Swimming With Shoulders - A Relative Breakthrough

[Short entry (or not so short, in retrospect), primarily as documentation in case I do not get it in my journal.  With breakthroughs come recovery and "adjustment" time, and punching keys is infinitely easier than trying to move a pen at the moment.]

I just finished the second day of two substantial swimming experiences.  Yesterday, I did 2,500m total in the pool, including 400m of backstroke (total mixed into the workout, not in one shot).  The results were significant, though there was a price.  Today, I did 3,200m, my first time ever doing 2 miles total in the pool.  Even back when I'd do a mile straight pulling or breaststroke, I never went for that 2nd mile total (proof I never swam on a swim team, eh?).  The price I'll pay for today is yet to be experienced.

*     *     *     *     *

Yesterday, I focused on four points, one in each shoulder and one in each hip.  This was a further attempt to get away from a focus on the hands and feet which I have hinted on before, that has been a "symptom" of myself in everything I have ever done, from walking to writing.  The first result was an ability to be much more upright while jogging home.  There was far less noticeable stress points in my body.

There was also substantial "adjustments" in my hips and shoulders (often linked) and much around my neck and upper spine.  The movement in my neck created noticeable changes in both my sinuses and jaw.

The price was a mistake I have made before.  I felt so good (relatively speaking) that I decided to BBQ some hot dogs for dinner (the family expected home late).  This was quite dumb.  Hot dogs are easily the one food I try to swallow portions of without sufficient chewing.  Even on normal days, I am unable to swallow them on occasion.

Yesterday, it was the worst experience I've had in years.  So much muscle movement around my throat added to the wrong meal choice, and I experienced a major esophageal blockage.  I was unable to swallow for over an hour and twenty minutes.  There was much coughing and much pain, not to mention two wasted hot dogs, having barely gotten through half of the first before experiencing a personal hell.

*     *     *     *     *

Back to the pool today, where I did 2 miles.  Woohoo!

I continued to focus on the four point approach initially.  At approximately 1,300m, I began to swim with my shoulders.  I could still feel they were not properly aligned, but that I could actually swim with them as the focus was a tremendous breakthrough, I believe, in trying to get back into balance.

Most noticeable was a dramatic change in my breaststroke, where the "squeeze" became something totally new.  Instead of squeezing my hands together before they launched forward, my inner arms were snapping against the sides of my chest.  It literally created a new propulsion from the movement, as if a momentary chicken imitation pushed water behind me with my elbows.

For a while, I had what I call a Conan moment.  This new pull was much more powerful than it had any right to be.  As if freed from much of the counter-weights that usually hold me back, my arms could really send me forward.  Though in truth, I suspect some of this had to do with the likelihood of being in a more streamline position as well, creating less drag during the stroke.

*     *     *     *     *

I was so ecstatic I kept on swimming and swimming, even though the new movements had me getting very sore.  Right now, as I write, I don't care about the price.  I swam 2 miles!  I swam with my shoulders! 

I'll just have to be smart and eat oat meal tonight instead of hot dogs.

A Most Unpleasant Realization

[This post, the realization I had today, is not exactly news to me.  What struck me was the extent of it.  Much like my initial, and rather foolish, belief that it would be a couple months of "adjusting" after the initial changes and I'd be raring to go (that was how many years ago?  7?  8?  Yikes!), I have grossly underestimated a subjective aspect of this entire project.  At least I am confident, still, that the paradigm of how I intend to eventually tell the tale, trying to bring people through it rather that just explain what I believe, is clearly the best approach in order for anyone to come close to grasping exactly what I am trying to express.  So, this one is more informative than artistic, function over form.]

I had a big change in the pool today.  At the 200m mark of a 300m pull (that's freestyle arms with a pull buoy between relaxed legs), I had an all new, to me, sensation.  My shoulder blades were free, as if no against or stuck to, my chest and/or rib cage.

The classic problem resurfaced.  I had no idea shoulders moved so independently of the rib cage. 

For most movements where the arm is raised above the body (or in freestyle, in front of the swimmer), the portion of my chest had to expand.  That is to say, I would either inflate my lungs or rotate by chest significantly as the arm went above the body (or forward in the pool). 

