I Kneeded That

There are not many dates that linger in my crowded mind of trivial details – but July 5th is one of them.

There are only a handful of such dates that stir my emotions and spark my memory. Some are good recollections. Some are memories I’d just as well forget.

There’s April 27 – the day I was born. Guess I have to remember that one – as much as I try to forget it each year. But that was also the day I first saw the Smithereens play live. It was probably one of my best birthday’s ever.
There’s February 4 – that was the day I found the greatest girl in the world.

There’s September 11 – which I remember for obvious reasons – and some not so obvious.
There’s December 24 – that’s the day my father died. I can still hear the phone ring at 7:45 that morning – and I knew exactly what the call was about.

July 5 actually wasn’t a good day, but it turned out to be one of the best days of my life because of what it prompted.

That Friday morning was the day I blew out my knee, badly. I snapped my patella tendon – the one that keeps your kneecap in place. My doctor said it was one of the worst he’d seen. Having my kneecap sliding a quarter of the way up my thigh gave me a pretty good indication of that.

I violated just about every maritime superstition I knew of that day. I was going to sea on a Friday. The rowboat I was going to go out in had blue on it. I was probably whistling and ignoring the red sky in the morning just to completely tempt maritime fate.

The plan was to take two boats over to Port Clyde for the day. While my brother readied to depart in his, I was pulling up our rowboat – the Goomer Too – to ferry out to my Dad’s boat. Because of a severe thunderstorm the night before – which had me delirious with fright while at the fireworks in Thomaston (cause lightning freaks me out like nothing else) - the rowboat was full of water. I had to drag the boat up above the tide line to tip it over and dump it. Frustrated and impatient, I reached down and grabbed the bow of the aluminum boat, lifted it with one might heave and began dragging it up the beach. With the bow lifted, I stepped backward, needing only to go five feet or so. However, the storm the night before didn’t just bring rain, the riled seas brought lots of washed up seaweed, and as I stepped backward, my foot landed on seaweed.

Now, for you landlubbers out there, seaweed doesn’t really need a sign on it that says slippery when wet. That’s pretty much understood, and if you don’t know that , you should stay of the beach and rocks. Of course, even a know-it-all like me can get distracted enough to forget that.

When my foot hit the slippery seaweed, my leg went out from under me. With all my weight leaning backward, I fell right on my leg, popping my patella tendon with one giant severe snap.
I won’t even get into the whole drama of getting me off the beach. It wasn’t easy. A few hours later, I was in the hospital room. My knee had been surgically repaired. I was facing a long rehabilitation. My summer vacation was ruined, and I wouldn’t be able to drive for three months. For a brief few minutes, I felt pretty sorry for myself. I was lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut, so to speak.

But, it didn’t take long for me to snap out of it. I was helped by an eight-year old girl, my niece Caitlynne. She had been diagnosed with bone cancer that spring and had gone through drastic surgery just weeks before to save her life. I had actually seen her the week before my knee injury and was inspired by her strength and courage.

So, I sat in that hospital room determined not to let a little eight-year old girl show more guts than me. Right then and there, I put my game-face on. I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself anymore. I had the eye of the tiger. I was going to make this injury one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

I set goals for myself that day. While embarking on my rehab, I was going to get myself in shape. The recovery time was estimated to be about three months or more. I was determined to trim that. I was going to take on this challenge with a positive attitude and kick its ass.

I later took a Sports Psychology class that talked about dealing with adversity. We were shown a clock and it was divided into sections. The top of the clock, 11 to 12, was where your goals were, what your dreams are. The previous half or quarters were what you had to do to get there.

Around the 3 o’clock mark, however, was an obstacle. The prof said that quite often people encounter adversity on the way to that goal. If they don’t deal with it or overcome it, they remain stuck, living that never-ending cycle between 1 and 3. If you can endure that challenge and get over that adversity, you’re on the road toward your goal.

I related completely to that scenario. I've seen people get stuck in one bad moment and never get passed it. I didn't let that happen. From the first few moments of coherence after my surgery, I was determined to take something bad and make it good. I didn’t really know how I was going to do that. I had meager goals – eat right, lose weight, get in shape and rehab my knee with persistence. I did all that with an attitude that was determined and unrelenting. It taught me that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. I just needed the right attitude and to channel my stubbornness (which I have an abundance of). I didn’t just hobble past that hurdle. I took my crutches and beat it to smithereens. Then, I tossed the crutches away and limped off – glaring at anything else in my way with a “you wanna a piece this?” attitude, or something like it.
And, it paid off. I was driving almost two months to the day of my injury – without doctor’s permission of course. I returned home and began work a few weeks later. When the three-month recovery time estimate had elapsed, I’d been back at work for weeks and driving regularly. I was still building the strength in my knee but the daily walks and exercises had paid off. As if that weren’t enough, I lost about 30 pounds during that summer and would later drop about 40 more.

The benefits didn’t end there. Because of my lost vacation time and some awards I had won, I had extra time and prize money to spend. This was in the day when the paper actually rewarded us with cash bonuses for awards. Now, we might get a mention in the paper or ignored altogether.

I decided to use that time and money for something special. I decided to go on a schooner trip. The next July I sailed on the Victory Chimes. The following year I returned to the Chimes for a sail in September. It has become a yearly tradition, a week I anxiously await each year and has provided me a group of friends that are near and dear to my heart.

I think back to that July 5th now. I don’t really dwell too much on that morning and how my journey began. I still have the scar and my knee gets cranky once in a while – just like the rest of me.

It’s where I’ve gone and what I learned from that experience. It made me a better person. It taught me to be determined and committed to my cause and my goals. And I remain unrelenting in my pursuit of those dreams. I did turn a pretty bad morning into something special. The pain and misery I felt on the beach that day has been surpassed greatly by the resolve I’ve found inside and the benefits that came with it.

July 5 now reminds of the song “Beautiful Day”. It was one of the Leveller’s biggest hits in England. It goes “What a beautiful day, I’m the king of all time. And nothing is impossible in my all and powerful mind.”

How true. So, happy July 5, my independence day.