First of all, let me joyfully share what the physiotherapist told me Monday morning, shortly after I clicked “Publish” on my last post: my ankle is healing very well, and I can resume my normal range of activity (including strength training) as long as I don’t jump or hop. He’s given me some simple daily ankle-strengthening exercises, which will progress over the next three weeks — and he expects I’ll be back to full strength by June. What a relief!
As delighted as I am with this news, and as keen as I am to start thinking about another go at the Via Francigena, I think it’s worth pausing to acknowledge the outcomes I’d feared when I first fell and also to confess that I didn’t jump immediately to reframing this experience as positively as my Instagram account might suggest. So, as promised last post, I’m going to share the “free flow of my thoughts” as I’ve gathered them retrospectively.
To set the scene, though. . . (should you want to see more, peek at my Instagram posts. You might want to begin with the first day of our walk, setting out from Siena).
I’d been exultant about managing our first walking day so well — 21 kilometres in very decent time; a pleasant picnic on a well-placed bench along the way; numerous “nature pees” achieved discreetly enough thanks to the knee-length full skirt (a comfortable cotton-linen blend) I’d worn strategically over my wool leggings for just such a purpose, rightly anticipating that there might not be much cover in those green fields.
The paths had been well-signed and the sections we’d worried might be unpleasant (through an industrial recycling plant; alongside the highway) had been brief enough and well-separated from the road enough to feel safe. Only the last kilometre, which veered off the VF path and crossed the fairly busy Via Cassia to reach our night’s accommodation, was worrisome, even perilous, with a very narrow shoulder for us to walk on, far too close to the huge trucks rushing by with their cargo.
But we got to our hotel in one piece, received a friendly welcome, were reunited with our luggage, and shown to our Room Without a View (unless you count the brick wall of an adjoining building). No worries, we’d walked through magnificent views all day. Time to change for dinner — I would wear this dress for dinner almost every evening thereafter, but this would be the last time, this trip, that my left foot could fit into that loafer. . .
The dining room was surprisingly stylish, its gorgeous room converted from an earlier agricultural purpose, as I remember, and the food lived up to the white linen and sophisticated lighting and stunning brickwork. I suppose that’s why the room filled up so quickly — two boisterous tables of fellows working on a local fibre optics project, also staying in the hotel and several (quieter) groups of two or four. I was too tired and the room was a bit too noisy for me to linger long, so I skipped dessert, left Paul to his expresso, and was almost asleep by the time he’d sorted the bill and come upstairs.
The next morning, leaving during busier traffic than the previous afternoon, we concentrated fiercely on the gaps between vehicles, taking advantage of them to move quickly to the next widening of the shoulder. Perhaps it was the relief of having this behind us, of getting past that nerve-wracking half-kilometre and back onto the more idyllic path, that made me less attentive to where I was placing my feet. Or I could blame the intoxicating birdsong. I only know we’d just got back onto the VF, confidently aimed toward Buonconvento, and I’d stopped to photograph some wildflowers by the path; suddenly, I was on the ground, my palm stinging on the gravel and something in my ankle pinging a message. . .
And the photos aren’t even very good!
As you will know if you’ve been following me here or on Instagram, I walked another 9 kilometres that day, and not until we’d had lunch (the lovely server noted my injury and sent us off with a big bag of ice she’d then wrapped in an old dishtowel), did I take off my shoe and see what I’d done. Lots of swelling, lots of dramatic colour, definite reduction of pain-free mobility. Still, I tried to be stoic, icing and Ibuprofen-ing and applying arnica cream and elevating. . . (and, inevitably, combing through the sites Google suggested for information and advice and some rather frightening cautionary tales).