While I have often noted how my body has always felt segmented, it is clear that before today, I thought the shoulders and chest, at least in this movement, were part of a single segment.

The sensation I felt was a stretch of muscles from my lower back up to my shoulders, gliding along the top of the water as my shoulders did the work of pulling.  My chest and ribs merely floated underneath, slightly rotating with each stroke.  This is a marked difference from basically lunging a portion of my chest with each arm stroke.

No doubt I'll get all new forms of soreness tonight, as well.  Joy.

*     *     *     *     *

Now, it is nothing new to me that I had no idea of this, lets call it "segmentation," issue.  I knew it existed, just not where, and I new any new adjustment would lead to previously unknown sensations.

I realize, now, however, just how significant my subjective mis-articulation of any previous descriptions of sensations must be to a reader.  Before this point, how can any reader (or doctor for that matter), have any idea what I had described regarding my shoulder movements?  They would interpret the words in line with their own perception, from their own perspective, one in which the shoulders are not part and parcel of chest (not a single segment with the rib cage).

True communication is impossible, and my attempts to be in the same ballpark as the reader's interpretation was not even discussing the same sport.  Sigh.  So much work to do on so many fronts.

*     *     *     *     *

I find myself suppressing a bit of anger, too , as perhaps this is precisely the type of thing which the MRIs I pleaded for so many years ago could have shown.  Perhaps the "misalignment" or some type of knot or kink (making portions of muscles that should be separate from the rib cage actually be visibly "stuck" entwined with the muscles of the rib cage) could have been discovered.  Maybe I could have been helped (even believed, by Gods!) to get through this metamorphosis in less time and with less pain.

Imagine that.  Three to four years of less pain, once again becoming a functional member of society that much earlier, getting to actually live life instead of just endure pain and persevere.  Okay, now I am a bit angry. 

Of course, creating a new holistic branch of wellness, based upon objective, quantifiable criteria is the ultimate goal of this endeavor.  A noble quest, no?

That it may eventually keep people from having to pay Kaiser millions would just be a little gravy on top.

The Jinx Effect

[A moderately silly one, but I did put it together in my head while SLOWLY jogging home from the pool.  So I chalk another one up in the "brain beginning to show signs of functioning" column.  On the physical front, things have been progressing quite significantly over the past few weeks, especially in my right shoulder and hips.  So much movement, or "adjustments," that they can be left in postures never before attainable, which I presume to be much closer to "normal" than ever.  Muscle memory still pulls them back, but it is huge progress, nonetheless.]

I do not believe in coincidence.

This is not to say that I see a direct (or even indirect) relationships between any two variables with something in common.  I just think that if you extrapolate back far enough, a "coincidence" just is what it is, two things happening with some common nexus.

Take the jinx, for example.  Better yet, I'll use the "announcer's jinx."  A sportscast announcer points out that the basketball player taking a free throw has made his last 23 free throws, and on cue, the player misses the next one.  Or rather, a mlb baseball team has pitched 38 scoreless innings against a rival club, the announcers bring it up and show the club record which will occur with one more scoreless inning, and on cue, the rival team scores moments later.  In both instances, the fans blame the announcers.

I know I do.

Yet, when a player has made 23 consecutive free throws, he is due to miss.  When a baseball team has kept another team scoreless for 38 innings, runs are definitely on the horizon.  Humans are playing the games, after all, and straight statistics do not apply. 

It is not like rolling a six sided die where you always have a 5 out of 6 chance to not roll a certain number (or better yet, it's not this classic from Tom Stoppard - skip the 13 seconds of credits if you are impatient, and enjoy).  More variables than chance are in play.  Notably, the players tend to be aware of the streak, interfering with their normal routine mentally and thereby physically.

*     *     *     *     *

This takes me back to last night, talking to a fellow parent at our children's swim class, which takes place at the aquatics facility where I swim.  Because of some nexus, I told her about my first swimming experience at the pool . . .

