Time to do the damned thing

It was extremely distressing to discover that not only had my little black dress not made it into my bag - though I distinctly remembered getting it out of the closet and putting it on the pile - but neither had my underwear. 

So all I had for our fancy dinner was a flimsy cotton dress that has moth holes in it (but which I keep to schlump around in because it’s still pretty cute and oh so comfortable) and the pair of undies I was wearing, which are bright neon orange and show right through the dress. 

We were at the Broadmoor, one of the loveliest hotels in the world, as a last weekend hurrah before I have knee surgery (tomorrow) to reconstruct the ligaments I destroyed while skiing a month and a half ago. And I really REALLY did not want to go into a swanky restaurant wearing a ratty dress with loudly colored underwear glowing from beneath.

The skiing injury was heartbreaking to me. It was only my fifth day of the season on the mountain, and came after an incredible day of skiing all over Vail with some of Greg’s friends who were visiting from out of town. The next day we were a little tired and decided to have a mellow day. 

“Let’s do some easy runs to warm up before heading over to the back of the mountain,” we thought. 

After which I proceeded to blast into a mogul field going much too fast, because I came over a ridge and for some reason thought the terrain below was groomed rather than bumpy. 

It wasn’t. I lost control and made a twisting fall. I felt and heard the “pop” that is the sure sign of a ruptured ACL. Ski patrol was called, they pulled me down the mountain in the sled, and I went to the hospital. I drove back to Denver with a big heavy brace on my left leg, crying most of the way.

Greg likes to take pictures of me when I've busted ass.

No more skiing. No more long summer hikes. No more Triple Bypass, which I had been really looking forward to. Maybe no Emma climb. I cried for the next two days.

I have spent the ensuing seven weeks doing my damndest to “pre-hab” my knee by doing strength and stretching exercises and riding the Peloton every single day, often multiple times a day, so that my range of motion can be as good as it can be before heading into surgery. 

And after the surgery, I will have to do it all again, only with much more pain and much more hard work for seven or eight months, with the goal being that I can do my Emma climb in the fall and ski again next season.

Hence the fun weekend. And the missing undies.

I went to the concierge and told her my predicament. Was there anywhere nearby I could go to buy some panties that weren’t visible from space?

It being the Broadmoor, she didn’t hesitate to say, “of course! The boutiques are closed but we’ll just open them up for you and you can shop for whatever you’d like.”

Of course!

So a nice young man took me to the boutique and opened the doors and turned on the lights. I wandered through the empty store and picked out some non-neon-orange underwear to wear with my slightly moth-eaten dress, which cleaned up nicely with some heels and jewelry. And we had a lovely romantic evening wandering through the hotel looking at their incredible art collection, and having drinks while watching the NCAA tournament at the bar, and strolling around the lake holding hands, and eating a delicious dinner. We came back to Denver the next day feeling refreshed.

A painting at the Broadmoor called "Staging." I don't remember who painted it.
We both liked it but also felt very anxious looking at it - that ride would be terrifying.

The landscape around Colorado Springs. Stunning.

Sculpture in the yard of a house near the Broadmoor. The neighbors might not love it
(it's huge and draws cars full of gawkers), but it's really cool. 

Tomorrow is my surgery. I’m nervous the way I’ve always been nervous when I’m about to be sedated so that somebody can cut into my body. I’m nervous about what a pain in the ass it's going to be to get around for the next few months. I’m nervous about the long and difficult rehab that I’m facing.

But! I am strong and healthy. I’m a fast healer with a high tolerance for pain. I have friends and loved ones who will take care of me. I’m extremely disciplined when it comes to exercise. The doctor and the physical therapist only need to tell me exactly what to do, and I will do it. I’ll eventually be able to ski and bike and hike and do all of the things that I love. 

Most likely wearing brightly colored underwear.