Day 27 - Bad Times

With a flash and a pop my budding boxing career was over once again.  Or at least that was my initial impression as I looked down at my mangled right ring finger Wednesday.  Struggling to get in a quick lunchtime workout I stupidly decided to play pickup basketball even though every single major injury I've experienced as an adult stems from shooting hoop.  But it was game point and we were tied.  It had been a tough game and I was determined.  I reached in for the steal and slammed my finger - fully extended - into the ball.

As a college freshman I had suffered a dislocated ring finger on my left hand.  That injury took months to heal.  This time, my finger looked like it might need to be lopped off.  I felt an immediate flash of anger and regret.  I  knew right away, though, that I was facing the first real test of this training camp.  Deep down I knew how I responded would largely define this experience.  So I calmed down, braced myself, and decided I would do whatever it took to get back on my feet whether this injury kept me from the tournament or not.

So I took a deep breath, grabbed my keys and drove my stick shift to the hospital.  Four days later I'm click-claking away on my laptop, the dexterity in my ring finger nearly back to normal.

Two days after I had the bone put back in place, an orthopedist assured me I should start be able to start training again in two or three weeks.  I started that same day.  For now, I train one-handed, hoping the added emphasis on my weak hand will increase my accuracy and control with the left.

Things are looking up today.  I can already do pull ups.  There was no fracturing of the bone, which means as soon as I can make a fist and hit a bag without pain I can fight again.

This experience brings a quote from my favorite movie, Good Will Hunting, to mind.  Sean, the counselor who helps Will, the tough-kid Math savant, get his life on the right track tells him, You'll have bad times, but it'll always wake you up to the good stuff you were paying attention to."

Brain Pain

Last year around this same time I was definitely going through bad times.  The doctors had performed a spinal tap on me (resulted in a six-day headache) and I was seeing a neurologist who though I might have cystic fibrosis.  Another doctor thought I might have been infected by a tick-bite.  Yet another hypothesized that an opportunistic flu virus had wracked my heat-exhausted, sleep-deprived, alcohol fueled body.  That would explain the 104 degree fever that caused me to nearly pass out in the lobby of my girlfriend's apartment, sending me to the hospital in an ambulance.  I was so delirious in the ambulance that I thought I had surely committed some awful crime.  These were not the best of days for me.  One benefit of going through hard times is you find out who really cares about you when the chips are down.  It wakes you up to the good things you weren't paying attention to.  I could not have gotten through the pain - I felt the after effects for months - without the support of my loved ones.  The love I received from one person in particular pulled me out of my despair and really taught me what it means.

It reminds me of what one of the hardest, most durable boxers said about it.  George Chuvalo, who gave Ali a run for his money said this about how he overcame the death of his wife and two sons to suicide and drug overdose:

I remember thinking to myself, articulating to myself, how love makes you feel.  I said to myself: love makes you feel strong. Love makes you feel tender.  Love makes you feel secure.  Love makes you feel appreciated.  Love makes you feel important.

Chuvalo Interview

Being bed-ridden for a week was an awful experience for me.  It is a particularly painful for me to think about it now because my own father has been unable to walk for about three weeks, afflicted by a large blood clot that has caused his leg to swell to nearly three times its normal size.  I keep these things in mind daily, but especially today, a year after my incident.  I am ever grateful for the gift of being able to move and I dedicate my training to those who cannot enjoy that privilege.