I had been in dire need of swimming for physical therapy purposes for some time, nearly two years.  The drive to the Sacramento YMCA had become too much to handle long ago.  The new local high school had been under construction for nearly three years (the location of the aquatics facility), and I had patiently awaited the pool's public opening, though I grew excitedly anxious (or anxiously excited) as the opening approached.

I was there on day one, a cold and rainy mid-morning I wouldn't even consider going out in now.  I drove there, put on my swim suit in the new shiny locker room (what an upgrade from the YMCA!), and quickly slid into the pool to get out of the cold and rain.  Back in the water, I felt hope again.

Not three laps into warming up, some kid in the adjacent school pulled the fire alarm.  Coincidence or a predictable happenstance given several mid-term exams had been scheduled for the day?

I had to get out of the pool.  I grabbed my towel, and headed for the parking lot, where the towel, already soaked by me, became more wet and cold from the rain.  I started to freeze.  Fortunately, only two of us had been swimming right when the pool opened, and the lifeguard was able to run in and grab an extra parka for each of us. 

So I only half froze, having a miserable experience both mentally and physically for my first day at the new pool.

Granted, I did not go nearly into this amount of detail when I told the tale last night.  Yet, as I have no real friends other than my wife's friends (of which this was one), she listened politely as I blathered.

*     *     *     *     *

And so I come back to jinxes and coincidence after the fire alarm went off again this morning during my swim, a half day after I brought up the tale, which I had not spoken of in three years or more.

The San Francisco Giants are playing an afternoon game today (right now, actually, and losing - sigh).  I headed to the pool early to be sure and make it home to watch Hunter Pence in his second game as a Giant.  Things were going so well at the pool, too.  I started with an 800m Breaststroke (I usually go only 300m to 500m) and then 500m of kicking.  I was getting ready to not only do my first mile total in quite some time, I was thinking about 2000m total. 

Then, the alarm . . .

And on top of it, I was late home for the start of the game.

*     *     *     *     *

As I sat in the grass outside the aquatic center waiting for the fire truck to come and give the okay to return to the pool (unlike everyone else, I refused to go out into the parking lot barefoot and without glasses), I could not help but realize I caused the alarm.  A jinx.

Now, I don't believe in coincidence.  Yet, school was not in session, not even summer school.

Clearly, I just need more information to extrapolate back and see the rationality of it all.  Yet, knowing this hasn't stop me from wondering if someone running The Matrix is messing with me.

Do You See What I See?

[This may not be one of my better posts, but it is one I am proud of.  I was able to envision the entire entry in my mind before writing it, something I have not been able to do in a very long time.  In the past, I could have made an outline, flushed out my preferred prose, and written something I objectively decent from most literary perspectives.  I still don't have that ability.  Several "ideas" have been started as posts which have gone unpublished.  Once the idea inspiration passes, I find it impossible to get it back.  There are just too few moments when I physically can write and think and plan seriously, such that editing is pretty much a "wrote it, scanned it, spell checked it" process.  Still, I think this one shows I may return to form some day.]

A friend (I fear long lost) and I used to have a running joke based on a scene from a mutual favorite film, Catch-22.

"Do you see what I see?"
"A naked man in a tree?"
"Yeah."
"That's just Yossarian."

Whenever something worth pointing out to the other was noticed, some form of "Do you see what I see?" would be asked.  The question, "A naked man in a tree?" was always the response.  Then, we'd get onto whatever was worth looking at.  It eventually evolved into just pointing out the naked man in a tree, and later into just saying, "Is that Yossarion?" instead of "Look at that."

I like how an inside joke can evolve, becoming truly obscure to those not "in" on it.

-     -     -     -     -

Well, I didn't really start this post to bring up an old inside joke.  I want to write about a portion of the "misunderstanding" I had with the Psychology Department at Kaiser Permanente so long ago.

At one point, the pseudo-doctors, so certain I was hallucinating the FACT that my height had increased by an inch and a half, requested that I take a personality test.  They lied, again, telling me about the possibility of pain killing drugs after I jumped through their hoop.  They likely presumed the test would confirm that I was psychotic and delusional.  I took the test.

Quite early on, I had to ask for clarification. 