But once stretched out on that hotel room bed, a safe enough place for beginning to absorb what had happened, fatigue and worry asserted themselves, and what the Buddhists call our “monkey mind” went into overdrive. As promised in my last post, I spent an hour or so the other day free-writing what I could remember of the chatter that threatened to overwhelm me in that Buonconvento hotel room. Here’s what I gathered, retrospectively, reminding myself that Clotilde counsels curiosity rather than judgement:
I’ve ruined our cool plans, spoiled the trip for Paul. I never should have thought I could keep up; he’s so much stronger than me. I get so caught up with my fitness improvement, but I’m still not as strong as he is and probably many of my friends or family would have done better (And yes, ‘monkey mind’ supplied numerous specific examples). Was I being arrogant or just denying the reality of difficulties we’d face when I’m almost 70 and really have never been particularly strong or athletic.
And wasn’t that typically goofy of me to have got so excited about the wildflowers by the side of the path that I wasn’t watching my feet carefully enough and didn’t notice the instability of the path there.
And after I’d assessed, recognized minor pain but still able to weight-bear without too much discomfort and managing to walk fairly well so that we could get to Buonconvento and assess at our hotel, I caught myself alternately appreciating Paul’s recognition that I was “being a trooper,” that I was impressively strong” . . . and then resenting him for my own stoicism. Because maybe it was going to be a stoicism that would lead to permanent disability and I’d never be able to walk distances comfortably again and certainly never come back to walk more of the VF.
And then when we got to the hotel and had managed to have lunch nearby, talking about options for treatment — with Paul trying to see if there was an available Dr. in the small town and me saying that if he wanted to go that route, then it might be better to call our travel insurance — but honestly, that might mean a complicated divergence from our plans (not to mention the pre-booked-and-already-paid hotels on a route that would get us back to Rome in time for our flight).
Again, my internal dialogue, patting myself on the back for stoicism and tenacity while simultaneously wanting to blame Paul for directing me along that path (the metaphorical one) . . . and then berating myself for wanting to deny or limit my own agency.
Meanwhile, shock and fatigue were replacing the adrenaline that had kept me moving along the walk — and almost anything made me cry and I was consumed by thinking that I might end up aging/aged and unable to walk and that descended, in the meanness of the wee hours, into a conviction that no one would want to come visit me than and I would be lonely and old and immobile.
So there’s a peek behind the Reframing in Progress curtain, chaotic and noisy as it was (probably softened considerably in the rear-view mirror, and knowing now that all has turned out fairly well). Of course, the stoicism and tenacity and resilience would step up to rally me, but it would be dishonest and unproductive to claim that I was able to reframe in a few hours.
It helped enormously that my husband was patient and reassuring; that my son-in-law — an avid climber and hiker with considerable experience in injury and recovery — offered advice via WhatsApp (the ibuprofen, the ice, the Arnica) and expressed faith that I’d bounce back quickly; that my daughter, a Registered Massage Therapist, suggested (also via WhatsApp, the great connector) how to gently move my ankle, how to negotiate my body’s protective instinctive fear of triggering more pain. Constructive and encouraging empathy from family and friends (both IRL and on SM) also helped. Mirrors that reflected my own strength to me and helped snap me out of an overwrought vision of myself as old and broken.
There is, nonetheless, an undeniable truth contained in that overwrought vision, and it’s a truth that did not trouble me at all when I broke my fibula 30-some years ago and had to wear a cast from toes to thigh for six weeks (the old days; now that injury would probably rate a boot). When I broke that bone, I remember the shock of the injury was compounded by a surprisingly immediate sense of mortality — as if mortality’s consequences were clearly unveiled for the first time as related directly to me.
But seeing mortality’s personal relevance at almost 40 is quite different, I find, that confronting it in the lead-up to a 70th birthday. Particularly after a worldwide pandemic that hit my demographic hard — and that exposed a societal impatience with the needs of the over-65-and-beyond crowd.
I’m going to stop myself here and wait for your comments about anything I might have written that resonates with your experience. In an upcoming post, I’ll share my current thinking about how my age and fitness Level will affect my travel and other lifestyle plans, especially as that thinking has been tested and influenced by this ankle injury. I also want to write something about the way this enforced slow-down (halt, even!) brought some benefits, some productive new ways of thinking and observing.
