Those of you that know me well know I like to run. Those of you that know me really well know that I like to run everywhere. From the porch to the bus stop, from the bus stop to class, from class to class, along the curb, over rocks, you get it. The running is not usually intentional either. Most of the time it just happens without any conscious decision – running just seems to be a part of who I am. 

So here it is Fall. Boulder is beautiful and I was bouncing to some music like I was stuck in an iPod commercial. I was sort of running slash skipping from the bus stop to my physics class when I ped stepped in front of me. This is no strange occurrence and I’m usually pretty ready for it to happen. Naturally, I side stepped off the sidewalk without missing a stride. Of course until my toe caught the lip of the sidewalk on my way back from the grass. Turns out I was going to miss my stride after all.

0.02 seconds later I found myself horizontal to the ground bracing for impact. Impact I did, with twenty curious people all turning their heads to look at blur that just thumped into the ground. Embarrassed and immediately reminded of the time I ate it on my longboard at the same very intersection, I bounced up, put my hands back on my backpack straps and kept on running. 

Just another day in the life – but that made it kind of interesting.

1. I have a three week break until school starts again
2. I’m trying desperately to get back into shape
3. I’m running out of dinero 

Needless to say, I have ridiculous amounts of time at my fingertips and I’m certainly not used to such a luxury. I’m trying desperately hard to get back into shape so I can do a few races this summer, but that at most is taking up two hours weekdays and four on the weekend. I’m sleeping around 10 hours a night. So what in the hell am I supposed to do  with the rest of my time?

I certainly don’t have the answer yet so in the meantime I’m, oh you know, sitting in my chair or laying in my bed listening to my brain go absolutely nuts. I can sit still but my brain won’t, like it didn’t get enough activity the last four months. 

Take today for example, I woke up at 10, had breakfast, cruised the internet. I then decided to read more of the Django Book so I can finally build the gps mapping tool I’ve been dreaming about during every run/bike ride. As usual I found it downright boring, so I hopped in bed for some pleasure reading - “How Doctors Think” by Jerome Groopman. Apparently doctors use a lot bigger words than I’m used to because before I know it, I’m trying to figure out how to learn latin. I go back to reading the book. Ooops daydreaming about learning organic chemistry trying to figure out how I can learn it easier. How about a new web application?!?

And it just keeps going and going. So in 4.5 hours I’ve drawn out the database design for two web apps read 50 pages of a book, drawn a diagram of the steps it took to get my hip diagnosed, made a cup of tea and ate cereal while reading the news. Mmmmm, vacation (read: sarcasm | satisfaction | frustration | etc). 

The race would be from Lyons to Boulder, and naturally on Friday I found myself attempting the first ride of the year on the course route. A doozy 10.7 miles – hilly for the first half and then a slight incline to the finish. I made it, but that was never really a question in my mind. The question was, how fast? There was a decent headwind so I didn’t quite know if I could compare my time or not, but I was definitely slower than I would have liked.

I showed up a half hour before the race and popped on the bike for a brief warm up. I got a few miles in, stretched and felt as ready as I’d ever be. I rolled on over to meet MIchael and his parents. Yep, that was a bit awkward. “Hi, I’m the 26 year-old who challenged your 12 year-old son to a bike race.”

His parents were downright cool and we chatted a bit – mostly about my qualifications for such a hare brained adventure – since it was very clear that I’ve won approximately zero national championships. His dad, Professor Dan Dessau pointed out Michael had a bit of an equipment advantage. Sure enough, I looked a little closer and saw that he had aerobars, a racing helmet, and covered rear wheel. Hmmm.

The race started without much commotion. Michael sprinted off, and I hopped on his tail. We settled on a nice smooth pace through the hills. There was zero passing, both of us were simply pedaling away, sucking down the cool mountain air.

We exited the hills together and Michael began to pull away. Simple as that. I couldn’t cut the headwind nearly as well as him. I kept him in my sights the entire way, but in the end – I LOST. 

I couldn’t help but laugh as I crossed the finish line 37.9 seconds later. I was greeted by Kristen, Professor Franklin, my buddy Nick and his friends, and of course Michael and his parents. I think Nick was in awe, not quite digesting the fact that I had lost the race. Soon thereafter he was indeed laughing. And believe me, many people got their laughs in on Monday afternoon as my noble effort was announced in front my physics class on Monday. All I could do was sit there and shake my head. 