One of the first questions had been, "Do you hear things other people don't here?"  (Note - I studied Cognitive Psychology, the hard wiring, not the subjective aspects of psych, not in any detail, anyways.)  I was supposed to answer the question with one of 4 responses, basically an "all the time" or "none of the time" spectrum.

I answered sometimes.  I have pretty good hearing.  I pick up on sounds my wife does not, from birds in the back yard to the water dripping into the ice maker.

Shortly thereafter, the test asked, "Do you see things other people don't see?"  This is when I asked for clarification.

"Is it asking if I see things that others can't see?  Like "I see dead people?  Or is it . . . "

He cut me off and said, "just go with whatever came first to your mind."

I answered "all the time."  That probably did not help my cause.

-     -     -     -     -

Let me be clear.  I don't see dead people.

My first impression of the question defined "see" to mean comprehend.  It wasn't just about visual stimuli.  It was what such stimuli made me think, made me realize, understand, and even theorize.

An example relevant to my long term goals with this blog:

Consider Muslim prayer.  What do you see?

I see a correlation, a similarity, between the physical prostate position performed in Muslim prayer and the "Child's Pose" position of yoga.

Now, for purposes of answering "Do you see things other people don't see?," I presume most people do not identify the similarities in the physical positions of the two actions when they view just Muslim Prayer.

Yet, that is not all I "see."

I see an act of submission within the prayer, a surrender to one's God, an act which greatly relaxes the body as well as the mind.  A very goal of child's pose is the relaxation of the body and mind.  I have even heard the phrase "surrender to air" used in trying to help one achieve Child's Pose.  I presume, of the few people that actually did notice this correlation between Muslim prayer and Child's pose, most thought of it as coincidental.  I don't believe in coincidence.

I see two spiritual practices likely evolved from a common ancient practice. 

I theorize that this common practice would strongly mirror my beliefs about balance, physical balance within the body and the effects it has, not only on the mind, but on physical health as well.  I theorize that what I have realized relatively recently about balance is nothing "new" at all.  It is ancient, and known by many.  As practices evolved, however, people lost sight of the original knowledge.  They never learned the true origin of their practices.

Do you see the naked man in the tree?

My Working Vacation

[Okay.  The title may be stretching obscurity even for me.  I am not doing a good job at documenting specifics of my changes lately.  There have been too many, with little time in between, giving no time to sit and write.  I expect this to continue for some time.  If I can, I shall make short notes I can decipher later, but that has always been difficult.  When concepts are difficult to articulate in the first place, making a short notation and expecting to be able to remember enough specifics at a later time is nearly impossible.  I could probably do better if I ceased any and all moments of personal entertainment (TV or Internet), but that would probably drive even more insane than I already am.  I so need a vacation from myself.]

Four days in San Diego, the beach, the parks, more parks (the daughter is 5, after all), the hotel pool and spa, and of course, shopping.  A vacation away from the hell of the Valley.

Well, it's a vacation for my wife and daughter.  I'm still here.  The idea of air travel, even a short flight (and the possibility of being stuck on the tarmac) terrifies me.  A car is bad enough.  Plus, since learning I have Sjogren's Syndrome, my misery on previous plane flights before my 30s, (or car trips using the A/C for that matter) became clear.  Kinda like a frog, you dry out the air around me and I suffer.

So, an inability to be confined to a seat for extended periods combined with being extra-vulnerable to my surroundings, and plane travel just doesn't happen, at least for now.  You'd also be correct if you pieced together why I consider this Sacramento Valley the equivalent of hell.  It's hot and dry, or freezing and dry, or freezing with tulle fog, or windy and dry.  Windy and dry is the worst.  I miss coastal fog, so much.

Anyways . . .

The house is mine, along with the dog (she has yet to leave the front window, however, awaiting the girls return, and it has not even been a day), so even in that respect I am alone.

In days of old, the idea of having the house to myself would have resulted in "Man Cave" living, sports TV, video games, beer, whiskey, maybe other non-prescription medicinals, the recliner, pizza, ice cream, and a cranked up stereo.

