Amy Reinink

I’ve been whining a lot lately, so I’d like to use this post to voice some gratitude.

Two weeks ago, on Jan. 28, I had surgery to repair an ACL tear. Just five days later, before the SteriStrips had even peeled off of my surgical wounds, my doctor cleared me for physical therapy, swimming, lifting, (stationary) cycling and a host of other activities. I’ve now been “back in the saddle” for a little more than two weeks, and I already feel more like myself again.

The quad on my injured leg has gone from only contracting when it’s hooked up to electrical stimulation to being able to support my body weight while I throw a medicine ball at a trampoline (I love physical therapy!). I’ve gone from barely being able to walk across my apartment to walking across the street (never mind that a little old man with a walker literally beat me to the other wise). And I’m back to being comfortable in the pool, where I’ve been spending most of my workout time, even though I’m not using walls to push off after my turns (try this if you’re looking for a crazy-good core workout). Watch out, 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim!

Here’s what my first week and a half back looked like:

Thursday, Feb. 3: Swim 3,000 meters

Friday, Feb. 4: Physical therapy

Saturday/Sunday: Off

Monday, Feb. 7: Physical therapy; swim 3,000 meters

Tuesday, Feb. 8: Lift 45 minutes; StairMaster/stationary bike 30 minutes

Wednesday, Feb. 9: Physical therapy, swim 3,000 meters

Thursday: Swim 3,000 meters

Friday: Physical therapy

Well, that just looks like a normal week of working out, doesn’t it? I’m still cranky that, rather than completing my ski-patrol training every Saturday, I spend the day getting pulled around in a sled by my classmates. But I’m also deeply grateful for what I *can* do, which makes the stuff I can’t do a little more palatable.

I have a new theme song.

I’d been listening to a playlist composed mostly of music from Warren Miller ski movies. Ever since my ACL tear and surgery to repair it, that playlist has taken on a depressing undertone, given that it reminds me of the ski-patrol training I have to wait until December to complete. It’s easy to be patient and graceful about this when I’m at home, focusing on my recovery, but feels devastating during my weekly trips to Whitetail, where I participate in the few bits of training I can, and watch my classmates master the skills I’d hoped to have learned by now, too.

I needed a new playlist to take my mind off the big bummer this ski season has turned into for me, and to remind me that I can fight my way back into the game. One of my favorite Cake songs fit the bill perfectly:

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,
engines pumping and thumping in time.
the green light flashes, the flags go up.
churning and burning, they yearn for the cup.
they deftly maneuver and muscle for rank,
fuel burning fast on an empty tank.
reckless and wild, they pour through the turns.
their prowess is potent and secretly stern.
as they speed through the finish, the flags go down.
the fans get up and they get out of town.
the arena is empty except for one man,
still driving and striving as fast as he can.
the sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
and long ago somebody left with the cup.
but he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns.
and thinking of some[thing] for whom she still burns.

In case this isn’t clear, I’m the one man still in the arena in this scenario. While I won’t be on snow again until December, barring any summer ski trips to the southern hemisphere, every step I take in my recovery will put me closer to being ready for that. So my arena is physical therapy, where I do single-leg presses with a mere 20 pounds while I wait for my quad to “wake up” post-surgery. My arena is the pool, where I’ll train for the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim, which will help me maintain my fitness for the winter. My arena is my mind, where I’m trying to keep my thinking positive (or at least non-catastrophic).

This new playlist is geared toward the injured underdog—or anyone else who’s felt like the last man in the arena.

Bandages – Hot Hot Heat (because if you’ve had surgery, you’ve probably got some of these)

Pills – Gary Jules (ditto)

Going the Distance — Cake

I Will Survive – Cake (because it’s funny to think about yourself as a spurned lover trying to get over the loss of running, swimming, skiing, or whatever it is you can’t do. and because this is a great cover.)

Fugeela – Fugees (We used to be No. 10/Now we’re permanent One)

Survivor – Destiny’s Child (self-explanatory)

Get Right Back – Army Navy (ditto)

So What – P!nk (So what? I’m still a rock star. I’ve got my rock moves.)

Feeling Good – Muse (when you’re hurt, feeling good is a big deal)

It’s a Wonderful World – The Ramones (gratitude helps)

Estoy Aqui – Shakira (so does living in the moment)

Three Little Birds – Bob Marley

Have a song to add to the list? Suggest it by posting a comment below!

I have discovered the No. 1 factor that motivates me to hit the pool and swim: Injury that prevents me from participating in my other favorite activities. I’m itching to get to the pool right now, but it’s mostly because, well, I can’t run or ski after ACL reconstruction surgery on Jan. 28.

