The Beginning: Part
II - The Recovery
"Let us run with perserverance the race marked out for us."
- Hebrews 12:1
The day had arrived.
After a month of waiting, worrying, and praying, my Dad was finally cleared to
fly and my parents would be returning home from Australia after what seemed like
a lifetime. I remember the moment so vividly – I watched their car approaching
the driveway with the excitement of a small child waving down an ice cream truck.
They pulled up and got out of the car, and my Dad couldn’t take two steps
before I leaped in to wrap my arms around him. Only I didn’t receive the big
bear hug I had imagined. He was so weak, so frail, so thin. My arms wrapped all
the way around him. I remember pulling away because I felt like if I squeezed
too hard I might break him. My strong, Ironman Dad now seemed so fragile. This
was an unfamiliar feeling. He still didn’t quite sound like himself either, and
he looked like he had aged 10 years since I last saw him. This was going to be
a long recovery. But I wanted to be there every step of the way, in any and
every way I could.
During the initial
weeks of recovery, my Dad spent his days in a recliner. It was still hard for
him to move around, and laying in bed was too uncomfortable. He slept sitting
up in the recliner every night, and it was heartbreaking to see every morning I
came out of my room. My Mom would monitor his medications, and made sure he did
his breathing exercises every day. He had to use a machine to train his lungs
to fully inflate properly. Breathing and slow movements were the extent of his
exercise abilities. I didn’t want to bring up triathlons or his race, because I
could tell that it crushed him to not be able to do any of the things he loved,
that would normally take up a large portion of his time. He was already retired
at this point, so his days consumed of training and teaching spin classes and
sharing his passion for the sport. Then one day, the discussion about Ironman
Texas came up. He was already signed up to race in April of 2017, but we all
just assumed this was out of the question now. My Dad had different plans. He
had 7 months to get ready, and he was going to do anything and everything it
took to get himself to that starting line, ready to race.
Quitting was never an
option for my Dad. If it ever crossed his mind, he didn’t show it. I was a
Certified Personal Trainer and had experience with injury rehab, so he asked me
to help his recovery as soon as the doctors cleared him. The first time we went
train together, he attempted a short spin on the stationary bike, with the
lightest resistance. He was in so much pain the next day. The road to recovery
was not going to be easy. He still had wounds from surgery that were healing,
so he wasn’t cleared to swim for a few more weeks. When he was finally able, he
started out just walking laps in the pool. He worked with a physical therapist
and had regular doctor appointments.
The support from the
Triathlon Community continued through my Dad’s recovery. I don’t think my Mom
had to cook for 2 months, and our fridge was never empty. I was working during
the day, but it seemed like every time I came home there would be new gifts
from people who came to visit them while I was gone. Even people from Australia
were keeping in touch online and checking in on my parents. I felt a new
connection to the sport and my Dad's Triathlon club, and I finally began to understand why
this community was such a big part of his life.
No comments:
Post a Comment