My Talus, My Embarrassment

On February 11th of this year, I experienced a life-changing injury while free climbing at a climbing wall gym. Long story short, I fell and landed awkwardly on my feet, fracturing the fibula and tibia of my left ankle and also dislocating my right foot and fracturing the neck of its talus bone (the ankle bone in the foot--a very important bone).

I spent months in a wheelchair, which was fine. I spent weeks in boots and using crutches, and that was fine. I underwent three surgeries and that was fine. I was walking unassisted months ahead of schedule, which was great. But walking, exploring, hiking, running, pushing my physical limits--those were my passions. And they still are, and that's great.

But...

My heart is still broken.

This past weekend, I went to Vermont with my boyfriend for what was supposed to be a wonderful hike up a mountain (the third highest peak in Vermont--Camel's Hump) with the reward of watching the sun set on Lake Champlain from the top of the mountain. It was also going to be my first real physical challenge since my injury. We hit the trail at 4:40 pm and the sun was due to set at 6:34 pm. It was an ~2.5 mile upward trek to the peak. I wore my trusty, waterproof, high-top hiking boots and a minimal, velcro ankle brace on my right foot (my bad foot). On top of the fact that I had never been a speedy hiker, I was especially slow and careful with my footing in order to avoid pain and injury. What does that mean? We were too late to experience the sunset. There was some twilight at the top, but with the sun tucking itself completely into the horizon, it was especially cold and windy at the top of the mountain so we quickly began our descent, donning head lamps, after the obligatory picture-taking at the top.

I skipped a part here. Well, a few parts. To make this fun and less depressing, I'll make a list (because somehow that's more uplifting?).

About the Ascent

• I realized just how out of shape I was after not having hiked up a legitimate mountain in about a year.

• Although the hike opened my eyes to how out of shape I was, I was feeling great and very happy that I was not totally uncomfortable and in pain.

• My boyfriend, Brian, was very encouraging and a great hiking partner.

• I didn't need his helping hand once.

• When we were above the tree line (where there is not enough oxygen for trees to fully grow), we entered a clearing and that is where we discovered the mammatus clouds in the sky. They got their name from their resemblance to boobs. They were a bucket-list cloud for me, so I was excited.

• When we got closer to the summit, I began to have a mini panic attack. I was embarrassed that my slowness would lead us to miss the sunset and I was intimidated by the hike back down the mountain because I knew it would be a bigger challenge than it was going up the mountain, and therefore take even longer. I fought short moments of feeling like I couldn't breathe, tearing up, and slightly sobbing to myself. I'm never like that. But I got through it.

• But I also had moments of elation. I was proud and felt in my element. It was great to sweat outside the gym. Brian and I talked about the passing scenery, making observations, admired the surroundings, made jokes. During the entire hike, I knew that at no point was I going to stop or turn around. I knew I'd get to the top and back to the bottom as long as I was careful. I was thrilled.

• I wore a fedora that belonged to my grandma.

And then there was the hike back down the mountain.

There were other, large groups of hikers that so easily-breezily passed us going both up and down the mountain. I watched their feet swivel and angle up and over odd rock faces, obviously not in any pain or discomfort. They merrily went on their way, able to have engaging conversations because they didn't need to mentally focus on every fucking step they were taking, how they were going to take it, whether a foot crevice would be too tight to allow their ankle to turn, if the angle of the rock was too steep to press their heels upon, etc. But as any Instagram meme or hippie would say, that's not their journey. It's mine.

Before My Injury

• My Aunt Linda, who had ALS, passed away in January of this year. For about two years, my family and I witnessed the degeneration of her body's abilities to talk, walk, stand, move, eat, etc. While hiking or running, I would often stop and literally look down at my feet and be grateful that I could walk without issues.

• I was able to run 10 miles at a time (and so could my dog).

• I could bend my right knee past my ankle

• I was able to participate in hiking marathons where I hiked 35 crazy miles in less than 12 hours.

• I had the goal to hike the entire Standing Stone Trail (~80 miles) in one marathon, full moon-lit weekend.

• I had the goal to hike the entire Laurel Highland Trail (~72 miles) in one marathon long weekend.

• I wanted to begin taking trail running seriously

• People didn't look down at my foot as I walked toward them

• I was able to get up and scurry to the bathroom in the middle of the night if I really needed to go

• If you were to ask me what was the worst thing that could happen to me, breaking my ankles was near the top of my list above terminal illness and a traumatic event (except death of loved ones, of course)

• I always purchased ankle-supportive hiking and running shoes

• I could run for my life if I needed to

• I could run to the half-off donuts across the store if I needed to

• I took my dog on longer walks

• I hiked nearly every day

• I didn't worry about keeping up or slowing people down

• I was proud of my ability to walk, saunter, hike, etc., and not embarrassed.

Going down the mountain was a unique and exhausting experience. Don't get me wrong. Hiking up and down a true mountain is definitely invigorating, but on the flip-side, it's always taxing. If I hadn't used a trekking pole, I would have hurt myself for sure. I had to continuously focus on foot placement and thanked all the gods when a level, 4-8 foot stretch of trail occurred. My eyes constantly cast downward, my epicranius muscles (on the back of the skull) ached. Although I was thrilled to be challenging myself, at the same time, I felt embarrassed and boring. I did my best to contribute to conversation with Brian who was upbeat and encouraged me to take my time. My mind was reeling with anxiety and that anxiety conjured up the worst ruminating thoughts such as:

• What group of people would be willing to hike with someone as lame as I am? (an awesome group of people who don't mind taking it slow and taking it in. besides, you're never able to get more than one person at a time to hike with you. you prefer hiking alone, dumb ass!)

• Is Brian disappointed in me? (no) Will he ever want to go on a hiking trip with me again? (yes)

• I'm going to get so gross and out of shape because I can't push myself like I used to. (then work harder)

• Will I ever be able to day-hike a mountain like Mt Marcy ever again? (hahahahaha that's 16 miles, but go ahead and try!)

• Will I ever be able to go backpacking again? (if you're smart and careful)

• I'm so disgustingly slow and pathetic (stop comparing yourself to others and take advantage of being slow and pathetic)

• The things in which I took the most pride have been taken away from me. (deal with it. go crochet an ugly hat or something)

Typically, I enjoy telling people about my travels and the things I learn and do during those travels. But this time around, when asked about the hike, my heart will begin to pound or my face will flush. I feel myself holding back tears as I joke to people about what a slow-poke I was. I feel my voice tremble as I tell them that we missed the sunset and how the hike "wasn't supposed to take that long". Brian and I, when hiking that evening, were daydreaming about pizza (as most hikers do) and about how we hoped to be at our hotel eating pizza by 9:30 or so. We didn't finish the hike until 10:30. I had no appetite.

I was emotionally exhausted.

Stupid talus. It's a rock of a bone that other bones rub up against and slide upon. It's a keystone bone that holds the ankle together and a shitty bone to break. My surgeon made that pretty clear. But did you know that a talus is also an accumulation of rock debris that is often found on top of mountains or on cliffs? Much like this:

Say hello to Camel's Hump, the third highest mountain in Vermont on whose summit I stood last Friday. With my tender talus, I ascended and descended the mountain in six hours. From the top, you can see Mt Marcy (highest mountain in NY), Mt Washington (highest mountain in NH and in New England), and Mt Mansfield (highest mountain in Vermont). All of which I had summited last year.

"Sarah--you're the poet in my heart. Never change. Never stop."

-Fleetwood Mac

#essay #personal #hiking #travel