Dear Readers,
I have been wanting to write this post for a while, but time takes time. I had a ski accident just over 6 weeks ago. It happened on the first Sunday of November (the 6th). Though I wasn’t anticipating getting to ski that day because it was a rainy morning, the sun came out by the early afternoon and the temps were up to 70 degrees. So when TJ offered to take me skiing, Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last and too soon? What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? (Thank you, Mary Oliver.)
We did our usual routine of me skiing from our dock to the slalom course, which I ran eight times with a rest between sets. Then I skied the whole way back, and on the last stretch of lake in front of our house, with the water so smooth, and the weather so perfect, and me just three (THREE!) pulls across the wake from being done, that’s when it happened. I was skiing my heart out and the rope broke and I immediately slammed into the rock hard water on my right side.
The part of the rope that attaches to the hook on the back of the boat had worn so thin that it gave way. TJ usually replaces that section of the rope when he realizes it is getting thin, but he happened not to notice it that day. Why, oh why, couldn’t it have held for three more pulls?
I came away from the accident very, very hurt and very, very sad. I had an x-ray the next day to be sure no ribs were broken (they weren’t), but two ribs appeared on the x-ray to be slightly separated from my vertebrae and there was major connective tissue bruising (possibly tearing) around my right side, under my arm, and all along the front right rib area. I was in a lot of pain with almost any movement of my right side for the first few days. I remember crying trying to get in and out of the driver’s seat of the van. I had to move slowly and carefully so as not to twist or bend any more than necessary, and sleeping was very difficult. It took me a few days to figure out what dosage of what medicine to take to get ahead of the pain. But finally I got on an around-the-clock ibuprofen regimen that helped me be okay for most daily tasks.
I took one month off of running and had to scale back my weight routine substantially for the first few weeks. Thankfully I could walk for exercise, and once I got through that first week of bad pain (and VERY slow walking), I found out I have a hidden talent: race walking. Who knew I could walk a 10:30 mile, or an 11:20 pace for 4 miles? I might never have known!
So that has been one good thing that has come from the accident, that I now have another form of exercise that I really enjoy. I actually had been starting to have some piriformis muscle pain from the 4-days/week running I was doing before, but with the rest from running, that all cleared up. That was nice. And now that I have race walking in the mix, I am hopeful not to cause that earlier pain to come back.
One of the nights not long after the accident, I remember saying to TJ that if I had the choice of this happening or not happening, I would choose for it not to happen. It was a funny Duh! moment, with TJ’s response being “Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up!” I wouldn’t want to have pain when I could have no pain. I wouldn't want to be slowed down to the point of tears over not being able to get my crock pot started on time on the Tuesday morning after the Sunday I got hurt. I wouldn’t want to scream cry because I couldn’t get my butternut squash seeded and peeled without pain. I wouldn’t want to not ski any more this year. (Side note: The day of the accident was my 80th time skiing in 2022. Since 80 was my record number of times skiing in any year so far, I told TJ just before we went that day that I was excited to know I would beat my record this year. I knew there would be several more 70+ degree, skiable days in November, but alas, those came and went without me on the water).
Do you know the poem Nobility by Alice Cary? My favorite line is the one I marked:
The accident gave me the opportunity to see who I am without skiing. It’s not as if I’ll be able to ski indefinitely. I will get old and feeble and then what? Or what if TJ could no longer drive the boat? Or what if the lake got too shallow? What if we had never even moved to Greenville or to a lake? I learned that it has all been a bonus.
I got to experience the human limitations of being a human. I had to carefully and slowly reach for the almond milk from the refrigerated case at Aldi. I had to have Sailor lift the case of sparkling water off the bottom shelf at Publix. I had to deliberately reach for and place each item from my shopping cart onto the conveyer belt at both stores, and gosh, bagging my own groceries at Aldi did not go nearly as efficiently as I was used to. I remember my grandmother used to buy the smallest bottles of Tide detergent she could find, and now I know why. I also understand why old people shop at Publix.
Three days after the accident, I journaled some self-talk to myself:
Ginger, you’ll get these things back (skiing, your regular exercise, ease of movement, efficiency in life), but right now while you don’t have them, how will you live? How will you respond to what life is asking of you? This is a form of suffering and you are not exempt. Though much is taken, much remains. You are being given the gift of awareness, of seeing with new eyes, of understanding that your life was (is) so good and so many do not have the relief/reprieve that was your norm. God hasn’t changed; He’s the same now as He was before the accident. But your experience of Him may be different just as your life feels different now. You have a good strong body and a very good support system and many blessings still present. Be patient and learn what life wants you to learn. Grow in your heart and in your character. Try not to worry very much about not being able to run. That will all come back and a break can be good. You’ll ski again and you’ll still love it - and you’ll remember the feeling of being broken in body and humbled in spirit. Cling to God and He will cling to you.
Then, about a week after that, I wrote a letter to a good friend who knows what it is to suffer and I continued to process even more with her as follows:
The reality is that the rope broke and I fell really hard and got really hurt and have experienced bodily limitations that I wasn’t expecting. The reality is it happened even though I wish it didn’t. I realized through something a friend texted me as well as through a pep talk from TJ during a moment of discouragement (of which there were many during that first week) another reality, which is this…I wrote it on a sticky note as a mantra for myself:
[Continuing with the letter to my friend:]
I think as an Enneagram 8, I live under the illusion that I can steamroll all obstacles and unknown variables from my life by being so good with boundaries and by not letting other people influence my decisions (or not much). But I could not wish away the pain. So I had to face reality and learn some things that I would not have learned had life just continued as is. I found many (many!) things to be thankful for. I woke up to some things. I cried out in a new way to the Lord. A simple verse that I would have glossed over before took on deeper meaning: “I called upon the LORD in trouble, and the LORD heard me and set me free.” But not free from the trouble; instead free from having to have the things in my life just how I want them, and knowing I am still okay. That’s soul freedom, and I moved a little farther in that direction by this suffering. I want to remember what holds. I read this quote last night from the Joan Chittister book I’m reading, Wisdom Distilled from the Daily. She’s quoting a monastic: "Change that is real is change that is not willed. Face reality and unwilled change will happen.” I wrote WOW in the margin.
I made list after list in those first couple weeks after the accident of things I was (still am) thankful for about what happened. I didn’t break an arm or leg or hand or foot. I didn’t have to be on crutches. I didn’t get hit in the head or cut by the ski. This didn’t happen in May or June, causing me to have to sit out an entire summer of skiing. I got to live Eigenzeit afresh. Eigenzeit means letting things take the time they take. And that is what healing requires. That is what life requires.
I’m back to running with the bonus of race walking. I’m not back to skiing yet but it’s winter so it’s not as hard to wait. I’m using Deep Blue cream several times a day because it’s good for connective tissue healing. I’m also using a red light therapy band each morning to stimulate tissue growth and help increase blood flow to the sore area on my right side. I was able to stop taking ibuprofen and I’m sleeping well. I am mostly back with my weights, but still have to be careful with some movements. I put a picture of me skiing on my bathroom mirror so I can remember what I want to do and be again.
But even without skiing, I have learned I won’t die and my life is still good and I still have purpose and meaning and health and love and friends and Tandem. And I can still write long letters (and blog posts) and words are still the most healing thing I know.
Love, Ginger