The Story of Achilles: Fight Back

Since the stitches were removed last Friday, I have begun to come to terms with the impermanence of the cast. I made a commitment to aggressively wean myself off the painkillers. The lowered defense is most noticeable at night. Between the frequent awakenings to find a comfortable compromise in repose, and forced surrender to sheer exhaustion, I manage to meet each dawn.

Last night I dreamt about the morning after the cast was removed. In that dream, I awoke and could actually see the tendon, as though my skin was transparent. The tendon was not seamless and smooth as portrayed in medical illustrations, but more a crude experimental creation of Dr. Frankenstein - alive and functional, but by no means beautiful. I could stand firmly on both feet, but didn't try to walk. I just stood there.

Staring.

Waiting.

- - -

I am determining how to manage going back to work (physically, in the office). Sitting with my leg elevated constantly for two hours puts a strain on my lower back that requires at least half an hour of lying down to relieve. While moving around intermittently, rather than sitting continually, lengthens how long I can sit, it also means longer periods needed to rest when I do eventually succumb. I have been coping with plying my trade from home, being that the nature of my work allows telecommuting, but there is something to be said for the value of community and proximity that cannot be understated.

Perhaps this battle with the painkillers may have to be more diplomatic than militaristic.

- - -

Tomorrow will be four weeks since the day of the rupture.

The Story of Achilles: 21 days and counting

This day was inevitable. Today, my sanctuary was violated. My cast was rendered assailable.

A dull rotating hand saw carved a crude window in the fibre-glass shell, exposing my wound for the first time in three weeks. Evenly sewn stitches were removed one by one from parched, tender flesh. Flesh that had found a sense of peace in its undisturbed solace of inactivity. Although gentle and amiable, the nurse had no concept of the massive, psychological security breach she initiated.

I need this rupture healed - yet - I want this joint to live in greater safety than I have provided - yet - I need to be stronger than before - yet - I want the strength of the cast - yet - I need to be free of this crutch, and these crutches - yet - I harbour conflict within: a desperate fight to step forward, somehow without stepping out, just yet.

I am constantly aware of the tendon, convinced that what I feel with every passing second is it slowly binding itself together, at a molecular level. It is equally fascinating as it is disconcerting. It commands me to rest, while preventing me from sleep.

The Story of Achilles: The Beginning

Today

The cotton padding is starting to fall apart. Three weeks into this confinement, the cast has begun to wreak havoc behind my knee. Perhaps it’s the freedom from pain, allowing me too much movement. While my surgically repaired Achilles tendon is getting the much needed rest, the rest of me is ensuring a strong frame is maintained and ready for the moment, as the cast is removed three weeks from now, when it will be required to take up the new slack.

In the fading moments of clarity before sleep envelops my mind, I sometimes liken my leg and its fibre-glass exoskeleton to captives experiencing Stockholm Syndrome towards their captors. There are panicky flashes of apprehension when I think about the day when I will no longer have the safety and security of this cast protecting my reincarnated tendon, leaving me vulnerable to the dangers of the outside world as I unavoidably, albeit tentatively, embark upon the long journey of rehabilitation. The replayed memory of the one step that went wrong sends neurotic nerve signals down my leg, and I struggle to suppress a sharp pain concocted in my mind, a haunting feeling I yet cannot escape.

The following is a retrospective journal of my injury, and the subsequent days.

February 2, 2011 - 1715hrs

After months of excuses, citing reasons both valid and vapid, we’re warming up, jogging towards the stadium to wean our way back into the lifestyle movement we boast - parkour. Now warm, stretched, and bursting with a youthful pride belied by our true ages, we begin practicing wall climbs. The familiar motions come back with repeated attempts.

The confidence returns.

The walls get higher.

At 12 feet, I say, “I can make that.” My fingertips graze the top on the first attempt. With an air of [ ... ], I take an extra step back and proclaim, “I’m making that wall!”

I charge the wall.

The first footplant is solid.

The second is almost gravity defying.

The third is ... *pop!*

Gravity, no longer defied, catches up with me and I return to earth, rolling out of the inevitable crash with second nature fluidity. But something is wrong. It’s not my twice dislocated ankle that is hurting... in fact, there is little pain whatsoever. Just a definitely wrong feeling. I try to stand and promptly keel over face first. Now, the pain roars from behind my ankle. I look down at where my Achilles tendon should be, and see no tension in the skin. It is completely ruptured (a fact that will only be confirmed 16 hours later, as I am being admitted to the hospital for corrective surgery).

