I HATE admitting weakness. I am someone who will likely be the first to tell a friend to listen to their body, to take care of their mental and physical health, to practice self care… and am also the person who will steadfastly insist that I’m fine.
I will, and have, pushed my physical and mental limits past where I should have in the name of stubbornness and an unwillingness to appear “weak”. Perhaps this stems from my time spent instructing in outdoor education and a desire to be perceived as just as hard-working and accomplished as my coworkers. Perhaps it is also a product of the imposter-syndrome I’ve felt over the years as a woman in the wilderness. It is definitely a side-effect of my own ego and pride and drive to be “good” at everything I do. I have always disliked failure. And, though logically I know it can lead to excellent learning and growth, I tend to internally self-flagellate whenever I fall short of my own self-imposed expectations.
I never predicted a trip to the ER, physiotherapist and ultrasound clinic as part of this expedition. Yes, there are risks, but when you break the whole down into its parts, no one piece of this endeavour is THAT out of the box. It is bike touring. And hiking. And more biking. And paddling. The length of, and vision behind, this expedition are what has made it so exceptional for Amaya and I. So, I wasn’t anticipating sitting in the Emergency Room waiting area, only a week into the hiking section of our expedition.
Summit Lake in Waterton Lakes National Park
And yet, having lost a significant amount of weight despite packing in the calories everyday, with brutal pack sores, numbness spreading down one leg, and, most concerningly, severe right knee pain accompanied by a creaky click with every step… my body was failing me.
You can imagine what was running through my failure-adverse mind as I limped my way through some of the most stunning landscapes I’ve had the privilege to move through…
“Don’t be so pathetic Heather, people complete the GDT hike all the time. It’s not THAT hard. You’ve hiked and climbed plenty of harder trails and mountains. Your body will adapt. You’re lucky to be here! You’ve put so much work into this trip, just push through for a bit longer and you’ll get used to it. You’re fine…. You’re fine… You’re FINE.”
But I wasn’t fine. And I didn’t have Amaya with me to call me out on pushing myself past the limits my body was clearly setting during those scorching hot days (she was on a two-week break to give her own body some much-needed healing time). I didn’t admit to myself how bad it was getting… until I reached a pocket of internet and had a phone call with my parents and then another with Amaya… Their voices on the other end of the line immediately broke the dam I’d been building up with each painful step.
Stormy sunrise at a ridge camp in Castle Wildland Provincial Park
Some of the story I was building in my mind wasn’t wrong…
I HAVE hiked and climbed harder routes. People DO complete the GDT all the time.
But I was ignoring the signals my body was sending “stop. Stop. STOP.”
Ultimately, the physical side of things was a combination of a new pack, the fact that my body was already tired with limited reserves after two months on the go, and ultimately the repetitive motions of cycling and hiking just caused a ton of wear and tear on my knee. I’d had pain in that knee from almost the start of our cycling section but had managed it with anti-inflammatory meds and KT tape. It had improved over the last couple months to the point of no pain and had not been bothering me during our side-trip day hikes so, pleased with my body’s resilience, I’d had no serious concerns.
But there I was, a week later, frustrated in the ER room and hoping for some magical answers from the doctor. Hoping that they knew how to stop the numbness that had been spreading from my hip to my leg and that they had a way manage and minimize the pain in my knee because “I could deal with the rest of it”.
View of Mount Matkin from the trail
It was not to be. As I know from years of being active (though I was trying to avoid the following truth) and as most readers will likely have experienced at some point or another in some way: healing isn’t a magic switch you can flip if you just exert enough willpower.
The ER doc could tell me the basics:
You haven’t broken or torn anything in your hip or knee… (Great!)
The numbness in your hip is likely meralgia paresthetica, due to the compression of a nerve from where your pack has been resting on your hip. Feeling will return eventually as the nerve heals… (OK. Manageable.)
Your knee… you’ll have to go see a physiotherapist for better answers and should get an ultrasound to check the soft tissue but definitely don’t hike for awhile… (Damn.)
So I knew I wasn’t going to be back on the trail the next day, maybe not even the next week. I made an appointment with my physiotherapist back in Invermere and booked an ultrasound in Calgary for the Monday.