I still have the sports and stereo (Rolling Stones playing now), and some medicinals, unfortunately, prescription pain killers that do not include marijuana, a non-prescription drug of choice for a time.  I may miss marijuana as much as I miss coastal fog.  [Mental Note - I must do an post on the Led Zeppelin question, "Are you dizzy when you're stoned?"]

Instead, this respite from family has become a work intensive marathon.

Normally, my day starts as the kid goes to school and the wife goes to work.  I do some rehab exercise of one form or another, lasting anywhere from a half hour to three hours or even more if I am up to it.  Then, I am recovering from the exertion, pretty much the remainder of the day.  On good days, I am able to do some "adjustments" in these hours after exercise while I recover.  Though, in truth, the "adjustments" take a toll on me as well, sometimes quite significant, which requires further recovery time.

Written of before, I call them "adjustments," my attempts to unwind, to find my balance, to work the fold(s) - See Seat Belt Metaphor - to continue undoing the damage of a life lived contorted and perverted out of balance, which had likely been exacerbated by a childhood injury.  As yet, unless I acheive a substantial physical change (which there have been several), these "adjustments" appear to be subluxation of joints to casual (or medical) observer, sometimes even to a degree of total dislocation of joints, with no objectively noticeable purpose, while clearly causing discomfort and pain to accomplish.

During these hours when I "adjust," it most definitely becomes compulsive.  I try variation after variation, sometimes trying to repeat a motion with greater extension, sometimes trying to envision, then attempt, all new motions previously believed impossible (or simply never attempted such that my body finds the motion completely new, using a muscle the way it should be used, but in a way it never has been used - like trying to wiggle one's ears if you never have).  I start with just a few, then find some success or get new ideas or retry old ones, and invariably find myself losing sight of time, engrossed in constant attempts to ease tensions and find balance, oblivious to everything save physical sensations and attempted movements.

On the few occasions I have spent significant time with people outside the family (like a trip to Reno with my wife's close friends and our children), it became very apparent that an individual subluxing or dislocating his arms and legs, intentionally, is disquieting to others, even frightening when it begins to occur compulsively.  This is one reason I avoid other people and outings.  It is just hard, and painful over time, to keep still.  Also, like many things, it is difficult to try (as in focus on a new motion) when others are watching.

The same is true in front of my own family, though my wife has worn a brave face for so long, and I try not to do much in front them, especially the 5 year old.  Hell, I nearly had a nervous breakdown when she tried to copy a few of the things Daddy does (I'm so glad she finally understands they are not fun).  And while I often must walk to a different room to attempt to release tension or untweak a body part as a result of being too still for too long, for the most part, I do not allow myself to get anywhere near compulsive "adjustments" while my family is home.

As such, my normal "adjustment" period follows a Bell curve on their work/school days, with little done on most weekends.  The "adjustments" gets more intense as it gets compulsive, until the apex, where I realize I need to stop before my family gets home.  Compulsive movements don't stop easily, so it takes effort and meditative relaxation, which tends to still include moments of "adjusting" such as to be represented by the back side of the Bell curve.

On a good day, I rehab, "adjust" with some tangible or subjective success, and cease any compulsive movements before the family gets home. 

While I define what is happening to me, or rather, what I am doing, in a variety of ways (whether as an ultimate goal to be attained or as an unstoppable progression that simply will work out eventually after having broken the proverbial levee so many years ago), I often consider this my job.  It is, I believe, the only way I can become not only useful, but possibly even healthy.  The more I put in, the faster I will reach the end game, whatever that may be.

This is why I now find myself on a working vacation. 

Free of family, I have spent easily 16 of the last 22 hours doing rehab exercises or "adjusting" (to claim 6 hours of sleep may be a stretch, however), and I fear the only thing that will stop me from working during the next 80+ hours of their vacation is exhaustion, even though I know there will be a price for such a marathon.  I'm probably going to be really, really sore, most likely in substantial pain, for a week or more once my family returns. 

But how can I let this is a window of opportunity, in a Summer that has not allowed me much rehab time, pass without making the most of it?  I am compelled to invite compulsion.

Of course, we plan to hit the State Fair on Friday after their return.  It is probably our only chance this year given other schedulings, and one of the few close outings of substance I can attend, just walking around. 