…

A few weeks ago he was lecturing on angular velocity and momentum, when out of nowhere he made a strange statement that went something like this: “I have a friend who’s son is the national time trial champion for cycling”. “In the twelve year old category”. No one really oohed or aahed, so he felt compelled to tag on this statement: “And I bet he could beat anyone in this room in a race”.

Before my hand could shoot up, my voice shouted. 

“I’ll race him!”

This is in front of my class of 165 people, 162 of which I do not know. Professor Franklin turns to me with a look of surprise, clearly not expecting a challenger. “What?”. “I’ll race him”, I said. I couldn’t let him get away with such a statement in the cycling capital of the country…

We bantered back and forth for a bit in front of the class until he determined I was actually serious and then went back to physics. About ten minutes later he turned to me and said – “Are you willing to put something on the line? I’ve got to motivate this kid somehow.” To which I replied, “How about twenty bucks?” He looked at me kind of confused so I offered up, “Is that not enough? I’ll bet more”. “No, no that’s plenty”.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the back of my mind I was trying to do some calculations…

1. Clearly I can wrestle three of my circa 12 year old cousins to the ground at one time.
2. I used to bike like a crazy man in the mountains of Colorado.
3. But oh yea, I had hip surgery one year ago and have ridden my bike about 30 times since.
4. I have ridden ZERO times since October 2007. 

That’s not looking so good for me is it? Well the race is potentially going down on Sunday. Better get that flat tire fixed eh?

This weekend will be a bit different. No mountain biking allowed, don’t want to crash and wreck the hip. Thus strictly running for this guy. With recent summits of Green Mountain and Bear Peak here in bTown, I’m ready to go and feeling stronger each time.

While I was picking up some cheap-o camping chairs at Target today, I overheard a girl say to her friend, “I don’t even know how use my printer, but I do know how to turn it on”. I’m not really sure of the context of that statement within their conversation, but all I could do was feel sad. What a moron, for spending the money, for not trying or being to stupid to figure out how a printer works. And I was trying to figure out why they spent so much time on “common sense” in my CPR class last week. I keep getting reminded that most people just aren’t firing it up.

Expect photos soon.

I hated my job. So I quit. Since that point I’ve stumbled over a few ideas, but have struggled to really find who I am. I couldn’t find work that was meaningful nor do things outside of work that excited me. The crux of all of this is that a few months ago I finally realized that there is no way in hell I want to be a software engineer the rest of my life. I like people too much. That’s the bottom line. I like talking to people, meeting new people, learning from people, and teaching people. My computer, while doing a variety of tasks rather efficiently, teaches me nothing, and I teach it nothing. As I carefully proceeded through the life cycle of major injury, I met many incredible people that do incredible things. I began to admire the work and desire that my friend Reed has for helping people. I started to appreciate what my father does more. I started thinking about getting involved in health care. And as I started thinking more and more – I decided I needed to act or I’d end up in continual purgatory.

Thus, in anticipation of change, I re-enrolled in school. This semester I’m only taking one class while I further evaluate the possibilities of my future. But I feel positive, I feel energy, I feel excited like I haven’t in the past. Ya, I’m not sure what the future has in store, but it’s different, and I’m encouraged.

~R

Chugging up that trail helped me remember what the heck I’ve been working towards all this time. I remembered that I love being in the mountains, I love the challenge, the lack of breath, the beating of my heart, and the burn in my muscles. I actually made it up the 1200 foot 1.5 mile climb in 20:44. A few minutes off my old best, but no walking was needed and the hip held up like a champ. Phew.

One of the things I love about the Flagstaff Mountain trail in particular is that I never see anyone on it, despite the fact it’s smack dab in the middle of bTown. I did however run into one person on my way down. I could hear the chap from a few hundred yards away. And as I got closer I could make out his words and see that he was jogging in somewhat strange thirty foot spurts. He was yelling “COME ON RUN, DO IT, RUNNNN!!!”. It was the strangest thing I’ve seen in quite some time. I mean I totally understand that some people pump themselves up in different ways, but this guy was a bit off his kilter. His body had obviously given up running and was quickly rejecting all verbal encouragement or threats. The poor chap was yelling at himself, as if his brain was having a fight with body. I was slowly jogging towards him just staring in wonder. He continued to walk as I neared, he had no idea I was even remotely close. He glanced up, surprised to see me, as I suppressed a chuckle. “You got it man, yer almost there…”.