The next 5 days were a whirlwind of logistics; getting a ride back to Invermere, going to physio, madly making plans A, B, and C for various outcomes with Amaya who was on her way back from her two-week rest period, arranging to get my car so I could be mobile and more flexible, getting my knee ultrasound done in Calgary, etc.
Getting some initial treatment at physio
I also spent a good deal of this time reading, resting, and reflecting. There was a rollercoaster of emotions barreling through me during those simultaneously hectic and slow days. I was sitting with a big pile of unknowns in my lap: What’s going on with my knee? Will I be able to continue the trip I’ve put so much time and effort into? Will Amaya? If I can’t hike can I bike? If I can’t bike is that it? What about my life outside of this trip? Where will I live and work this fall if I’m back to the Columbia valley earlier than planned?
Some answers came in the form of advice from my physiotherapist, and a few honest and realistic conversations with Amaya.
The verdict: weaknesses in my right hip and right quad were causing a slight collapse of my right knee inward when I use it for repetitive motions such as squatting, lunging, cycle touring and hiking. This is causing my patella to not track completely straight which, over time, caused a lot of strain and inflammation on a number of tendons and muscles around my knee (causing the severe pain and feeling of tightness) and a buildup of fluid beneath my patella (which resulted in the creaky clicking feeling I’d had with every step).
The way forward: 10 days full rest to try and bring the inflammation down and then, once my knee was less grumpy, we’d start working on treatment and exercises to avoid continued inflammation and deal with the instability and weaknesses.
However, the problem here was that if, after the inflammation went down, I jumped right back into hiking or even bike touring (which is the activity that initially started the knee pain, way back in Yellowstone), without dealing with the weakness in my hip and quad… I’d likely end up right back in this same situation of inflammation and pain.
Realistically, I wasn’t going to be ready to hike again in time to join Amaya, if she was also healed enough to be hiking, anytime in the next month… at least not with the length of days we’d planned in order to make it to the Yukon before the snow flies. Nor would I be able to bike this section and meet her later. Cycle touring paved roads with a weighted bike would have me in the same position for days at a time doing that same dreaded repetitive motion… again, a no-go until I deal with the inflammation, and hip/quad weakness.
So, I made the incredibly difficult decision to end my Y2Y Traverse push there… ~2100km into the trip. I want to deal with this injury rather than making it worse. I don’t want this to be the last big trip I do because I didn’t know when to listen to my body. I don’t want to put Amaya or Search & Rescue teams in a position of having to get me out of the backcountry if I push too hard or soon and make it worse to the point of needing assistance evacuating. And, I want to be able to continue my active lifestyle through the Fall and Winter (and onwards) since biking, running, skiing and generally being active are so valuable to my day-to-day mental health in the long run.
If Amaya is up for continuing, then I’ll be her biggest cheerleader, her shuttle driver of bike and gear when needed, and enthusiastic support system along the way. Ideally, I’ll make my way up to the Yukon to join for our paddling section still, whenever that will be. Canoeing is on my approved list of activities for now, and being able to “finish” this expedition, this journey we embarked on, alongside Amaya, is important to me. The details of this planning will have to wait, however, until she’s tested out her Achilles on some day hikes and made her own decision about what her body can do and what she wants to do with regard to the trip.
More unknowns for now (*deep breath*), but we’ll keep actively communicating.
Restive activity as I heal: canoeing on Windermere Lake with friends
For now, I’m resting, healing, embracing the mantra of “everything happens for a reason” as well as the silver linings that have accompanied this development, and engaging in a wrestling match for the ages with my own ego and pride.
Turning over the questions in my mind. “Grit”? Or just unhealthy stubbornness? Is there room in a definition of “grit” for self-awareness and self-compassion? I’ve come to think so.
It was always going to be a summer of adventures and learning and beautiful friendship. It has simply been all those things in completely unexpected ways. I am learning different lessons than I’d anticipated. I am embarking on a whole new adventure of healing, love, and reflection. And I have found community and support in places and people that have come to mean more to me than I ever planned or imagined. Amaya and I’s friendship has also continued to grow and I feel so very lucky to have a trip partner who supports me every step of the way, through all hard decisions, and always brings laughter to the table (or tent!) at the end of every day.
And so, it is ta-ta for now to the trails, though I’ll still be very much involved in the rest of this Y2Y adventure (whatever it may be)!
With love, Heather