Overcoming Injury: Adapting and Thriving
Family, friends, and those who have worked with me over the past couple of years know that I am hugely into bouldering, a form of rope-free, low altitude (don’t worry — not free soloing up El Capitan anytime soon) climbing on rock or at climbing gyms. Two years ago at the end of 2021, when most of the world started to emerge from the pandemic, I began looking for something new and active to do. Prior to that I had been into running, cycling, yoga, and weights, but never what I would call a sport — I was notoriously not sporty. Combing through Instagram in search of what to do next, I discovered videos of the Mawem brothers, a French climbing duo, moving gracefully and artfully between holds on a climbing wall at a gym — I was hooked.
In the new year I finally went to a local climbing gym to give bouldering a go (I’m based in Miami, Florida, so real rock is not a viable option). Though I was in decent shape for a middle-aged man, I found it more challenging than it looked. Nevertheless I persisted, going at first once and eventually twice a week, training with other exercises on my in-between days. The skin on my hand grew thick and callused and I developed muscles in places on my back that I never knew I had. That year I would boulder in most cities I visited for work and other travel, including Minneapolis, Toronto, Los Angeles, New Orleans, and Washington DC. I amassed a collection of books, climbing shoes, and other gear. I even built my kids a small climbing wall in our back porch and made plans for an eventual larger one in the side yard.
In earlier 2023 my climbing hobby came to a halt after I endured two injuries – first a fractured and dislocated pinky after trying to “dyno” (or leap to) a hold, and secondly a torn right knee meniscus, from trying to lift my body weight on one leg at an odd angle. The former required a splint and weeks of hand therapy. The latter involved surgery, crutches, a full leg brace, physical therapy (including sessions on an anti-gravity treadmil – my favorite piece of rehab technology), and a multi-month break from climbing. In the Fall I was finally at a point where I could run again. Climbing would have been the next step, but I decided to hold off for a bit. I am now back to my pre-climbing exercise routine. As for climbing, I still listen to podcasts and watch videos from the sidelines. I think about ways to physically re-enter the sport in a safer way eventually. I have adjusted.
Recovery is relative and unique to the person. I recently listened to part 1 of a Climbing Gold podcast series called “Adapted.” Co-host and famous free-soloist Alex Honnold interviews climbers who have adapted to overcome circumstances. As a recovering boulderer and designer who has worked on technology for persons with different abilities, I found this quote from Hugh Herr, an exceptional athlete and paraplegic climber, who had both legs amputated below the knee after a near death snow-in while climbing, incredibly inspiring:
“I quickly realized that I had an opportunity, that from amputation level down I could design whatever is in that empty space. I looked at the void below my knees and I saw potential, not loss. It’s like how a writer views a blank sheet of paper. An incredible story, a narrative, could take place on that blank sheet. That shift in thinking about my circumstance, thinking about my new body, was pivotal because it got me into the machine shop, it got me inventing. It got me to ask the question, ‘if you could just design climbing legs, what would they look like?’ One doesn’t have to follow biology.”
Herr went on to answer that question. He is now a professor at MIT Media Lab, where he directs the Biomechatronics research group.
Later on in the podcast, Herr discussed the negative attention of some within the climbing community when he got on the rocks with artificial limbs of his own design. I was further moved by this statement:
“I was accused of cheating in Climbing Magazine. Someone wrote that my second ascent [of a particular climbing route] shouldn’t be recognized as a real ascent. It was a sort of a comical set of events afterwards… When my limbs were amputated, you can imagine the way society had projected on to me. Society said ‘Hugh, you were this top athlete. Now that your biological limbs have been removed, your life is over, you’re a cripple.’ That attitude continued until I designed my own limbs, and I started climbing better than everyone else. The moment that happened, a switch was reset, and it went from you’re courageous as a disabled person, whatever that means, to your a threat and you’re cheating… When I first was a accused of cheating, it was such a beautiful melody to my ears, because I really despised being considered less than human, meek, unattractive, powerless crippled. So I would laugh my ass off when people accused me of cheating. Because it was the most profound compliment for an athlete with a very unusual body.”
While my climbing abilities, injuries, and passion for the sport are not on the level of Hugh’s, I still found this story highly relable and somehow scalable to my own experience. I am impressed with his spirit, dedication, and ingenuity, to not only stay in the game, but reinvent it. It’s a reminder of what humans can overcome in the face of adversity.
In closing, there are great stories from other climbers in the Climbing Gold “Adapted: Part 1" podcast episode as well. Highly worth checking it out. Excited for the follow-up.
Updated Dec 15, 2003: Adapted: Part 2 has now posted as well.