But that’s enough for now. I’ll look forwarding to reading your responses.
xo,
f
How I sympathise with the voices in the head syndrome. I think it’s all to your (and Paul’s) credit that you were able to salvage as much of the remaining holiday as you did. You should be proud of yourself for that. My hope for you is that you don’t limit yourself by letting one mis-step cast you in the persona of “too old for all this active stuff”. That’s its own slippery path to restricting ourselves more and more, when really a twisted ankle can happen to the much younger and very fit too.
Some unsolicited advice follows and you can tell me to s*d off if you want! Am I right in thinking you were walking in training shoes? Next time I would wear a boot with an ankle cuff. It can be lightweight overall but should have good ankle support. For a multi-day walk I would always choose boots with a cuff, and in fact I always wear then for even a day walk in the hills. Walking poles can be really helpful and are not just for Nordic walking. Very common here on rough Scottish hill tracks and in heather. Also useful for fending off any dogs (which we encountered a lot doing a GR in France). Your exercises from your physio may already include some of these, but if not I’d recommend doing regular balance strengthening exercises. I’ve started doing these because of my Menières disease wonky balance issues, and have really noticed an improvement. I follow the videos at Jessica Valant Pilates – she has free videos on YouTube if you search for her balance exercises. And that’s probably enough!
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Thanks, Linda! I’ve worked past the “too old for all this” self-chat, but felt it was valuable/honest to register here that it happened.
I take your point about the boots vs. trainers, and perhaps they would have protected against this injury. Hard to know. There’s been an ongoing debate on this point for decades now (see this link, for example) we opted for technical trail runners. Weight is a factor, for sure, but also the time it would take me to break in boots — you’re lucky to have a pair well-worn and ready for any occasion.
Balance is SO important! My trainer includes work on this in the programs she designs for me, and I try to throw in a home yoga practice a few times a week. I did 2x weekly Pilates classes for a decade and loved those. So interesting to hear that it helps with Menières, but I’m not surprised. My old Pilates teacher often recounted transformations she’d witnessed with clients who’d got caught up in a “poor balance followed by a fall / injury followed by loss of mobility” cycle. It’s such a key element, that balance!
Awww Frances, those mean head voices are never up to any good. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit but I know it doesn’t feel that way after a fall. I am with Linda, a boot with a high, supportive ankle might help and trekking poles, they have kept me upright on many occasions when I would have otherwise been on the ground.
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Thanks! You and Linda are both such experienced hikers and I appreciate the encouragement and advice.
I am almost a decade younger than you are, Frances, and definitely not as fit. So I wanted to start out by saying that perhaps you can let that troublesome monkey mind know that there is a 60-year-old a few provinces to the east who sees you as a role model for what 70 can look like.
I’ve had my own recent experience with an injury. I was not doing anything physically taxing, but was on slightly uneven terrain and rolled my foot onto the outside age and put all my weight on it. I limped around for a couple of weeks before finally seeking medical attention when the pain persisted, and it turned out that I had fractured a bone in my foot. The healing process has been excruciatingly slow. I was in a boot cast for two and a half months and have been in physiotherapy almost another four months since shedding the boot. It has been eye-opening to me, as someone who enjoys filling her time with reading, knitting, and other sedentary pursuits, how depressing I found forced inactivity to be. I also feel more vulnerable now as I contemplate the stage of life ahead of me. A fluke injury can have scarily far-reaching consequences, and bouncing back will only become more challenging as the years pass. Improving my fitness level, now that I have the okay to walk for exercise again, is a priority, but my efforts in that regard don’t entirely quell the “what if” questions that are a little more insistent than they used to be.
Thank you for sharing your experience with us, and I am very happy to hear that you should be back to full strength in a few weeks. I hope there are many more travel adventures in your future!
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I’m so sorry to hear about your injury, Denise (and not so secretly tickled to think of myself as a role model — thank you!). Your experience is the type of cautionary examples I read about after I’d hurt myself, and I dreaded perhaps having done that to my foot (although I didn’t experience the kind of pain you did).