So, if you see a guy at the State Fair on Friday, most likely wearing a Cal cap or sun hat on his head, Vibram Fivefingers on his feet, limping or at least walking oddly, with noticeable side effects from Adderall and Vicodine (can't imagine how else I'll manage the outing), with a wife and kid in tow (well, they'll be towing me), that will be yours truly.  Feel free to say, "Moo," and introduce yourself.

Why I Finally Appreciate The One Percent

[Some house keeping, it's been a hellish month - trip to Mom's with the kid throwing up the entire final night, me getting violently ill shortly after returning home (on no sleep), weather changes, and some of the more significant dislocations yet by even the most minor of contacts (my daughter becoming afraid to sit on my lap).  There have been some ups - a spa giving me more time without so much gravity, great progress in shoulders and substantial freedom in the hips (which of course does correlate with some of the dislocations).  Nevertheless, I've been miserable.  I've only managed to swim 4 times in the past three weeks, and my weight remains 20 pounds north of my lesser target.  Feeling decent today, however, so I've been surfing the Net, and the following dawned on me, a Modest Proposal of sorts.]

First, I am a hybrid Socialist.  I believe in many tenants of Capitalism, like rewarding hard work.  I especially believe in reaping the rewards of innovation.  Yet, I am offended by the "free" market.  I detest the lies of advertising, and I loath that entire groups of individuals are taken advantage of legally.  I believe there should be minimum quality of life assurances for all in a country blessed with our technologies. 

I, too, am (well, was) a lawyer, and I read the preamble to the Constitution as more insightful than many of the specific language snippets the Court defines on it's own, like Due Process or Equal Protection.  I believe the document is meant to "form a more perfect Union," to "promote the general Welfare," and to "secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Prosperity," not to allow corporations to steer the discussions of political debate and besically stymie our government while abusing the people and land for profits.

And until today, I hated the 1%.  I hated the disparity of wealth.  I hated that so many suffered so so few could have so much more than they could ever need.

That was until today.  Now, I have new found compassion.

Sure, millions and millions of us suffer, literally suffer, physically, mentally, emotionally, and economically.  But stop being so selfish and think about the money for once.

While there are millions of Americans, there are billions, no, trillions, of Dollars.  Shouldn't we keep the Dollar's interests in mind?

When I get my hands on a Dollar, more often than not, I just spend it.  I hand it over to others so easily, in trade for such transitory items like food or electricity.  I've even handed over 14 individual Dollars for a mere 2 hours of watching a poorly written story being expressed on a large screen in a foul smelling movie theater with sticky floors.

Does the Dollar deserve such treatment?

Consider the 1%.  They LOVE their Dollars.  They hate giving them up, and for the most part, they never do.

If you were a Dollar, would you want to be in the hands of some ordinary slob that will give you away within days or hours of acquiring you?  Or would you rather be loved?  Would you rather be held tightly and guarded forever, considered more important by your possessor then the quality of life of those few Americans?

Just as Spock said, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

Who are we to deny love to trillions of Dollars, we measly millions of Americans?

Let the 1% love them as we never could.  Embrace the Plutocracy if you care for the Dollar at all, if you call yourself an American.

Lost, . . . , Sorta

[Pain.  My left hip is screaming every time I stand, apparently wrong.  My latest mental image is to be a skinny guy in a fat suit.  When I do it right, I can stand up without pain.  I can jog, still, real slow, but the motion feels more "right" in some way, the fat suit bouncing around me.  It allows my pelvic angle to be better, I believe, but also has the aesthetic detriment of a serious gut hanging down.  I almost look like someone that has lost a ton of weight and has loose skin, but I have not lost much weight.  Anyways, . . . , muscle memory is causing great pain, and my mind is too spent to focus constantly of proper movement.  It sucks, and I feel like I have lost my way, almost.  Reminding me . . . ]

In 1995 I was a member of the King's Canyon Roaring River Trail Crew through AmeriCorps, one of the truly most wonderful things I have ever done, where I lasted 3 months living out of my tent doing trail work.  That winter had been a deluge in Northern California, and we actually spent the 4th of July camped out on 3 feet of snow at 9,000 feet.  Things had not melted.  It was awesome.