February 4, 2011 - 1400hrs

Its taking me a while to get the piercings out by myself, having lost the argument that none of my adornments are anywhere near my leg, much less foot. Most of the people in Victoria Hospital’s Ward 9 are staring in unabashed curiosity at the tattooed man without bandages or an IV drip, who lies among them, who is now struggling to unscrew, unclamp, and unhinge stainless steel rods and rings from his face and chest. Two orderlies saunter into the ward, wheeling a gurney between them. One stares, the other simply says, “It’s your turn” as he tosses me a gown. A gown known by some other standard, I muse as I stare at the floral patterned sheet with no holes, but lined with clips and strings.

1430hrs

It takes a while for Dr. Ali, the anesthesiologist to deliver the epidural, much less find the correct gap in my vertebrae. I am, it seems at the wrong end of a genetic joke, having the unfortunate physiology whereby my only susceptibility to tickles is my lower back. Within minutes though, I am reluctantly experiencing paralysis from my waist down. Physically reluctant to so utterly relinquish control of my body, but, as I was to be awake for the operation, I was rejoicing mentally.

Throughout the prep, and while getting through my flesh to the meat of the matter, the surgical team share the latest gossip. I am somewhat calmed by the fact that this is one of the most common sports injuries and corrective surgeries.

Then Dr. David exclaims, “Whoa! This is the most interesting rupture I have ever seen!”

It's quiet for a few seconds as they all look at my injury.

“Can I see?”

I twist my neck to look squarely at one of the nurses who I earlier spied placing her phone on a counter in the theatre. She looks at Dr. David who I assume assents, then retrieves her phone. I hear a click and she shows me the most interesting rupture they had ever seen.

“Cool” is all I can muster, before the reality that I am looking at my own ankle sets it.

My heart rate involuntarily climbs, and Dr. Ali gives me something cold to relax. It feels like cold little metallic nano-bots creeping in from the IV, up my arm and into my head. Slowly, the table across the room starts to dance, and I remember that I am in surgery, not mortal danger. Dr. Ali talks to me for a while, and I am aware that my heartbeat is once again slow and steady. It’s going to be ok.

1500hrs

I’m sitting in Ward 9, trying to screw, bolt, pinch my piercings back into my skin, paranoid that in the hour they’ve been out, their homes would have been foreclosed. Once again, I have an audience. The nurse patiently waits for me to finish and instructs me to lie back and relax as she fixes a saline drip to my IV. I tell her I feel fine, but she insists, knowingly informing me that although surgery is over, the worst is yet to come. My wife and a few close friends come by and we all comment and joke apprehensively about the cast and the days to come.

February 5, 2011 - 0215hrs

The nurse was right.

1700hrs

I am discharged. I manage to get to the car on my own, very slowly, with the crutches.

February 6-11, 2011

Day and night blur beyond recognition.

There is an ever-present disorientation.

There is a pain in my back and neck that feel like Death setting up camp in anticipation.

This horror is constantly searching for a fault in the heavy painkillers barricade. The battle leaves me extremely fatigued from the simplest actions. I estimate times passing by counting the remaining medications and remembering what I last ate. Self pity is impeded only by the realisation of the burden I have put on my wife’s already laden shoulders.

February 12, 2011

My aunt, a medical professional suggests that the heavy painkillers I am on are actually inhibiting my recovery at this stage. I switch to a lesser medication - 400mg Ibuprofen. The effect is almost instantaneous. Within hours, I am able to sit up and eat an entire plate of food in one go. By the evening, relieving myself is no longer a desperate, daunting task. I can feel the rest of my body regaining it’s former control and strength returning. More importantly, the debilitating pain in my spine and neck is diminishing noticeably as my spinal fluid is restored.

With my burgeoning mobility and awareness, I begin to understand that it is neither my injury nor the surgery which are truly painful. Recovery is the most difficult part of the process - physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Even more so for my wife.

Progress. Maintenance. Life joy.

Before and after ... left to right, just to be certain.

The current form is maintained wholly through the Primal Blueprint lifestyle. I only "workout" once a week, but maintain fitness as a part of everything I do, everyday. Holistic hunter-gatherer nutrition however, not a daily diet per se, is the primary key.

"Walkabout" - Episode 1

I cycled 16 miles today.

Last week brought the end to my seven year, one month run with Accela Marketing. This job was the longest I've stayed at any one thing (besides my own life). I was trying to figure out if I wish it was a more amicable parting of ways. Until recently part of me clung to the history of institution I helped create. Today, I realised the bridge was burnt as soon as I got off the other side. So much for history, but thank God for small decencies. Very small decencies. Disappointment resonates strongly on both sides of this separation. I've been told anger also resides not so quietly on the other side. There will be inevitable conflict when opposing core values, regardless of a common goal, impact upon each other on a daily basis. Resentment builds, suspicion gets the better of communication, insecurities will bias perceptions. So I am now wondering about my future. And while I wonder... I wander.