I see the potential for you to build from this experience, transforming the time you’ve carved out for physiotherapy into the base for a strength-training and overall fitness program that leaves you stronger and thus far less vulnerable. These injuries remind us just how important our bodies’ fitness is to our happiness and overall well-being — and that motivation goes a long way to overcoming our distaste for exercise!! 😉 I’d love to hear back from you over the next year or so and find out how that’s going.
Thank you, Frances! I love the idea of a little accountability and will make a mental note to let you know how I’m doing in a few months.
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xo
I am so happy to hear that you are on the mend. I can so relate to that cycle of thoughts. When I injured a knee about 6 years ago (simply from running, something that had never previously injured me) I felt myself become instantly geriatric– it was terrifying. I realized how much of my identity was how I moved easily in the world, the spring in my step, my sense of myself as strong. It took me 6 months to dispel those fears as I rehabilitated that knee with ice and heat and water running in the pool. One day I woke up to realize that I had no pain and just generally felt normal again. I resumed gentle running. I’ve had little relapses in both knees and each time I think, this is it, the beginning of the end of the me I was. But each time it passes and the injuries (probably actually moderate arthritis) abates and I return to exercise. I suppose some day that change will come and I won’t be able to do the things I am used to and I will lose the spring in my step for good, but now I realize that I need to dial down the panic, rest and give it time. As a post note, when the day comes that we have to be more sedentary, it must help to have contemplative lives. You have laid down such a rich life of reading, writing, sketching, knitting, language studies, which you will have at hand…
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I remember that! And you articulate so well what I was feeling — the instant onset of a geriatric identity.
You also note well the point I arrived at after batting aside the monkey mind chatter: IF there’s a good chance there will be extended periods of limited mobility ahead, best have a toolbox ready, and I guess I do. . . (as do you, my friend — could we get adjoining rooms in the Care Home? 😉
I too am in the lead up a 70th birthday. Rest assured that I am not contemplating walking the VF at all, so you’re way ahead of me on strength and fitness. I don’t enjoy long haul flights (I love flying itself but the confined spaces and the lack of service (compared to the early 70s when I first flew from Sydney to Athens) make it very unappealing. And my knees wouldn’t be able to manage 20 km of walking in one day. Your monkey mind thoughts are very familiar from times I’ve been unwell or injured myself in the last 20 years. They are “special” thoughts that come when one is in difficulties and when they strike I try to remind myself that I need to rest and they will pass. I find there is much to enjoy without much overseas travel (none since Covid). My hometown is a delight and there’s much to enjoy with only a few hours of driving or flying time. Perhaps I’ve reduced my horizons too much, but I don’t feel that way. In all likelihood I would, of course, feel quite differently if I had close family members a long way from home. I await your next instalment with much interest.
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Yes! Those thoughts are reliably consistent in their dire declarations, and we do well to remind ourselves to rest and remember that they generally pass as the day progresses.
I also like your reminder that delights and entertainments can be found close to home — part of my (renewed) recognition in last month’s enforced slow-down. As you acknowledge, this is complicated for me by having my daughter’s family so far away, but it’s still worth noting. Thank you.
Reading the beginning of your account was so interesting . I felt selfishly sad that it was so quickly curtailed by your fall . I can’t add much to the good advice already given – boots , poles & concentration . I’ve always rushed along , taking in my surroundings as much as I possibly could & as a consequence often tripping & hitting the ground . I used to call it my regular osteoporosis test & I found I was quite good at falling without hurting myself ! I’ve now learnt to tell myself to be careful , watch my feet & concentrate . I still slip up of course . Yesterday I managed a stiff incline & decline , blessing my poles , only to jolt my back when I reached a slight step in the car park . Nothing major , just a little reminder . It’s a comfort that we all have the ‘ night worries ‘ , to know I’m not alone . I try to think of a quote by De Montaigne “ He who fears he shall suffer , already suffers what he fears “ , sometimes it helps but not always . Good luck with the healing – I imagine you’re at the purple & yellow stripes stage , I know it well 😁
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Thanks, Wendy — so pleased you found the account of the walk interesting. I still feel the exultation of that first day, so perfect, walking across the beautiful green top of the world in sunshine and with the wind blowing the grasses up into a vast sea . . . And so I also feel the loss of the continuation. . .