My running is becoming more fluid, and as I glided over a series of rocks I felt my world coming together. My feet were dancing over the rocks and my speed was comfortable. Dancing, that’s it. I’d never connected that before. My close friends know that I love to get out on the dance floor, but I’d never made the connection between mountain running and dancing. When I was a little and playing soccer my pops constantly had me work on foot speed to improve my dribbling. And that’s one of those unspoken things that has addicted me to mountain running, foot speed. If your feet don’t keep up with your body, you’re bound to fall. And that certainly has happened to me on several occasions. Today though, I felt like I was moving to a hidden beat, found only in my head. Without much thought my feet moved an intricate path through the rocks and I felt at home. I’d finally gotten back to my comfort zone, albeit a bit slower. I felt good, I feel good.

In fact, I was at the top of Pikes Peak on Saturday missing the race for the second year in a row. I was cheering on all the local boulder runners when I recognized my pal Peter rolling up the switch backs around 13,800 feet. He was in somewhere around 20th place rocking away. Long story short, he asked me where I’ve been, I told him – by this time he was above me on the switchbacks – he stops and turns to look at me. He put his hands on his hips and told me that his friend just had his torn labrum repaired a month ago and that he’d down and out. “Would you talk to him?”

Hell ya I’ll talk to him. I’ve been down and out and up in the clouds on this crazy roller coaster for some time. But I’m getting better. And that better is turning into results that make me feel good. 18 weeks out, I ran my first sub 6 minute mile on Sunday. I climbed 4k feet on my bike on Friday. I’m feeling stronger and stronger. And the more I work at it, the longer and farther I can go without pain. So keep it real, keep it strong, and keep the faith.

Well, I just got back and let me tell you, I uncorked it. I’ve been waiting for months upon months to do something of that magnitude. Yeah, I’m outta shape, but I’ve got a lot bottled up inside and it seems to work as pretty good fuel. I climbed the south face in 12:13 from the deer crossing sign to the mail boxes at the top. It took me a little longer than yesteryear, but I haven’t climbed anything more than a few flight of stairs since October. Ahhh, and the downhill… that felt very nice indeed. Of course, I nearly forgot to smile until the very end of the descent. Regardless of the smile, I was happy, and neurons were firing. When I bike, when I run, I think. For someone reason that’s how I work. And luckily, thankfully -  It felt as if a tornado was in my head today, a good tornado.

I was thinking about websites, about design, about programming, about medicine, about opportunity, about recovery and aspirations. A small candle flickered in my mind today. I emerged from this hell that is recovery for just a little while. I feel good right now. I almost feel better. I know too well that that feeling will come crashing down soon. I’m as prepared as I can be for that. But for now, tonight, I’m happy.

My hip has been constantly improving over the last month. Most days I’ve been able to wake up and do something I wasn’t abel to do on the previous. I started a jogging program some time ago – one minute jog, one minute walk for twenty minutes. Since then I have graduated to a four minute jog, one minute walk for forty minutes. I can normally do that with zero pain. And that feels damn good compared to the way I felt before surgery.

On July 4th, Karen cleared to do my first run on a hill. I chose a small hill (the trail in front of Mount Sanitas). For the first time in many months I had to slow because of my lungs, not my hip. Thoughts of grandeur fired up as I was running up and down that hill. With no pain, my mind was free to wander. I imagined setting goals for myself. I decided to challenge myself that I wouldn’t cut my hair until I was able to run a five minute mile, cycle up NCAR six times in an hour and run up Royal Arch in less than twenty minutes. The triple threat – I promised myself. I met up with Kristen later in the day, I told her my grand plan, beaming with excitement. She brought me back down to Earth. Ryan, you’re still healing – not training, she said. So right she was. Triple threat canceled.
Saturday I tried to run on a hilly course near my parents house. What I did was run right into some pain. Deep pain in my hip that reminded me of pre surgery days. I knew the time would come when the constant improvement would falter, I just wasn’t ready for it. Same thing on Sunday. Today Karen reminded me that I had to rest my body some, had to do my stretches, that I have to be patient.