I cycled 16 miles today. On it's own, that's not an impressive statement. However, temper in Saint Lucian topography and re-examine. I am taking (at most) two weeks to clear my head and heart of what was my life's primary drive for almost a decade. I need to get back to the point where saying "I" or "we" only refers to myself, and not the entity I had so deeply become a part of. Every day in one way or another I plan to step out and away from who I think I am - who I was, who I have become - and allow "me" to come back to me. In this time, while I get off the path and run through the fields, I believe I will see once again. It is good to have no limitations, no fear, no direction for a few moments in time in order to allow the opportunities we never knew to crash into us. Time to look outside of the routine and smell some truly fresh air. The reality is I have to re-identify myself before I can decide where, or even what I do next.

What next?

The question that I recently thought only focused on my lifestyle for fitness, health and fun. Now it's fully integrated into every aspect I am, and will be.

I hope to see you on the way. Well, not all of you.

Regress to Evolve?

So it looks like I'm on the right path. We (humans) really do need to acknowledge what our ancestors achieved in order to fulfill our own potential. Just to recap... I did P90X for 2 and a half cycles last year and plateaued. I actually began regaining the weight and worse yet, fat (gasp)! Then at the start of this year I did Insanity and was blown away - reference: I am 5' 5" and went from a beefy 175lbs 34" waist down to 155lbs 28-30" waist!)
But nearing the end of that program I began to ask, "What next?" Then I discovered MovNat, Primal Blueprint and barefoot living.
It started, as do all things with the diet. Going (and being) primal takes us back to a time more than 10,000 years ago when mankind didn’t eat agriculture as we do today. Today my nutrition is guided primarily by a sensible practical diet of meats, seeds, vegetables, fruits, butters, fats, oils and nuts. I try as best as I can to avoid grains and sugars and food based on these two ingredients... not as easy as it sounds, believe me. After getting a firm grasp on nutrition, changing my lifestyle and approach to life as it comes came almost effortlessly (save the curious looks and awkwardly phrased inquiries from family, friends, co-workers, etc. - especially the barefoot living part LOL)
Well it's been almost two months (including a fabulous three week vacation) since I have been part of a regular scheduled fitness regime and I am even fitter and stronger than before without having padded back on the extra weight. At 33 years old, I confidently lead a parkour group, seem to be the guru of fitness, nutrition and recovery among family and friends, and I play where I work, live and everywhere in between.
I am happy.

And then... what next?

After some extensive parkour training in climb, vault and jump, I decided to allow my knees some recovery time and 'take it easy' by doing P90X instead of Insanity for a few days. And in this, my last (prolonged) week of Insanity, I am becoming more and more aware of some issues as this program comes to fruition.
All of these workouts (Insanity, P90X, 10 Minute Trainer) are designed to get you in a certain shape within a set time frame. Stick with the nutrition and training and you will achieve remarkable results, but they are not designed to keep you fit forever - they are made with a start and an end, to reach specific goals. They are a the vehicles to a destination, they are not the journey.
What do you do after your one two or three months are up?
Repeat the program, or switch to another? Our bodies aren't made to withstand the constant high intensity indefinitely. Given enough time and repetition, each program will cause you to plateau at some point, and in some cases eventually regress.
Forget Carnival / Summer / vacation / whatever the short term goal may be. What are you going to do to stay fit for life?
Think about it now so that you aren't lost... and more importantly, so you don't lose all that you have so deservedly gained. But then, now that I am in the shape I want and need to be in to have the fun I want to.. what next?
After discovering that he helped develop P90X with Tony Horton, I've been following Mark's Daily Apple for a while for guidance and tips in real-life nutrition and fitness. Enter the Primal Blueprint and MovNat. Their approaches to life, health, diet, well being, fitness, mentality, just about everything, are so close to what I have previously idealised as my own, that I feel like the new guy in the cult. My parkour training, my homespun diet, my view on social interaction, my (the list goes on) all suddenly seem to fit into a larger picture of thinking that isn't so radical... but more natural than ever before.
Time to go out and explore...
Just me musing on 'what next'.
Until such time, keep pressing play :)

Dig Deeper.

we've started INSANITY by Beachbody. it's been a week and i haven't missed a day. nor do i plan to. i have amended and tailored my diet as best given the circumstances of location and budget. this lifestyle suits me well. i am sometimes tempted to refer to it as ideal. if not only for the limited hours in the day. time itself prevents me from using the strength, stamina and agility as much as i would. if only i could. but i do feel the results in my overall fitness already, albeit inhibited by the underlying stiffness and muscle fatigue. all in a shift to regain a form of former glory, it not better than before. the fact that i can now practice parkour is fun too.

january 2010 - week 1

new post. new year.
finding the urge to push again. becoming more secluded while allowing public scrutiny of private thoughts. at the bottom of the pendulum, anticipating upswing. house home happy hope... all in time. who's time? make time. find time. find myself.
flies are being attracted to my screen in the middle of the night. good night.

