Five Weeks Post-Surgery: My New Athletic Career as a Lightweight

I’m officially five weeks post back surgery, and I had my one-month follow-up with my surgeon.

The best news? He told me I don’t need to come back.

Apparently he has confidence in me.

Or maybe he’s just tired of seeing me.

Either way, I’ll take it.

I still have restrictions: no twisting, very limited—and VERY slow—bending, and no heavy lifting. Imagine moving through life like you’re starring in a sloth documentary. That’s basically me.

One week after surgery, I returned to the gym.

Not because I was physically ready.

Because my husband was probably tired of living with me.

Truthfully, it did more for my mental health than my muscles. My “workout” consisted of preacher curls, leg extensions, calf raises, and walking.

Basically, I was the person everyone assumes is warming up.

Forever.

Two weeks after surgery, I returned to the pool for water aerobics.

Well…let’s not get carried away with the word aerobics.

It was more like “standing in water with purpose.”

Occasionally I’d walk a lap just to keep people from asking if I was waiting for someone.

By four weeks, I was back in my group exercise classes.

Now, this is where things get humbling.

Everyone around me is lifting respectable weights while I’m over in the corner clutching my 5-pound dumbbells like they’re forged from solid uranium.

Five pounds.

I used to carry heavier grocery bags.

I think my hair dryer weighs more.

At my one-month appointment, my surgeon finally loosened the leash. I can now lift light weights overhead, do pushing exercises like bench press and chest press, and best of all—I can kayak, hike, and go fishing again.

I may have teared up a little over the fishing part.

My workouts with Isaac, my trainer, are still on hold. Which is probably for the best because I don’t think either one of us is emotionally prepared to watch me struggle with weights that used to be part of my warm-up.

Yesterday I started physical therapy.

Since the surgeon removed three bones from my spine, stabilization has become my full-time job. My core and glutes have apparently been asleep for years and are now being asked to report back to work.

They’ve filed a formal complaint.

I now have six exercises to do every day. Or several times a day.

I’m basically working for my physical therapist now.

The funny part is that both my physical therapist and Isaac keep telling me exactly the same thing.

“As soon as your back heals, you’ll be surprised how quickly your strength comes back.”

I sure hope they’re right.

Because before surgery I was pressing 50 pounds overhead, bench pressing 75 pounds, and deadlifting 150 pounds.

Yesterday…

I was military pressing 5-pound dumbbells.

Five pounds.

I sneezed harder than that.

At one point I caught myself wondering if there were 2½-pound weights available.

That’s when I knew recovery was messing with my head.

The hardest part isn’t really my back anymore.

It’s waiting for my nerves—especially the ones in my foot—to decide they’d like to participate again. Nerves don’t seem to own calendars. They don’t answer emails. They certainly don’t care that I’d like to move on with my life.

So, for now, I celebrate the little victories.

Every week I’m a little stronger.

Every week I can do a little more.

And every week those ridiculous little 5-pound dumbbells remind me that progress isn’t about where you started.

It’s about refusing to quit.

Although…if anyone sees me struggling with a gallon of milk, please mind your own business.

I’m in training.