It’s a similar cycle every time—I hurt myself and get doctor’s orders not to run or ski; I come crawling back to swimming, the “sport of last resort;” swimming treats me well, giving me a great total-body workout and a much-needed endorphin fix; it helps me get strong enough to do my other activities; and then I heartlessly ditch it for easier, sexier sports.

I’ve been feeling kinda bad about this, so I’ve decided to list a few of the things that *keep* me swimming once it’s part of my daily routine. When I think about swimming:

I think about the Bay Bridge, and what a powerful feeling it was to swim beside it during my first 1-mile Bay Bridge Challenge in 2008—the first open-water swim of my adult life (a feeling that will only be magnified by swimming the whole 4.4 miles across the bay during the the Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12!).

I think about swimming in the Gulf of Mexico while visiting my parents in the Tampa area.

I think about how strong (if itchy!) I felt finishing the Daiquiri Deck Tropical Splash Open Water 5K in Siesta Key in October.

I think about sunbathing in Barcelona, seeing a buoy far offshore, and deciding to swim out to it. The water was so clear, I could see straight to the bottom, even at depths of 10 or more feet, which was both terrifying and thrilling.

I think about drinking a glass of sangria after swimming to the buoy and back, and about how I can’t remember being so relaxed.

I think about swimming along another beautiful Mediterranean beach a week later, close to where our friends Sarah and Phil live in Toulon, France. The first thing I noticed, besides the beauty of the beach itself, was the fact that I wasn’t the only idiot putting on a cap and goggles at the shoreline—there were half a dozen other people jumping in for a serious swim! Sarah and Phil told me some elderly residents start every day by swimming around the buoys a few times—without wetsuits in the winter.

It was the same crystal-clear Mediterranean water as Barcelona, and had the same incredible, Mediterranean buoyancy (with that much salt in the water, you actually have to *try* to sink)! Back onshore, Steve, my friends and I shared a delicious lunch composed of goodies from the outdoor market downtown—tiny, bright-red strawberries; figs the size of your fist; and several varieties of local olives.

Olives nicely echoed the saltiness of the Mediterranean.

Steve and I would linger at the beach long after our friends headed back home, finally straggling back as the sun was setting. Every night we were there, they greeted us with freshly chilled glasses of local rosé.

I’m a realist, and I know hoofing it to a D.C. public pool in the middle of the winter bears little resemblance to any of the experiences above. But jumping in at Wilson or Takoma is what lets me swim to my heart’s content when I spot a buoy far off a beautiful shoreline, or when I hear about a cool open-water swim. And if I try hard enough, once I’ve gotten into the groove of a good swim, I can almost convince myself I’m back in those wonderful, peaceful places (A little mental imagery goes a long way!).

Do you rely on mental imagery to get motivated? How so?

My week has gotten unexpectedly busy, thanks to the addition of physical therapy at Physical Therapy and Sports Assessment Center to my schedule. I went for the first time yesterday, am going again today, and am scheduled for three appointments next week. I’ll get into my quad-strengthening, knee-protecting exercise lineup later, but for now, I offer the top five reasons I knew I’d picked the right place.

1. The waiting room is full of thank-you notes from professional tennis players, ice skaters and other athletes PTSAC founder Edward Lee has helped overcome injuries. One is from a hang-glider whose note starts this way: “After hang-gliding into a volcano …” Makes my ACL tear, caused by a wayward snowboarder, seem tame by comparison.

2. Everyone who works in the Silver Spring office seems friendly and knowledgeable, from the gym manager who happens to be a former elite running coach from Guyana to the office manager, a kind, older gentleman who checked up on my when I was doing leg lifts, and offered me water at every turn.

3. Everyone was optimistic and encouraging. When rehabbing my wrist, the therapy tech with whom I had most of my appointments made me cry on a regular basis with his pessimism and total lack of bedside manner. Everyone I talked to yesterday made me feel like a rehab rock star, pointing out everything working in my favor: I was super-active before the injury; I can already straighten my leg all the way less than a week after ACL reconstruction surgery; I can bend it pretty far; and I’m totally committed to therapy.”You’re going to make me look good,” Lee said as he watched me bend and extend my leg on the bike.

4. I got to do a real workout. From hamstring curls to squats on the wobble board, I got to really move my legs. Lee watched and tweaked my exercise lineup as I went, adding more weight here, switching me to single-leg from double there.

