact, It was during those years “dirtbagging in style” that I really came into my own as a climber, the culmination of this being the couple months in Fall 2008 spent climbing in Geyikbayri and Kalymnos.  

The day of the fall was my first day bouldering in some time, perhaps more than a year.  I remember feeling a bit out of my element climbing rope free, but also very solid from the consistent time spent on stone recently, albeit on a rope. The whole day was unplanned.  My girlfriend woke up sick.  Bob and I just decided to go circuit easy problems for old times sake.  The entire session was pad free except for the occasional use of his small briefcase pad to wipe our shoes.  I remember coming around a corner after downclimbing from a boulder and spotting “The Thimble of The High Sierras”.  It was beautiful... and kind of tall.  Bob said it was a straightforward V3 into an easy V0 finish.  No big deal.  I was intrigued, so he ran up the hill to snap photos and I gave it a go.  After hiking the crux and I continued into higher ground.  I remember feeling a bit less comfortable than I would have liked nearing the lip, but still felt in total control.  Afterall, the climbing was “easy”.  A lapse of judgment or perhaps just bad luck had me grabbing a sloper instead of the jug at the lip, about 20 ft off the ground.  Normally this wouldn’t have been a big deal, but  just as I settled in on the sloper, my foot picked off a greasy pocket.  The cut was abrupt pulling my hand off the hold as well.  

And I was off.  

Spinning through the air and spotting my landing, my last thought was “this might be sort of bad,” 

And then impact.  

It was far worse than either of us ever could have imagined and the beginning of the next chapter of my life.  

I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but suspect that the next few months will be challenging on a number of levels.  My intention is to surrender to the process and let the current take me wherever I need to go, but I’m ready and able to suffer as necessary.  

Off I go.