To be brutally honest, patience has been killing me. I tell myself that I love these walk/jogs – that I love getting better. But I don’t. I just want my body to be how it used to be. I want to run, to cycle, to be in the mountains. I’m sicking of watching races and coaching people. I just want to race myself, to push my heart, I want my muscles to burn and my joints to feel nice. Walking sucks.

I apologize for the yuckiness presented in these here photos, but they present an opportunity for learning. Perhaps they might encourage you to turn right and then a slight left at the next roundabout you see.

Alex two hours after:

Alex one day later (helps to have a dentist in the family):

After my appointment I chatted with Terie, Dr. Philippon’s Nurse Practioner, one of the most sincere and caring people I have ever met. The conversation circulated around hips of course, but delved more into what life is like with a busted hip. And what life is like while recovering from major surgery on arguably the most active joint in one’s body. I feel that there are very few people that I can speak candidly with about my hip. Simply because I feel it would hard for most individuals to understand the deepness and complexity of this experience without experiencing something similar, really.

That conversation got me thinking, hell I had a two hour drive back to bTown with no decent radio stations around. I got to thinking about the story I’ve rehearsed so many times that is almost no longer sincere. I realized that time (amongst other things) had helped me forget what I once I loved. How’d you hurt your hip, people ask me. I hurt it running in the mountains, I always say. Running in the mountains? Ya, I love running on trails… blah blah blah blah, blah. You’ve probably heard me say it if you know me. Rehearsed and dispassionate, that’s what that story was/is.

The stark realization that my passion was gone hurt, but then again reality often does. I started thinking about some of the memories I’d logged in the mountains. Like the time I got my tail kicked by Galen and Peter up at the continental divide. Racing up Pikes Peak or summiting Bear Peak with a personal best. During each of those trips, and countless more, I could feel myself glowing, excited, at levels that were rare to me, and most certainly treasured. These were emotions I could not get enough of, but I loved to try. Loneliness was never a thought, simply pushing further and harder. Thinking back I realized my mountain experiences fed me, the whole me, they’d leave me glowing for days. They made me high.

It’s been over a year since the last time my body felt whole. I’ve missed race after race and experience after experience. It has been a hard and bitter emotional battle. With athletics defining almost every part of my first 24 years, it has taken many feats of interpersonal strength to turn down offers of ultimate frisbee, cycling, and ping pong with a smile. It has been hard to watch people fly through the streets of Boulder biking and running. To watch people in the park rolling around or tossing a disc. To watch young kids play baseball or the elderly walking their dogs. I’ve found myself depressed at times. I’m not really sure of the clinical definition of that condition, but I know that I have not been me. I have been down and unexcited about things I used to live for. I hate that, I hate those feelings. I’ve tried to fill the gaps to no avail. I am waiting. I am me and I am waiting. It doesn’t help that patience is running thin.

I hit the start of week 9 last Thursday. I’d been waiting a long time. Karen tied a rubber cord to my waist and let me run in place for two minutes at a time. No pain. Then I got to do side to side lunges. Two minutes at a time and sweating profusely, I finished each set with no pain, but lots of fatigue. I was smiling ear to ear and I’m nearly crying now thinking of those feelings. I missed them and now I almost have them back. I described the experience to my brother over IM, “It was so stupid, running in place, but I loved it”.

I showed up at Safeway the other day at apparently the most crowded time all week. I had to park near the back of the lot, my mind told me that was no bueno. I meandered through the cars and traffic up to the front doors when I realized I was limping. Fatigue. Damn. No cereal the next morning. I sat in some nice lawn chairs they had out front. Then I walked back to my car. That sucked. I picked up my handicap sticker on Friday. My buddy Heath warned me that his fiance got addicted to hers, and now I know why.

What is recovery looking like now? I’m in the much coveted “Phase II”. All that really means is I put more time toward strengthening and less time towards people jiggling my leg. I’m proud to report that I can rock the stationary bike as hard as I want for as long as I want with zero pain. And something I’m most proud of – I can hit the stair climber for around 12 minutes with zero pain. And during those 12 minutes I can ascend something like 65 floors. I dig that. I figured Pikes Peak would be somewhere around 880 floors…. hmmm, possible to do that race in three months?