A ridiculous number of trees had fallen because of so much snow, seemingly across every hundred yards or so of trail, and I found myself as part of a spike crew with the task of clearing a 20 mile section of impediments.  We separated from the main trail crew, four of us, and went "camping, with tools" out on our own.  When I think of all the hiking, over passes, 80 pounds of gear in my pack, plus water, plus a 6 foot bar chain saw over a shoulder, all done with a perverted body, I wonder how much damage, how much engrained, incorrect, muscle memory, was created or strengthened in those 3 months.

Anyways, after just the first day, we realized we did not bring nearly enough gasoline.  I was the fastest hiker, so I would set back to the horse corral for gas the next morning, fast as I could, to get the gas we would need to cut through the downed trees.

As you can guess, I got lost.  Kinda.  I had managed to miss a switch-back coming down one of the passes.  I realized it when I was suddenly in the middle of a meadow.  None of the trails out had gone through a meadow.  I was on a cattle or deer trail.

I did not want to back track.  I knew the general direction I needed to go.  I also knew I would eventually hit a stream to my left, which would get me to a trail I knew, or back on the trail I had left somewhere to my right.  So, I just started walking, certain I'd hit one of the two sooner or later.

Later came, and so did doubts.  I never actually got afraid, but I got close.  While the worst case scenario was bad, I had never stopped believing I would hit one of the two ways back to where I was going.  I had left all my gear at the spike camp - having an empty pack for the needed gas and some water.  I didn't have much with me.

But I did begin to have doubts.

I didn't like that feeling.  I knew I had not crossed a stream and that the trail I had left was to my right.  There was just no way I was lost, not lost lost.  I was just kinda sorta lost, and I had walked easily 4-5 miles without regaining my bearings, which did not really fit, unfortunately.  Again, I did not have fear, but I could feel fear coming around the bend if I didn't find my way soon.

*     *     *     *     *

That's how I feel now.  I'm having intense new sensations, every day.  I even did full on backstroke in the pool today.  At one point during the swim, my right shoulder felt like it was in the right spot for a short time.  Yet, there is so much pain, and I seem to move wrong, the way my muscles want me to move, the way they have always moved, in ways that cause pain, every moment I let my gaurd down, and I am exausted.

The progress is there, though, so it is much like knowing I am not lost lost.  However, I am unable to keep my bearings.  I can't make a plan, or remember one once made, and I keep hurting myself by just standing up.  So, I have doubts.  I'm just kinda sorta lost.

*     *     *     *     *

Well, I am hopeful it turns out like my hike to the horse corral to get gas did.  As you can guess, I made it back.  It turned out my "guess" as to which direction to walk was spot on, and I was walking parallel to the trail I had left, so it was a long time until I was back on it. 

Worth telling, I reached the corral, got the gas, and loaded up my pack.  When I started to put the backpack on, the mule packer (one salty SOB - loved that guy), said, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I've got to get back out there, they'll be out of gas soon," I replied, ready to haul ass the 15 miles to where I left my co-workers.

"I know," the packer said.  "I'll pack you out."

"I never rode a horse," I pointed out, meekly.  I was a fast hiker, and was about to say I'd just go on my own when he cut me off.

"You will today."

And that was how I ended up having my only ride upon a horse, a large pale male named Dick.  We went 12 of the 15 miles before he dropped me off.  We crossed three streams and several snow drifts (one of the streams was covered with snow and ice).  I only pissed Dick off a couple times, not leaning forward enough at certain moments.  The views were amazing, having a new perspective 6 feet above what I was so used to, in some or the Sierra's best.

An unforgettable moment, one of the packer's dogs was bugging one of the pack mules, directly in front of me.  The mule did a sideways kick that sent the dog flying, literally 15 feet, up the side of an embankment.  "Dammit, [dog name]," said the packer, "will you ever learn?"

I've never wanted to ride a horse again.  There is just no way it could top that memory.

I'm hoping a similarly incredible payoff is awaiting me when regain my bearings with regards to my rehabilitation.

But for now . . .