Ha! a regular osteoporosis test! What an upbeat way to consider your falls! (I didn’t do so well on that test 30+ years ago with a broken fibula resulting from a goofy jump on an evening walk in the neighbourhood!).
I like the De Montaigne quotation — so true — much better than what Shakespeare has Caesar say to Calpurnia, “Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.” The latter is so judgemental in the opposition of “cowards” and “the valiant.”
I don’t wake up worrying, but I do have problems with my feet (my large toes really: hallux limitus advanced in one, and the other now officially hallux rigidus as it has kindly fused itself). So rough terrain is an absolute no-no for me as they need to be kept stable to be happy. Learning to watch the ground is a pain but not so much pain as foot pain (or ankle pain etc etc). And I’ve gone through many shoes and boots in the past 15 years or so that are fine, great, highly recommended but not for me. Please keep trying! (And I know you will.)
Also, as a very short and smallish person…strong and good walker are not the same thing! But it is very difficult I know to pace yourself to walk with someone much taller, no matter their fitness level. And enraging to always be walking behind (that’s when you need the poles…for swiping at your partner when they pull ahead ha ha).
I am fairly fit but have an absolute knack for finding that one little muscle that’s not quite there and straining it beyond its capacity in the name of some project I’m trying to complete…’oops I shouldn’t have done that’ is heard frequently. This is what keeps my physiotherapist in business.
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I hadn’t heard of hallux, either limitus or rigidus — sounds challenging and painful to manage. Doesn’t sound as though you let it slow you down much, though (although I would imagine there are times when you have to wait out a flair-up).
I’m short, perhaps not “very short” but you’re absolutely right about the difference between my pace and my 8-inches-taller husband . . .
First, that’s good news about your ankle. You’ll be thinking of the next hike before you know it, perhaps with some trepidation, but also with excitement.
I really appreciated this honest post about what you went through emotionally and your thoughts post injury. It’s good to know that we are not alone in our concerns. Your monkey mind thoughts are probably familiar to all of us on the upper side of 50 (I’m much closer to 70 than 50). When we are hurt or unwell, we think about being elderly and less mobile. My MIL will be 98 next month and I often see her go through this. When she is feeling well, she is very content. When she is sick or has had a physical setback, she talks about death and the things that she cannot do. At 98, she is in amazingly good health and very mobile. I watch her squat down to the floor to play with her great-granddaughter and back up again like a dancer. No hands needed to support herself as she goes down or up. But, when there is a setback, she is a different person. Understandably so.
I try not think too much about what comes for me in old age and the things that I won’t be able to do. Perhaps I should plan a little more, but I don’t want to dwell on it just yet. That said, I’m aware of my aches and pains and the fact that I tire faster after hard work in the garden than I used to.
I bought a pair of Hoka hiking sneakers (with ankle cuff) that I haven’t bothered to break in. I also purchased a pair of Nordic poles, as yet unused. Reading other people’s comments, I should probably start using these items. Tough to travel with them though. Those sneakers could almost fill a carry-on!
As others have said, you have a good set of skills and tools for when the time comes that you can’t plan hikes of 21-kilometer days. In the meantime, enjoy your long walks and hikes. I’d go back to planning the next hike in Italy. You have the strength and the time!
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So much to appreciate in this comment, but I’m gob-smacked at this image of your 98yo MIL getting down to a squat and then back up again without hand support. Inspiring!!
And chuckling at your description of your Hoka hikers — my Hoka trail runners have to be on my feet when we’re taking our bags, because as you say, they’d almost fill my carry-on. They’re bulky!
