False Hope, Real Promise.

I really thought physical therapy might be winding down.

That little spark of hope showed up quietly—maybe this is it, maybe I’m finally done. But nope. I saw the surgeon again, and he prescribed another round of PT. After two surgeries in a year, my quad just isn’t bouncing back the way it should. Muscle strength is still lagging, and apparently, we’re not done yet.

To add another layer, I also have to switch physical therapy offices. My current clinic doesn’t offer blood flow restriction therapy, which is now part of the plan. I’ll be honest—I don’t fully understand it yet, but the name kind of explains itself and sounds mildly terrifying. If it helps wake my quad up, I guess I’m in.

The hardest part of this whole thing surprised me, though.

I really like my PT office. A lot.

Over time, it stopped feeling like just appointments and exercises. I made friends there. Some old colleagues even ended up there recovering from their own injuries, and we bonded over shared frustrations, small wins, and dark humor. These are people I’ve seen two to three times a week since August of 2024. That’s a year and a half of check-ins, encouragement, and familiar faces.

It honestly feels like saying goodbye to good friends.

I guess it was always bound to happen eventually—but knowing that doesn’t make it easier. Still, onward to something new, right?

And speaking of new energy—this weekend delivered a small but mighty win.

I did a 20/20/20 workout on Saturday:

• 20 minutes of cardio boxing (which included way too many squats)

• 20 minutes of weight lifting (also… way too many squats)

• 20 minutes of yoga, focusing on hips and mobility

Let me tell you—I was absolutely cashed afterward. In the best way. That deep, earned exhaustion. The kind where you sweat hard, your muscles are sore the next day, and you remember what it feels like to really use your body.

I still struggle with a lot of things. That hasn’t magically disappeared.

But I refuse to let that weigh me down.

What matters is this: I’m doing more than I’ve been able to do in a couple of years. That counts. Progress is progress—even when it’s slow, nonlinear, and occasionally wrapped in disappointment.

Winter always puts me in a bit of a funk. Less light, more waiting, more patience required than I’d like. But I’m leaning into what helps—exercise, cooking real meals, staying focused on what I can control.

And I’m counting down the days until spring. 🌱

Because just like this recovery, it will come—eventually.

One step, one workout, one PT session at a time.