5. Ed Lee himself. He played two games in the NFL in 1982 before an ACL tear ended his career. Not his season—his career. So to say that he understands how devastating such an injury can be is an understatement. But while he lost his dream career, he found a new one: Lee got into physical therapy after going through rehab for his own injury. In a story about Brene Moseley, a local high-school basketball phenom who sought Lee’s help for her own ACL tear, Lee told the Gazette:

“I can understand the fear and initial shock she had. An ACL was a death sentence in the 1980s when I got it. Now, surgery has greatly improved and you can come back stronger, and she will be. (But) it won’t be until her freshman year in college when she’s fully recovered mentally.”

Let’s just pretend he’s talking about me, shall we? The take-aways: It’s OK if I’m still bummed and shaken up. And I *will* come back stronger.

I have so much good news to report!

I saw Dr. P. for the first time since my ACL reconstruction surgery last week, and was cleared to swim, bike, row, lift and limp around on my new ACL without a brace. More importantly, he told me the surgery was a huge success, and that my menisci—which he previously thought may have been torn—were “baby’s bottom pristine” upon closer inspection.

I was also cleared to start physical therapy, which longtime readers will know is a hugely exciting proposition for me, as I’m a total physical therapy geek.

Sadly, Beefcake Brad, who helped me work through some nagging hip and ankle injuries a year ago, is no longer practicing in the area, so I had to seek help elsewhere. I asked Dr. P., asked around among runner-friends, scoured the “Best of” lists in places like the Washingtonian and Bethesda Magazine, Googled the heck out of the results I found, figured out which therapists would work with TRICARE … and found the perfect match.

Edward P. Lee of the Physical Therapy and Sports Assessment Center is a former Detroit Lions wide receiver who got into PT after tearing his own ACL. He just happens to practice two blocks away from my apartment.

There’s always a brief period of awkwardness when you and the therapist are feeling each other out to gauge each other’s commitment and motivation. They’re looking to see how serious you are about your treatment. You’re looking to see if they understand just how important it is that you are able to resume playing your recreational sport of choice as soon as humanly possible. Hopefully, these guys will realize quickly that, once they earn my trust, I will be their most dedicated (if most annoying) patient, more likely to overdo my at-home exercises than to skip them.

Stay tuned for my new PT lineup, which I promise to share here.

Good news: I have a new ACL! I feel like I’m coming out on the other side of the post-surgery pain I was trapped beneath all weekend, and I’m hoping to start physical therapy after seeing Dr. P. for my first post-op appointment on Wednesday morning.

Know what this means? I get to actually take action to guide my recovery, rather than just sitting idly by and waiting for better to happen.

The first step in the process: Taking care of myself, which is no small task considering how bad I am about doing so (is anyone actually good at this?), and about how gifted I am in the art of denial.

Here’s what I mean about the denial: When I first hurt my knee Jan. 9, I told myself that while my ACL tear isn’t ideal, it’s also not, like, life-altering or anything. We’ve been dealing with heavier stuff than knee injuries, including friends and family members who are currently fighting cancer. This makes my silly little knee injury seem like a hangnail (if only all our medical ailments could be solved in a 45-minute surgery!).

I took the healthy sense of perspective a little too far, though, and spent weeks refusing to acknowledge that my knee is not, in fact, a hangnail; and that while it isn’t life-threatening, it certainly is life-altering, and requires some major retooling of my schedule and goals. Refusing to deal with it appropriately set me up for major heartache and disappointment my first post-injury day back at Whitetail.

My denial skills were at play again when I suggested—no, demanded—that Steve not skip our scheduled ski-patrol training on Saturday, the day after my surgery. He left at 5 a.m. and returned at 7 p.m., during which I could have called any number of friends to come provide adult supervision—but I didn’t. It actually didn’t occur to me until I was hobbling around the apartment in a Percocet haze, trying to clean up some piping-hot tea I’d just spilled all over the floor and myself, that adult supervision may have been helpful. Even once Steve was home yesterday, he had to constantly remind me that I was supposed to be resting, not doing the dishes/researching new story ideas/cooking complicated meals.

So this week, I’m motivated by the challenge to truly take care of myself. That’s my one and only goal, so I really have no excuse for not excelling at it. I’m going to do some work, since I can easily type and do phone interviews from the couch with my knee elevated, but I will take breaks and/or naps when I need to. I will put rest and rehab first, with all other life tasks—like dishes/researching new story ideas/cooking complicated meals—falling a distant second. I will continue to maintain a healthy perspective on my knee (because really, it WOULD be great if all of life’s problems could be solved with a 45-minute surgery!), but I’m also going to give it the attention it deserves.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a little break (admitting one’s faults is exhausting!).