I don’t like hiking. I think it’s boring. And that is how my addiction to mountain running got started. I started running on those trails, as fast as I could. Until I wanted to throw up, until I did throw up. That’s how I like to live, through challenge, through pushing myself to the next level.

Walking in the pool, I felt lonely. I felt out of my element. I watched as triathletes streamed through the gym laughing with one another on the way from or to a workout. I used to be one of them, I used to be an athlete. I watched them and it slowly began to sink in what a full recovery means for me. It doesn’t mean walking up stairs without pain, or being able to carry heavy objects to and fro. It means running up mountains, running them fast. It means cycling in the mountains without fear or thought of injury. I suppose somehow I lost those visions of grandeur. Perhaps because this ordeal has been rockin’ for over a 13 months now. Who know, but somewhere along the line my hope diminished to the point of near nothingness. And since then it’s been limping along, just getting me through the motions. Funny how miserable boredom drove me to reinvigorated enthusiasm for the radness of life. Thank you ripped triathlete people.

Need a little inspiration? Read this and then this, the whole way through.

About five miles in I started feeling the front of my hip get sensitive. So I used my hand to manually move my right leg on and off the gas. That relieved some of the hip flexor action. I figured no sense in hurting myself more while traveling to the place that is supposed to heal me more. I hit US-36 and eagerly lifted my leg off of the gas and rocked some cruise control. Now that’s a delicate thing, because you’ve got to deal with the speeds of other drivers, right? I figured I’d roll with least common denominator or something like that. If I didn’t have to brake or speed up, I didn’t have to move my leg/hip. I set it at 60 mph. The speed limit was 65.

People were zooming by me like race car drivers. And that’s when I realized it.

I’m that guy.

You know when you’re going to a meeting or picking up a friend and you left a few minutes too late and now you’re in a hurry? And you’re thinking – hurry, hurry, get out of my way, why in the heck is that guy going so slow??? Well I am that guy – and maybe that guy just had hip surgery and doesn’t want to screw it up. At least that’s one I’m assuming from now on.

So where did all of that pain come yesterday? Was it because I decided to drive my car or because of a little over extension in PT? My mind tries to run through every little detail to figure it out. I’ve determined that when the pain sets an hour or so later, it’s darn near impossible to figure out what the hell caused it. These situations play with my emotions. This recovery is as much a physical experience as it is an emotional one.

There are highs too of course. I was walking in the kitchen two days ago and I big smile spread across my face, and a little snicker popped out of my mouth. Two weeks ago, I couldn’t even dream of walking. I Couldn’t even dream it. My dreams were more about a pain free existence. Here I was, walking!

I’m by myself now. My mum is back in the springs and that was a very big change. Of course I can’t do everything by myself, My roommate Reed and my brother Alex help me daily with PT, Alex drags ice across town to feed what seems a never ending need. But the little stuff, that’s up to me. Medicine, filling the ice cooler, getting dressed, showering, making food, etc. Those are the daily things I used to take for granted, and now they seem like a distant luxury.

After weeks of this madness (today starts week four), I finally figured out what to do. Wait. This infinite brilliance showed itself when I decided to hold off on digging into my cereal this morning. I had picked up the bowl and begun to make my first spooning swoop when I got the sudden urge for soggy flakes, and that dear friends, required waiting. Ding Ding. Light goes on in my head. That’s not the only thing you have to wait for Ryan Roth. Sure I have to work hard, I have to stick to the protocol and such, but healing is as much about waiting as anything else. I’ll keep you posted on how that plays out.

More stories tomorrow. Lots has happened and I need to catch up!

It’s hard for me to tell since I know so few people who have had this surgery, but I may be abusing this whole ice thing. Remember how I said I spend circa 19 hours in bed a day? I also spend circa 19 hours a day icing this ol’ hip of mine. And seriously, I may have killed a few nerves in my hip; Sometimes I can’t even tell if it’s cold unless I test the temp with my hand. Is this healthy? I don’t know, but it feels soooo gooooood.

