
(Photo: True New Zealand Adventures)
Long before I tore my ACL taking an unexpected cartwheel down a ski run—before I discovered that I actually liked hurtling down steep slopes—I often joked that skiing was just an expensive way to get hurt. The thought of twisting a knee put enough fear into me to keep me cautious downhill—until the worst happened.
In reality, tearing the ligament turned out to be the least painful part. The mental anguish of getting benched during my first hiking season living in Boulder, Colorado made it hard for me to keep up with post-surgery rehab. Instead of leaning in to painful exercises I knew would benefit me, I gave up.
We often don’t talk about the mental impacts of physical injury. But often they’re just as—if not more—serious than the physical harm, says Sarah Ellefson, a physical therapist who owns Altuis Physical Therapy and Wellness in Avon, Colorado.
“I think that that mental piece is perhaps one of the most important components of the recovery process, and that needs to be factored into a person’s plan right from the beginning,” she says. Often, Ellefson sees patients get discouraged when they compare their own progress against average mobility recovery times. “It’s important to recognize that each person has their own unique set of physical and mental circumstances. Post-op protocols should be used as a sort of a trail map for the recovery process, but each person will need to deviate from that trail now and then,” she says.
I am guilty of that harmful comparison. Pre-surgery, I was proud to see that I had gained more strength and mobility than was expected of me based on those average outcomes, so my confidence took a major hit when, post-surgery, I needed to rely on my then-boyfriend for almost every small task around the house. I desperately wanted to be one of those people who ditches the crutches within days, but I wasn’t. Rather than using them for extra stability to walk a few blocks from home, I just stopped walking unless it was absolutely necessary.
During many weeks of my recovery process, my only rehab came from my actual physical therapy appointments—I did few to none of the required exercises in between. I was embarrassed to take stairs at my office slowly, making sure to go up with my left leg—the injured one—before bringing my right up to meet it. I skipped every little opportunity to make progress that could have helped me get back to hiking much faster.
Over time, the pain in my knee faded and it got easier to walk longer distances, bit by bit. I got tired of being too cautious and too anxious about falling again, got a pair of trekking poles, and started pushing myself outdoors again to regain strength on shorter hikes. By the end of the summer, about four months after surgery, I was able to tackle a 16-mile overnight backpacking trip with minimal elevation gain (and quite a lot of rest stops).
Now, just about five years out from surgery, I finally have my knees back. They’re not as spry as they once were—I swear I hear them creaking sometimes—but I no longer ask whether my legs can handle a hike. It took years to fully understand the mental impact of that injury, and even to acknowledge that it was ever a problem. So, I asked Ellefson what advice she’d give to others battling the same recovery fatigue. Here are her top suggestions.