Crash

Nine and a half years ago, I was flipping to the ground with one of my favorite horses. As we both were cartwheeling through the air, I was approaching a tree, fast. All horseback riders know, do NOT land on an outstretched arm. But, in the fraction of a second that riders have to “make a plan”, I put my arms out to guard my face from the tree.

SNAP.

The sound that I will never forget. And the rolling thunder of horse flesh crashing over and around me. There have been many, many nightmares.

I was laying on my stomach, and my left arm was wrenched behind my back. I pushed myself up in to “cobra” (for those of you who yoga) with my right arm, to attempt to get a good look at my mount. She was still down. I laid back down and patted and pushed her as much as I could to encourage her to stand up. She stood, and she stood on four straight legs. A wave of relief, then the absolute terror of the realization that the “snap” was indeed my left arm.

I’ll save you most of the gory details about what ensued between there and my hospital stay, but the conclusion was that I had dislocated my elbow. And I am not talking about a radial head pop-out. This was my ulna, flipped up on top of my humerus, and my hand turned around backwards.

My elbow was demolished. Bone chips, fragments, aliens, the 8th wonder of the world, fireworks show, and everything else you’d want to see on some radiographs. Oh, and, soft tissue? Tendons? Ligaments? Nah. No need here. And nerves! I found out the next day that those were basically on permanent vacation. They slid my bones around and turned my hand back “the good way” like I was on a battlefield in 1776.

So, my arm was “reduced” as they say. Aka, sort of lined up and looking like a human arm again.

The pain was… well, let’s just say, I knew that I was alive. However, I had no function in my hand, and most of arm. I was like this for nearly two years. During that time I learned to do many things one handed. Washing my hair, buttoning pants, receiving change back in the drive thru, pouring myself a drink… I could go on. Most importantly, riding, my CAREER, was over.

Physical therapy, ortho docs, many braces, and steroids were able to improve things somewhat over the years. But, I was not able to ride. I took up teaching so that I could stay in the industry. Teaching became my second love, and I tried to forget that there ever was my passion of riding.

Fast forward to three years ago, six years after my accident. I am still somewhat limited in my range of motion, and grip strength is less than half that of my right hand.

I walk in to the gym, for the first time EVER, clueless, with basically an arm and a half. I met Evan, my trainer, and that day was the beginning of the rest of my life.

In the past three years I’ve gained a deadlifting PR of 225lbs. I can do pull ups. I can row. So many things. So many friends. I can ride again. I am showing again and winning titles. I am training horses. I can unload feed and wash my hair with both hands.

This is just the introduction of how I found myself in the gym, and what it has meant to my life. This is the first of many posts about my fitness failures, successes, and how the sacred land of fitness saved me.

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