My doctor is a magical ninja-wizard who can move mountains and part seas.

OK, the above description might be a slight exaggeration about Dr. Daniel Pereles, who will reconstruct my ACL on Friday morning. But to hear me and other patients talk about him, he’s not far removed from being a magical ninja-wizard, though he doesn’t deal in mountains and seas so much as ligaments and bones.

I’ll keep this gushing section post, as I’ve gushed at length in previous posts. Just a few facts about him ahead of my surgery on Friday: He’s a former college swimmer who’s finished multiple marathons and triathlons, is an expert skier, has been on the Runner’s World advisory board, and appears regularly in the Washingtonian’s list of top doctors in the area.

Like I said: He’s a magical ninja-wizard.

Some highlights in my two-year doctor-patient relationship with him:

• In early 2009, he helped me figure out that my ancient, packed-out ski boots were to blame for my persistent ankle problems. I remain the only person I know who’s been under doctor’s order to get new ski boots.
• Later that year, when I asked him if I could run the Marine Corps Marathon in three months despite a nagging hip injury, he asked if I had a time goal, cringing as he waited for an answer. I told him I hoped to run it in less than four hours. He waved his hand dismissively, saying, “Oh! I thought you were going to say you wanted a BQ. You’re fine.” Then, he laid out my training plan. I followed it, and finished the race.
• Multiple times, when I saw him for aches and pains that would have led other docs to issue one-size-fits-all recommendations of six weeks of rest, his final advice was: “Don’t stop running or anything.”

I just want to say that, if you have to have someone cut into a section of your leg, take something out, and put it back somewhere else to fix something that’s broken, you probably want it to be this dude.

I won’t be posting on Friday, as I’ll be in surgery. I’ll be updating my Twitter page once the surgery’s done. Wish me luck, and stay tuned for my return to action—first in physical therapy, then in training for the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12.

I’m wiped. I’m emotionally exhausted. I won’t elaborate upon why, but will say only that by the time I got to Whitetail on Saturday for my first day of ski-patrol training since tearing my ACL a few weeks ago, I was a big, walking breakdown—think Natalie Portman’s Nina in Black Swan, wearing ski boots instead of ballet slippers.

Until I actually got to the resort Friday night, I was in really good spirits about the knee. I was keeping it in perspective, reminding myself that life would be easier if all our problems could be solved in a 45-minute outpatient procedure. I felt like I’d come to terms with the fact that my ski season was over, and felt OK about the fact that I will be finishing my ski-and-toboggan training over a few days at the start of next season rather than finishing it this year with Steve and my other classmates.

My ski-patrol candidate class, wearing the absurd blue jackets I'll be stuck in just a *little* bit longer than everyone else.

But when I got there, reality hit me, hard: Every Saturday, my candidate classmates will get to learn cool new stuff that will improve their skiing and bring them closer to bringing patients downhill in a sled. I will either let them pull me around in the sled or work in the clinic. And in March, once my candidate classmates pass their ski-and-toboggan test and get their red coats, I’ll still be wearing the silly blue windbreaker with “candidate” emblazoned on the front. They will be patrollers; I will not.

Once the self pity and envy descended, they hung over me the rest of the day like some horrible cloud of polluted sleet and ugly emotions. Here’s what I’m trying to keep in mind to stay above the cloud:

I will run my own race. I’ve been here before—not in terms of injury (see the wrist I broke on my first and last day snowboarding last year, and the surgery that followed), but in terms of being mentally tough through periods of disappointment. Longtime readers know that the 2009 Marine Corps Marathon was a traumatic race for me, as my reasonable goal time disappeared into a muck of gastrointestinal distress. I had to first accept that my goal time wasn’t going to happen, then pick up the pieces and try twice as hard as I expected to just to finish the race. My mantra became “run your own race,” because I had to abandon all comparison—to other runners, and to what I thought I deserved. And that’s just what I have to do now. Fair or not, I have to accept my new reality. And I have to conjure extra mental toughness just to finish my training. My classmates will finish their journey soon, which is cool for them; but it has nothing to do with me. I will continue on my own path, with my blue coat, which I will wear with pride.

I will laugh. OK, fine—pride isn’t exactly the right word. But I will wear my jacket with good humor. Candidates are affectionately called “Smurfs” because the jackets are so absurdly blue, and so obviously intended for hazing rather than warmth. One of my classmates decided we needed a mascot, and he brought in a stuffed Smurf. No matter how long it takes me to get back on skis, I won’t be the only one on the mountain in blue while I wait.

The Smurf bears our class motto, DYD (long story).

