The best laid plans. I thought I had a natural propensity to adapt to changes more than most, considering I have lived in four different countries and have moved more times than I can remember. I've survived 4 divorces, two of my parents at a young age and two of my own. I've trained my brain in science, business and theology, always hoping to understand most of what comes down the line with the ability to handle it in the best way possible.
In spite of all these contributing assets to the dynamic nature of living, it seems we always have one more lesson to learn, there is always a nudge to grow us a little more each day. Some of us pursue life and growth like an addiction. We would like to get stronger, wiser and whatever we consider to be more and more successful throughout the course of our existence. I like to think my pursuits have achieved that to some extent.
I wonder at this point if I have reached the apex of the physical and the mental. My body cannot keep pursuing more strenuous pursuits without breaking, my mind cannot absorb and retain what it used to, and I know all this because, simply put, I am tired and just don't have the capacity to push any harder or further anymore. Injuries over the last year help me see how fragile it all is and to ensure my ability to enjoy at least some of my bucket list items, I need to be more intentional about limits and resting and healing, difficult for someone who has always been in "go" mode.
I have been resting, taking slower bike rides, paddling. The summer has been difficult for us for several reasons and we have had some unusual down time. Percolating to the surface are all the thoughts, the secondary issues that never even registered when focused on all the usual daily demands. It is an interesting and new place that I am appreciating surprisingly enough. Not everything is so critical to survival anymore. Good thing too, because there isn't much choice in the matter.
We all need to embrace the eventual reality of things changing pace, of not being so caught up in the matters that wear us down. The slow but steady replaces the tackle it and get it done. Acceptance of longer and winding routes from one point to the next becomes the new normal, and there are plenty of great books to catch up on to help us through times that our minds might be outpacing our bodies, and good people to help us through those where our bodies may be outpacing our minds.
My vision for the future has been rocked once again over the last month. I need a new hip. Where my soul was weakened, my body helped give me an outlet to work through the weakness back to strength. Now my body is weakened. I am fortunate to be able to lean on my inner strength to work through the new things I have to accept and adapt to, but it is scary.
The doctor asked me what I wanted activities I wanted to do and I told him about my inaugural Camino walk, and many active vacations. When I heard "I don't see that in your future", my heart sank, only to be lifted slightly by the prospect of a prosthetic intervention. "If you aren't ready to do your walk by next fall with this operation, I won't feel like a good doctor."
Thank goodness I read the Chronic Cyclist this summer. Tom Waite, a former ecology professor a few years my senior, contracted Huntington's Disease and decided to flee his environment to stave off the affliction by riding his Pugsley across the continent over and over. His example and sense of adventure shows me we can adapt the unique circumstances of our lives to most anything we are inspired by.
I have to give up Sister Slice. She is a Cannonade tri bike that I rode 20-25mph for a steady 6 hours on a good day (now you know why my hips are shot). I haven't had one of those in almost a year. She is light and fast and riding her feels like flying. She has been my companion for the last 10+ years and has carried me through the worst of storms, both literally and figuratively. She has given me an outlet to be away from the madding crowd and commune with nature and the Creator and to regain and strengthen my balance.
Earlier this year I purchased a green Trek 520 to cross the country with, which has been sitting in my garage, slowly getting outfitted. A welcoming Brooks B17 saddle ready to pack on the miles, it is still unnamed. I will try to bond with it as part of my recovery. I also like to ride my black 29er (recently named Domino because I can't seem to stay upright on the thing with all the narrow tracks on all those crazy MTB trails). It helps me change pace and perspective and work on reflexes (I don't seem to have any) as shift from fast and hard to slow and easy. I keep in mind the couple who enjoy an 8mph pace on their cross country adventures well into their 60's. Ride on.
A more limited vision forces me to live in moment, day by day, minute by minute some times, and to be open and grateful for what a day can bring, taking pride in going slower so that I can still go, hopefully long into the future, and not getting too disappointed by the limitations. As big a change as has been brought, the opportunities to look forward to remain, and there is always a way to "make it a great day". The not knowing and trusting in the unknown is also new, but it relieves me from too much control and responsibility, something I am trying to let go of anyway. For this too I am grateful.
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