Three weeks ago, I was in Boulder, Colorado, and I tried something I’d only attempted once before: mountain biking. It took me a few miles to get comfortable on the narrow trail, but soon I was cruising—and loving it. It started raining mid-way through our downhill ride, but even that couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Nope, it took a wipeout to do that. I’m not sure how it happened, but I ended up on the ground with my bike beside me. I couldn’t raise my right arm and my shoulder hurt. Bad. In the emergency room an hour later, an X-ray confirmed that I’d broken my collarbone.
The past few weeks have been challenging (my favorite new euphemism for “frustrating as hell.”) I can’t raise my right arm—and I’m right-handed—so my husband, Dave, has to help me with everything from washing my hair to cutting my meat. And because I couldn’t move much at first, or do basic things like style my hair, put on a bra, or apply make-up, I became a hermit. (A mushy, out-of-shape one at that!) But with our long-awaited Costa Rican honeymoon quickly approaching, I decided last weekend that it was time to get moving again. Every day since, I’ve walked, cranked out a few sets of squats and lunges, and even done basic exercises for my right arm and shoulder. We leave in eight days, and I’m determined to board that plane carrying my own bag.