Bending Without Breaking
Please note - this post reflects my personal experience with recovery and fitness. It is illustrative, not prescriptive. Everyone's path is different - consult with your healthcare provider before making changes to your health routine and practices. (Full Disclaimer)
After qualifying for Nationals in Missouri (however dubiously), I was elated and already training for the next race in Nebraska in August. I planned a family trip back to Steamboat Springs for July and planned to take my bikes, train in the mountains again, and then hit a circuit of state games for the fall. Yes, I was slow in my first race, but with 13 months to train, I believed I could compete respectably in Des Moines in July 2025.
But in mid June, while laying new flooring in my kitchen,I felt a sharp pop in my right knee accompanied by sharp, constant pain. It wasn’t entirely unexpected—I’d torn the meniscus back in 2002 and had undergone two arthroscopic surgeries since. This time, I hoped a third arthroscopic cleanup, scheduled in mid-August, would buy me some time before a full replacement.
Despite the skill of the surgeon, Dr. Richard Seagraves, the arthroscopic procedure didn't help.
Instead of relief, the pain worsened. After a few frustrating weeks, I scheduled a total knee replacement for October 28, 2024.
Fortunately, I knew the drill: go in strong, work like hell after. My surgeon for the knee replacement, Dr. Manthe (who had also performed my hip revision), encouraged me to build as much strength as possible before the operation. She said, "Whatever level of pain you can endure, go for it. You don't have to worry about making it worse. So show up strong for your surgery." I had 6 weeks to prepare and I hit the gym daily, focusing on legs, core, and upper body. I’d recently become certified as a personal trainer with specialties in Senior Fitness and Functional Aging. That knowledge gave me structure—and purpose.
The replacement procedure went well - Dr. Manthe and her team are amazing. But no amount of preparation can fully shield you from the emotional weight of major surgery. I expected pain. I expected moments of frailty. I was better prepared this time, having already walked (limped?) the path with my hip. But still—on Day 3 post-op, nauseated, dizzy, and running on nothing but water and painkillers, I nearly canceled my first rehab session. My history with opioids added a mental dimension to recovery that was just as intense as the physical.
But I showed up anyway on Day 3.
And that was the first stone in the foundation of the next span of the bridge between my dreams and their realization.
My rehab team was world-class. In just five weeks, I hit the gold-standard goals: 120 degrees of flexion, 0 degrees of extension. On Day 12 post op, I clipped into the Peloton (very carefully)—not to crush watts, but just to complete a single, painful cycling stroke. Five minutes. It was ugly. But it was my path and I would walk it.
By the one-month mark, I was riding 30 minutes. Then 45. Progress came in surges and setbacks—but it came. The knee still talked back, loudly some days. But I had lots of ice and I was optimistic. I’d come back from the hip. I could come back from this, too.
I had eight months until Nationals. My diet was clean. My mindset was steady. I was healing with intention and building strength with patience. The lessons I’d learned in Colorado came rushing back: recovery isn’t linear. The gap between vision and reality can’t be leapt—it must be bridged, stone by stone.
And I was laying stones every day. The bridge was taking shape.
I was starting to believe this surgery and comeback would be a resounding success. The knee replacement was going to be a launchpad, not a setback. My body was recovering, my spirit was lit, and my sights were once again set on Des Moines in July of 2025.
But life, as always, had one more twist waiting.
[Next: Part III – Matters of the Heart]