Chapter 1: The Unexpected Injury

Recently, I faced a significant setback when I tore my Achilles tendon. The pain was intense, like I had been struck by a cannonball.

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I had started my day with my usual 20 minutes of stretching followed by a 15-minute session on the elliptical. Later, I headed out to play tennis. Just two minutes into the game, I felt a sharp pain in my right ankle that sent me crashing to the ground. It was as if a high-velocity cannonball had hit my Achilles. I was down for the count.

With a noticeable limp, I made my way to the car. On top of everything, I had a wedding dinner to attend that Saturday night, and my wife was out of town, leaving me to manage alone.

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Upon returning home, I immediately applied ice to my ankle after changing out of my tennis gear. Then, I faced the daunting task of showering and getting dressed. When was the last time I wore a suit or a tie? It had been a year, and I struggled to dry off and present myself well.

Eventually, I managed to put on my suit, and after several attempts, my tie was finally straightened out.

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With my leg dragging behind me, I made the 20-minute journey to the wedding reception at a beautiful beach club by the Long Island Sound. The only familiar faces were the hosts, and despite my friendly demeanor, it was difficult to strike up conversations with strangers who were hesitant to engage with someone limping.

I ended up at a table with some nice people, but with half of them wearing masks, it was hard to follow the conversations. The night felt surreal, as if we were all just going through the motions. Eventually, I made it back home.

Bumbling through the next few days, I was uncertain about the extent of my injury until my physical therapist, Brian, assessed it on Tuesday morning. The prognosis was not good. After several calls, I secured an appointment with a top sports doctor at Yale-New Haven. The x-rays confirmed my fears: I had torn my Achilles, and the recovery would take 4 to 6 months.

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I had to call my wife to pick me and our daughter up. I was fitted with a surgical boot that extended to my knee, which meant no driving for 5 to 6 weeks, no tennis until October, and no swimming or cycling with my grandson. To make matters worse, I would be missing my grandson's pre-school graduation, though I reassured myself that there would be many more celebrations in the future. Having only faced a few injuries in my years of cycling and sports, I was trying to accept my situation. Self-pity would visit me occasionally, but I was determined to keep a positive outlook.

Despite the perfect summer weekend ahead—with clear skies and warm ocean waters—I found myself confined to the couch with an ice pack, reminding myself to be strong. Thankfully, I had my arm cycle and a medicine ball for some exercise.

As I entered week three of recovery, I had to navigate each day carefully. My wife, who works from home, took on the additional role of my personal assistant. Despite her busy schedule, she handled everything with grace. The biggest hurdle was getting her to drive me to my consulting meetings. While she loves me, I know there’s a limit to her patience—especially since I'm not used to being a passenger and often found myself biting my tongue while thanking her for her efforts, even as she complained about traffic and directions.

Our 38 years of marriage were truly being tested.

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Then came a series of unfortunate events:

1. My accounting software began malfunctioning, freezing repeatedly. Fortunately, one of my tech-savvy friends was on hand to help. Just when I thought I was out of luck, the programs unexpectedly started working again.
2. Our refrigerator started leaking, creating a mess on the floor. After a brief period of functionality, it died, and we lost all our food. A new refrigerator was delivered, but it too malfunctioned within 24 hours.
3. To top it all off, our daughter, who was studying for her second master’s in nutrition, called from the library asking for a new charger for her computer. My wife had to take her to Best Buy, leaving me alone at home with no food or ice for my recovery.

Despite these setbacks, I reminded myself that life goes on. My wife returned just in time to take me to another consulting closing. We faced the chaos head-on, hoping for a functional refrigerator by the next day. Now, I’m looking forward to my next physical therapy appointment to jumpstart my healing.

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