I get of this bed sometimes to test the waters. I pick up those damned crutches and go walking. You know, to the kitchen, to the bathroom, sometimes even downstairs. Get me away from my ice for thirty minutes and my brain starts calling for the coldness. I get this strange sensation, not like touch or smell or anything like that. It’s more like I can feel my hip growing in size, swelling. Pretty much anything will cause it, besides icing. So far, I think that that sucks. When it swells it get stiff, when it gets stiff I get irritated, when I get irritated I get ice. When I’m bed too long I get bored, when I get bored I get irritated, when I get irritated, I get up. And the cycle goes on. Supposedly this is all supposed to help me get better. Oh how I hope.

Here are a few excerpts from an email my friend Krista sent. She is going through all of this crap on the other side of the country. Cracks me up that we are having the exact same experiences thousands of miles apart.

“Isnt it fun laying in bed all day?? All of our little assignments require a day in bed and of course i cant do my homework in bed. I get rid of my legasus tomorrow i’m not sad to see it go i’m doing it right now so i’m gonna be up all night.”

“I know you will be sad to say goodbye to your CPM. No more footpumps in a week, maybe i can get some sleep!! The foot pumps, velcroe, and my sleeping body ensue a battle nightly – usually my foot pumps lose. Hope everythings ok hope to see you soon.”

So here I was 30 hours out with a hip that wouldn’t bend, a rather large amount of residual pain, and a skinny bathtub shower. I looked into the bathroom and realized there was no way I was going to be able to get into the shower by myself. Let alone get my shorts, socks, and underwear off. I didn’t really have time to process that either, but if you’re about to go down for surgery – realize this – someone else is going to have to help you shower, and chances are they will see you naked.

My person was my mom, go figure right? Basically, I’d struggle to get into the bathtub (detailed below) and find myself in the shower with two crutches and my boxers still on. This is where I had to face the facts and toss out a little fear, my mom was going to have to help me get my underwear off. I don’t think she’d seen me naked since I was five or six, but I couldn’t let that matter much. I let that fear go pretty quick, for pretty simple reasons, my left leg was getting tired of holding my body up. Mom pulled my boxers down to my feet. But still my underwear was stuck there and my right leg wasn’t lifting up on it’s own that day. So of course I learned to magically balance on crutches in the shower while she pulled them out from under me. That there is love.

I’d have my mom turn the water on, sometimes it was too hot, sometimes it was too cold. I was balancing completely on my left leg by this time, while either leaning on the shower wall or holding onto the metal guide rail I felt so lucky to have. Lots of hopping, twisting and turning to get my upper body washed. I’d call for the shampoo and a hand would reach in and squirt some shampoo into my hand. Face wash, soap, all the same way. And I realized was no chance in hell my legs were getting washed before week two, unless you’ve got a better wash stick than the one they give you at the hospital. Plastic was so flimsy I almost snapped the thing in half. Last time we tried that.

Seriously though, each day gets better. Yeah – I still bring my crutches in the shower with me. And yes, I still balance mostly on my left leg, but each day I can wash a little more of my leg, reach a little farther, and gain a little more balance. I hope with all hope that each day will get better, and so far each day has.

——
Here is how I climbed into the shower. First, I’d have my mom get the water warm, since I couldn’t bend over to save my life (quite literally). I’d maneuver so I was facing the spout but standing just on the outside of the tub. I’d then put one crutch inside the tub and onto the rubber bath mat (make sure you have one, you don’t want that crutch so slip). I’d lean forward and at the same time sorta lift my right leg backwards so that my knee could skim over the side of the bathtub. I’d then place my leg lightly in the tub. Then I would literally put all of my weight on both crutches and get my left leg in. Remember to balance, the whole process can be a little dangerous, it was enought to cause my mom to squirm.

The problem: it is amazingly impossible to get out of these boots if need be. Say to use the bathroom, grab a drink, etc, etc. I’m sick of waking my mum in the middle of the night so I can use the bathroom. So…. I figured I’d try to pogo slide over there. Took a few near falls to perfect the technique, but I sure as hell figured it out. Crutches first, lift both legs and swing them forward past the crutches. Plant, swing crutches forward past the feet. Repeat. My parents bathroom is made for an extremely skinny person, thus walking in with crutches doesn’t quite work. So imagine me with doing the wiggle pogo slide sideways through the door. That’s what I was doing at 23:31.