Following your lead, I replaced my well worn hiking boots with Hokas…But they are mid highs (Trail Code). I find that these give me great ankle support and are comfortable on long walks and hikes over rugged terrain…also waterproof and with laces that stay tied!!! Winners! I’m almost 83…keep on keeping on!
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Brava you! 82 and keeping on! That’s the way to inspire!
This post got me thinking about something that happened to me several years ago, when I was perhaps only a couple of years older than you are now. I was volunteering at the animal shelter, playing in the yard with one of the dogs who in their playfulness crashed her head into my knee. I heard a crack and was unable to put any weight on my leg. I began to blame myself, why didn’t I bend my knees as advised, how dumb I was, what might happen, would I lose mobility? I had sustained a hairline fracture, in itself not so bad but the danger was that it could displace and require surgical intervention and pins, I was looking at a possible long recovery. I imagined I might have to go into a rehab facility, what would I do with my cats, my mind spinning these dire outcomes. I was told to move as little as possible so as not to displace anything. Not so easy in my multi level home with one bedroom and full bath on the top floor. I had just begun a full kitchen renovation as well, and which was to begin the next day, so I was without a functioning kitchen. My seven year relationship was in the process of dissolving, my partner unwilling/unable to help. Talk about bad timing! I got through it. There was luck of course, I healed without more invasive medical intervention, my kitchen guy finished the job in record time. My accident helped end a relationship which was over without dragging it out. But yes, there was a good deal of “monkey mind” especially in the beginning. Yes, I very much understand what you are experiencing, but remain hopeful you will be just fine.
Reading your 2 most recent posts (with which I completely identify) and all these comments makes me wonder what the evolutionary advantage of monkey mind can be (its clearly so prevalent that there must be an advantage?).
Excellent news about your ankle’s beginning to mend!
Cheers,
Ceci
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My understanding is that the monkey mind was very useful in helping us remember which sound signalled which predator and thinking ahead to which defensive action we could take. . . or to notice a weather pattern and compare it to memories of earlier years and recognizing it might be necessary to move inland or to higher ground or to dry more berries for the winter. . . But now we have so much knowledge and varied experience in a complicated universe that the data a monkey mind can play with is overwhelming. . . (meditation to the rescue! I need to be more disciplined about that, my monkey mind scolds 😉
That account made me feel mildly panicky – I was right there with you! And phew! Good outcomes and projections for the coming weeks, undoubtedly due to the sensible, practical measures you took. And that includes abandoning the plans, distressing as that was. Re footwear: I have tried alternating walking boots with trainers on long walks to rest the feet. Just an idea. Hope the foot is looking and feeling more foot-ish now.
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Thanks Annie! I think alternating footwear is a good idea — I did bring a lightweight pair of trainers in case I needed a break from the heavier, more technical Hoka trail runners. And yes, my foot is looking almost normal now — bruising almost gone and I think I might be able to wear a fitted shoe today!
Excellent news from your physioterapist-I’m sure you’ll be well and fit as before!
Don’t be so harsh on yourself (we all should be caring,loving and compassionate to ourselves)- nobody was to blame. And there are a lot of beautiful walks for you waiting in future! Try not to think about all the worst scenarios, they can’t all happen
And you never know……when I made just one unconscious step in “abyss” of twenty cm,fell and broke a vertebra,pelvis and rupture some muscles on Christmas Eve 2019., and since then had to lie and rest and wear orthosis for months, so,actually,I’ve been in “lock down” longer than anyone else :)-maybe it was luck,who knows,maybe it protected me from getting Covid
Love, Dottoressa
Oh, D! Feeling for you, belatedly…:)
Thank you very much Georgia!
🙂
D.
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That was a horrid result from one simple misplaced step — and so tough for someone like you who likes to walk and is normally so busy “out and about” with friends, etc. Typical of you to find the silver lining (the Covid protection), but that was a very tough time to be immobilized. xo
Thank you! Silver linings are sometimes very welcome 🙂
D.