I will focus on what I *can* do. No skiing for five months post-surgery=big bummer. But I get to start physical therapy five days after surgery, and get to start swimming two weeks after. I’m going to turn my focus to training for the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12.

I will take care of myself. On Saturday, I went directly from Whitetail to a party at a runner-friend’s house, where my other runner-friends consoled me and distracted me (it’s hard to feel too much self pity while lip-syncing to Madonna).

I will force the positive. I’m revisiting all my favorite motivational quotes, such as this one from Helen Keller: “Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.”

I will look forward, not backwards. I can’t un-tear my ACL. I can, however, put all my energy and emotion toward my recovery. Surgery is scheduled for Friday morning. It can’t come fast enough!

Every winter, I turn into a psuedo-reptile. My skin, sensitive under the best of circumstances, changes in chameleon-like fashion from pink to bright red immediately after it’s exposed to cold air on ski trips and long runs. It stays that way until it peels off mid-week, revealing shiny, new skin just in time for the weekend, when I start the whole process again.

On the upside, my friend Jessica points out that “some women pay a lot of money for that,” referring to expensive chemical peels to slough old, dead skin cells. The downside: It hurts, and looks like crap throughout the week.

Though I won’t have to deal with this much again this winter, thanks to a season-ending ACL tear, I wanted to share what I learned about how to prevent wind burn.

Tip No. 1, which I already knew: Cover up. Make sure you have a neck gaiter, bandana or other face-covering before braving the elements.

Tip No. 2, which I knew but hadn’t put into practice: Slather on moisturizer, petroleum jelly, sunscreen—whatever. Just add an extra layer of protection between your skin and the wind. Some favorite products, cribbed from posts on The Ski Diva and a helpful SKI magazine story:

Kiehl’s All-Sport “Non-Freeze” Face Protector

Weleda Face Balm.

Dermatone, allegedly used on Everest?

Or, my personal favorite, which led to the first peel-free ski weekend a few weeks ago: Plain ol’ Neutrogena Sport Face SPF 70 sunscreen. It’s cheap, available almost everywhere, and required only one re-application for a dawn-to-dusk ski day. I’m looking forward to trying it on a long run, too.

What’s your best protection against wind burn?

Can you imagine how excited I was when the editors at Bethesda Magazine asked me to write a story about busy, important people who manage to stay in shape despite long hours and irregular schedules? I figured I’d get some great motivational tips and tricks, and I did. The surprise: Their tips and tricks weren’t revolutionary things I’d never thought of, but basic concepts familiar to anyone who’s ever picked up a fitness magazine.

Here’s what makes their tips so effective and mind-blowing: They find ways to apply them to their lives, and their situations, and adhere to those tips like super-glue.

These tips are especially poignant for me this week. I spent the first few days of the weeks at doctor appointments and on insurance phone calls to deal with my torn ACL (dealing with Tricare=far more painful than my actual injury. But I prevailed, and surgery is scheduled for Jan. 28!). Plus, we left Thursday night for a week-long trip to visit family in Colorado. Add the normal demands of deadlines and life and stuff, and I’ve barely been keeping my head above water.

Here are a few of my favorite fit-it-all-in tips, plus how I apply (or plan to apply) their advice to my own life:

• From documentary filmmaker Sean Fine: Just do something. “Maybe you got yourself psyched for that 70- or 80-mile bike ride, but you don’t have to skip it altogether if you only have 30 minutes. It’s about realizing that it’s better to do some push-ups and sit-ups in your hotel room than giving up and not doing anything at all.”

I do a few of my basic core-strengthening/ITB-saving exercises daily, even when I don’t manage a full workout.

• From Fox 5 weather forecaster Sue Palka: Put yourself first. Palka says she honors her workout time by telling colleagues and others that a lunch meeting won’t work with her schedule. “I just don’t tell them it’s because I exercise from noon to 1,” she says.

Ooh, am I ever bad about this! I promise to be better about honoring my workouts once I schedule them.

• From Bill Marriott (who’s 78!): Find a routine. “Develop a great workout plan that fits into your hectic schedule, and stick to it.”

Normally, I swim on Mondays, run Tuesdays and Thursdays, and swim again, lift or do other cross-training on Wednesdays and Fridays. Consistency breeds habit, which is always helpful when it comes to exercise. I plan to swim every other day until my ACL can handle other activity.

• From News 4 anchor Doreen Gentzler: Sign up for a big event. It “forces you to make time for your workouts,” she says.

True. I’ve got the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12 lurking out there, so I know I’ve got to kick my butt into gear in the pool.

Check out the whole story here. What’s your most effective, tried-and-true workout tip?