This week is not a good week

It was like this, this week last year... and the year before.
The 40th week is not a good week.
EVERY creative avenue both my graphic and video teams take are being railroaded by 'upstairs'.
I kicked a hole in the wall in the office hallway yesterday.
Our machines are dying off in poetic symphony, battling for dominance for IT attention.
I cussed out vehemently at no one in particular knowing but not caring that people were in the front office.
Lack of morale, apathy, and outright vehemence is becoming the norm among us.
We are reacting to "change the swirl" by returning designs with perfectly centered squares instead.
We have assigned every client their one allowed colour that no one else can use.
Three clients have been allowed to keep their swirls.
Responses have become either grunts or three word quips.
This cannot continue.
I cannot continue like this.

For a moment, lost in time

By no more than mere moments, I passed you without seeing. Or perhaps I was looking the other way when you sauntered by. I missed you, and still do.
Soon, I hope.
Soon.
I can only hope.

A stitch in time

there was a point today that reminded me that a moment can last a lifetime. discovering that the effects of one pin in the etui of life was not astounding. discovering the pin however, was. thanks for the beautiful sewing, the inevitable pricking and the eternal being.

in de mean time

ah have ah date on line wid de wife dis morning. she tex meh 4 o'clock last night to say she wish ah was deh too in a fete wid she an de NiSAN crew. but seein as tings hadda be how dey is, we doing wha we can until we can do wha we do.

one look, three calls

i was angry, disappointed, disillusioned, confused and focused all at the same time. the worst thing to do is try to control your heart beat when the only thing you want to do is beat your heart out. but in the end, the end justified the means. i will fight for this. even if it means fighting for you by fighting with you. clichés are wonderful tools in every sense.

is that all?

i'm going to carnival in Trinidad for the first time in 6 years. hosting one of my best college friends and her hubby. the wife is already there for a good week ahead of us. should be some memorable good times ahead.
if anyone reads this, you'll notice i have abandoned my rule for proper use of punctuation, capitalisation and perhaps to a certain extent grammar. there is a reason. it's too demanding to be proper all the time. better get a good idea out and build than a great building on loose sand. i want to write, but i don't want to feel like i have to. start slow, small and fool proof... or foolish. doesn't matter. so long as something is flowing. Ish, we need to get that back.
that is all.

I have a new Payne

I went to the doctor today voluntarily for the first time in over a decade (emergencies not included). I have a pain in my neck that has gone unabated for over a week. I decided that while finding out about the growing inconvenience evolving into sheer annoyance, I might as well use the insurance I pay for and get some of it back come tax time by doing a full physical.

Well, we are all happy to know that I am a specimen of good health except for one thing. My new doctor says I have unexplained high blood pressure - 150/100. What she actually said the first time she took my pressure reading was, “Interesting.” She did the test three more times on three more machines. It never changed. 150/100 four times in a row. She then informed me that it’s something of an anomaly given my overall health, but a trend of high blood pressure due to hypertension is something they’ve been seeing happen to younger and younger people.
But not that high.
Not in a relaxed state.
Not in such good health.

There’s no need for medication or anything like that at this point. I have to do the usual battery of blood tests and she gave me a lifestyle plan to follow over the next six weeks which includes adjusting my diet and “intake habits” during which we'll track the pressure bi-weekly.

None of this helps or affects the constant pain in my neck though. She said that is most likely due to something I am doing (unconsciously, habitually, while asleep, ??? ) and I should see a physiotherapist before doing anything else. I did get a "new" bed yesterday, and last night I did sleep better than I have in ages. So perhaps that's part of it, or hopefully solves all of the above. Lack of sleep can cause these things, right?

Oh, the best part of this is the beginning. I chose the doctor because her surname is Payne.

Headaches

I woke up every day this week with a headache and an annoying niggling pain at the base of my skull. The headache is so constant I am afraid I’m becoming accustomed to it. You always read about or see on television people who have been living with this or that for so many years. I don’t want to be one of those people. I like the freedom of life without pain. I enjoy and celebrate the ability to do what I want, how I want, when I want. It is not a part of life I ever take for granted. I know the consequences of the risks I take every day and I cherish the ability to still have that option to take those risks.
But this pain I have been living with recently... It has to go. Soon.

New work

Click, click, boom.

A few months have passed and I have allowed myself to slip into a state of apathy outside of the routine. I have forgiven and rededicated myself. It's time to get going again.

Found

The passion that comes with doing, while forgetting the reward for action, is fabulous. I found that by thinking nothing, not hoping for anything, just getting up and doing, there was an innocence I had once lost come creeping back into my movement. Fluidity, grace and form flourished out of unrehearsed motions.
Today, having recovered this ... art of creativity ... I made it my method. And it worked. Finally. Perhaps it will continue. Perhaps I have truly found how more is less in practicality.