If you were able to walk 20km on the first day of your hike, you must be quite strong and fit. No reason to blame yourself for anything on that count. As for your accident itself, it might have happened anywhere and at any moment. I sprained my ankle a couple of years ago while walking down the very elegant flight of stairs in an architect’s office, admiring the beautiful photographs on the walls instead of minding where I was going. I missed the last step and crushed to the floor, with a kind young secretary running towards me with some wet paper towles in her hand. After a few days my ankle looked very much like yours in the IG photo.
What worried me most on my long distance hikes was the idea of having an accident in the middle of nowhere, with nobody around to help me. So I felt the need to be extra careful. Part of that was wearing boots with cuffs and using my walking poles (which also helped to take the weight of my back pack off my shouders).
As for your monkey mind’s famous last words: Yes, one day we shall all be old (the alternative would be much worse). We may be less mobile, but there is no reason why we should be lonely (and certainly not you!). As long as we are able to enjoy each other’s company, virtual or not, we can keep the monkey minds at bay.
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Thanks so much for the encouragement!
You made me laugh with this image — not of you missing the step and spraining your ankle, of course, but that secretary with her wet paper towels. I wonder what she hoped they might accomplish. Rather like all those movie and TV scenes where a mother suddenly and unexpectedly goes into labour far from any regular medical help and inevitably there’s a command to begin boiling water. . .
Yes, doing solo long-distance hikes would make one really pay attention. We didn’t see many women walking on their own, but there was one who had to abandon her walk (after two weeks on the path) because of a very cranky ankle (not an injury, but simple overuse on a middle-aged body).
Another thought-provoking post and I’ve needed to take some time to just sit with it. Your free-writing memories so clearly echo my inner critic thoughts. Thinking about viewing it with a curious mind makes so much sense and (I realise so much easier said than done) provides a really useful way of reframing situations.
I know I tend to look for the silver lining and and often have a stoic view but, for me, it’s those thoughts you raise in free-writing that can really unhinge…how did it go from the ‘she’ll be right’ to the ‘ok, this is it’ scenario?
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I’m glad you found some resonance in this post. I can do stoic reasonably well, but Social Media can lead us to believe that others are so much better at Staying Calm and Strong and Effective. In fact, I often do some mental flapping about first, and it helps me to know I’m not the only one.
And the notion of a curious mind has been useful for me, a much more generous kind of Inner Observer than those wee-hours Inner Critics! 😉
I feel as though you’ve done absolutely spectacular work to make sure your physical infrastructure can survive exactly this kind of setback. You will heal because you have nurtured your muscles and tendons and blood flow and neurons and all of it. If there is now time and space to wade more deeply into the land of inner voices, themselves most likely products of neurons but hard to track on foot, can only be for the good.
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Thanks, Lisa — this is what I’m finding out — the time spent on maintaining fitness is really paying off with this (knock on wood!) reasonably quick recovery.
I am so sorry that happened to you, Frances. And that your “monkey mind” added insult to injury. That’s very difficult stuff… which I think you handled brilliantly! Glad you are home and healing, and sharing your adventures with us.
XO
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Thanks, Donna! Definitely on the mend now. Whew!
I slipped on a gum nut walking home from pilates last Fri and have fractured a bone in my foot and my ankle! Fortunately neither is displaced so no surgery required because next Sat we leave for 5 weeks in the UK…… me in a moon boot!
Monkey mind has been on overdrive, why does our mind speak to us so unkindly? I won’t list the painful things it has said, you can probably imagine.
So, I’ve picked up my lip, and working out what we can do, things will be ok. Different, but ok. I can’t wait to see old friends.
Jules
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Oh, Julie! That’s a bit much, isn’t it?! And the irony of fracturing a bone on the way back from working to strengthen your body at Pilates! Simply not fair. I’m sure you’d prefer your holiday free of the moon boot (I’d have spent a few hours lamenting, pretty sure!), but I’m glad you have that available so that you don’t have to cancel. The trick, I’d imagine, will be giving yourself enough rest time to allow your body to do its knitting on the side. . . Take care. Bon voyage!