*Editor’s Note: Elephant is not your doctor or hospital. Our lawyers would say “this web site is not designed to, and should not be construed to provide medical advice, professional diagnosis, opinion, or treatment to you or any other individual, and is not intended as a substitute for medical or professional care and treatment. Always consult a health professional before trying out new home therapies or changing your diet.” But we can’t afford lawyers, and you knew all that. ~ Ed

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A jagged scar on my left ankle tells the story of my 2020 surgery—right in the heart of the pandemic.

While the world outside felt dark and masked, I had open surgery on my left ankle—no small incision from a scope, just a long, visible incision that still tells the story. I was under the knife for a torn peroneus brevis tendon. The surgeon cleaned, stitched, and gave me a new start. Nearly five years pain-free, I’ve kept moving.

The other day, I felt nostalgic when I stumbled upon an old video on my phone. I could hardly believe what I was seeing—there I was, running just 12 weeks after my surgery back in December 2020. I looked so alive, jogging with a light step and a smile. That simple clip reminded me of something powerful: how far determination, discipline, and faith in the body’s ability to heal can truly take us.

Setbacks, Not Endings

I’ve been active since I was a kid. I like movement—I need it. Sports and fitness have always been a part of who I am. From the soccer field of my youth to brisk morning walks and long runs, I feel most like myself in motion. In 2017, I faced a setback when I tore the meniscus in my left knee. It was a complex, unexpected journey filled with frustration and uncertainty, but I refused to let it define me. Just as I began to regain my rhythm, the pain returned in 2018—another tear, another surgery.

Shortly after each operation, I could walk on crutches with two tiny scars and was back on my feet within days. But the open surgery on my ankle was a whole different story. I couldn’t put my foot down for two weeks—not until the stitches were removed from the four-inch scar just below the right bone of my foot. The rehab that followed was much more painful.

Fast-forward to spring 2025, and here I am again, facing issues with the same left ankle and peroneus brevis tendon. This time, the MRI revealed more than just another tear—it showed signs of degeneration. That small but stubborn tendon I thought I had taken care of is speaking up again—loudly. The first step in my healing journey is committing to an eight-week physical therapy program.

I know it won’t be easy. My determination—and the temptation to push through the discomfort—are strong. I know that taking a step back right now matters. It is not easy, but it is necessary for a stronger, healthier future. This time, I am not going to go through the motions. I am fully committed to this structured program because I believe in what it can do. It is a real investment in my healing that can help me regain movement and strength. This experience keeps teaching me that it is not just a setback. It is part of the work. Part of the recovery.

The pain in my ankle is getting intense. Some mornings, the pain shoot up my lower leg, before I even stand. And while I’m still waiting to see my orthopedic surgeon, who has kindly pieced me back together more than once, I already know that recovery is a sport. It requires endurance, mental strength, and the body’s patience.

Choosing Recovery—Every Time

I’m fortunate to have a great sports doctor who understands that movement is necessary. He doesn’t just treat the injury—he sees the person behind it. This isn’t unfamiliar—it’s just another chapter. I’m confident I’ll overcome this as I have before. The body changes. It gets older. It wears down. But what doesn’t change is the part of me that refuses to stop moving forward.

If I need another ankle surgery, I know I’ll have to slow down for a while. I might trade runs for cycling or walks for stretches. But I don’t stop. I adjust. I adapt.

If you’re facing a similar road—a sports injury, a chronic ache, or simply a body asking for more care—know this: you’re not broken. You’re just in a season of healing. It’s a small price to pay for a life that moves, stretches, and never gives up, and I’ll pay it gladly.

My next appointment is in June—hopefully, there will be no surgery. Let me just take one step at a time.

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