About that catch...
** The following words are a record of my personal journey and are not intended to replace or circumvent any recommend guidance provided by your health care provider. Before starting any life changing endeavor, such as a diet and/or exercise regimen, please start by having an honest conversation with your doctor. Oh and please don't ask for cave locations. Believe me, if I can find them, so can you.**
As I sit and write this, I await large dose of ibuprofen to work its magic. Three weeks ago I tripped on a curb for no real reason and landed rather ungracefully. Decades old skateboarding reflexes took hold, rolling my frame in the air before hitting the concrete as I had thousands of times as a younger man. On impact I heard four loud pops pretexting a clenched diaphragm as all the air left my lungs. An onlooker helped me to my feet, thinking me drunk, before I did my best to save face with my wife, who waited for me inside the restaurant beyond. The shock covered up the pain until my normal breathing rhythm returned, alerting me to the need to sleep on the couch sitting up for the night at least.
A clutch of X-rays the next morning confirmed that I had three badly broken ribs, one in two places, leaving a section of floating bone that might become 'complicated.' As I looked over the black and white images with the doctor, my mind ran over the incident, comparing it to the plethora of chest mashing I'd endured in the past. All of them faster, higher and frequently onto less 'flat' surfaces. The only conclusion I could draw was that while I'm certainly no spring chicken, the extra baggage around my middle added additional force to the fall that I simply could not compensate for. My disgust for my health balled up in my gut and I wanted to cry. But not because this injury alone; I saw this coming and did nothing...
*****
The weekend we spent in Cougar played stage to an injury that could have gone sideways. After visiting Lake Cave, my caving co-pilot, Steve and I went on an unplanned bushwhack hike across a mafic lava flow in search of caves we both knew were there, somewhere. A simple miss step in a shallow crevice buckled my left knee and shot me against a rock and after standing up, I was surprised that I hadn't broken my left forearm. I realized that my muscle memory and my physical center of gravity are in wild disagreement. To be fair, I wasn't wearing boots, so it wasn't unreasonable of me to have slipped and I dismissed the incident all together.
Steve is, perhaps one of the the most experienced outdoorsman I have ever know. An accomplished hiker and backwoods wanderer, he's seen some places that I'd sell a kidney to experience. We share that same wanderlust and curiosity for outdoor recreation and sciences behind the fun stuff, but he's always made the time for the hardcore outings that I've back-burnered my whole life. In the professional and personal senses alike, I have always looked up to him. We met while employed together in a situation I refer to as being 'digital cell mates' and clicked very quickly. A time came when I placed my life in Steve's hands and as always, he lifted me up with no questions asked and encouraged me to deal with my burdens so I could put them behind me, And in doing so, he taught me how to face my fate head on, whatever consequences may follow. And for that, I will forever be in his debt.
The next season, during a fairly stressful weekend for my family, Steve and I went scouting again, this time closer to Mt Adams. I needed to be away for the day, and what better way to loose my thoughts than a trip to the forest. Steve's always down - his truck is either always packed or can be loaded in a flash - and we were on the road by 9 AM. We had a great day in the backwoods of the Gifford-Pinchot and found every cave we'd been looking for and more, settling in to camp in front of Dynamited Cave for the evening.
Dynamited Cave's location is a much coveted super-secret amongst cavers, and for good reason. If you read the publicly available information and then between the lines of historical reports, one comes to realize that it has a body count. With several vertical drops, explorers must be vertically trained as a matter of practicality. Neither he nor I have this skill. But we couldn't resist having a quick look inside.
The opening and much of the first part of the tube had been blasted decades ago by loggers (hence the name Dynamited) after an accident with some local Boyscouts. As time went on, some of the rock had been pried apart leaving an opening, perhaps 2 foot square in area by which the remaining tube could be accessed after dropping down six and a half feet to a large rock pile. I immediately tossed my backpack down and committed myself to navigating through the threshold. We didn't venture past the bottom of the rock pile, but after realizing that the map I had was made before it had been collapsed, I was glad we were able to cross check at least that much. Pulling myself up and out of the entry was another matter all together. I ended up breaking my right pinky pulling my fat backside out - a fact that Steve didn't know until he read this just now. Sorry, bro. I didn't want to let you down and I loathe feeling like an anchor around the neck of our crew. That should have been enough to get me motivated.
Two years ago, we took some new club members to New Cave, after finding it by accident. Not 10 minutes into our day underground and I fell after miscalculating the load that a loose pieced of breakdown could hold. I cracked two ribs and broke two fingers on my right hand. I cursed my self in the emergency room in The Dalles an hour later. I wasn't being irresponsible or careless, but plugging my face with carbs was clearly not assisting my goals.
Last year, I nearly repeated the same fall while at Big Cave. Curious gawkers can see the permanent video record of that moment by clicking here. With no damage beyond a bruised ego, I was sore, but lucky and I knew it. Again, it could have been so much worse and part of me has been expecting something more serious to happen. It's just a matter of running the probability over and over; the house always wins.
These broken ribs I have now could just as easily been a far more disastrous injury. No one I know would have ever guessed that a once nimble and skilled concrete hero would be so hindered by his own neglect that he could could turn the tripping hazard of a stiff breeze into a copay.
So it is with little grace left that I admit that I truly tripped & landed in this position, ready, willing and motivated to take this fat guys suit off forever.
#caving #keto #fatmancaving #midlifediet #deadcanarycaving #mtsthellens #lavatube #lowcarb #dynamitedcave #fallscreekcave
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