I’ve been putting off writing this one. Partly because I’m still processing it, and partly because it’s hard to admit that recovery doesn’t always move in a straight line. But if you’re an athlete staring down surgery, or you’re deep in your own comeback right now, I owe you the honest version. So here it is.
Week 5: Feeling Almost Like Myself
By week five, I actually let myself feel hopeful.
I was swimming in the open water, on my bike trainer, spinning easy but spinning, and doing strength work on top of my PT sessions. Also, I was walking a mile or two most days. I even hopped on a plane to Florida for the weekend to visit my brother — a small but meaningful reminder that life was still moving forward. Sure, I was still taking Oxi once a day to keep the pain manageable, but I felt like I was clawing my way back to the athlete I knew.
Then, near the end of the week, something felt off.
My quad started to feel weak. Not sore, weak. I noticed it in the small, unglamorous moments, the ones nobody talks about. Getting off the toilet took effort. Pushing myself up off the floor felt shaky and unreliable. I mentioned it to my PT, and he didn’t panic. “We need to strengthen it more,” he said. So we spent the whole hour on quad exercises, grinding through set after set.
I left that session thinking I had it under control. It wasn’t.
The Fall That Changed Everything
Two days later, I was getting ready to head into the city to our second home. I carried heavy bags, moved fast, and thought about my to-do list instead of my body.
Walking down the stairs at our Long Island house, I made one small mistake. I led with my good leg instead of my bad one. One step. That’s all it took.
The pain was instant and horrible. I lost my footing and went down a few stairs, and then I was screaming. Truly screaming. And here’s the part that still rattles me: no one was around. No one could hear me. I was alone on the floor with a leg that suddenly wouldn’t do what I asked.
When the pain finally backed off enough for me to move, I inched my way up the stairs on my backside, one shaky push at a time. I shimmied into the bedroom and just lay there on the floor, trying to breathe through it.
I called Dr. Rozell at NYU. He gave me two options: call 911, or take some pain meds and stay put until my six-week checkup the next day. I called my husband, Brian, who was in the middle of a real estate closing and had to scramble to get someone to cover his second one. Then I called my son, who reached out to a friend to come help me.
I had never met this young man before. It was awkward, lying on my bedroom floor and being helped by a stranger. But that kid was wonderful, gentle, and kind when I needed it most. Brian got home not long after, and the two of them lifted me onto the bed.
That’s when it really hit me. My leg didn’t work. I couldn’t lift it. I couldn’t do anything. My quad had simply stopped firing.
Leaning on My People
I did what a lot of us do when we’re scared and stuck. I posted on social media.
That’s how Sharon Levy of Excel PT stepped in. She gave me thoughtful, practical advice and a dose of calm when I desperately needed both. If you take one thing from this post, let it be this: your community matters. The people who show up for you, in person or through a screen, are part of your recovery too.
Rich Izzo of the Westchester Triathlon and also a certified chiropractor with Rye Brook Chiropractic, chimed in and told me not to worry. He also had amazing suggestions.
The next day I saw the doctor in the city. I couldn’t walk, so I used a wheelchair to get there, which was its own humbling moment. He recommended an MRI, and I had it done the following day.
The results explained everything. I had a partial tear of the tendon that attaches to my quad muscle. Not in my head. Not weakness I could push through. An actual injury on top of an already healing knee.
Week 6: Back to Zero
Week six was brutal. I was totally incapacitated. The swimming, the biking, the walking, all of it gone. I went from feeling like an athlete to feeling helpless in days.
I won’t pretty this up for you. It was dark. I felt like I’d been thrown all the way back to the starting line, and every bit of progress I’d fought for had evaporated. If you’ve ever been sidelined by an injury during a comeback, you know the specific frustration I’m talking about. It’s not just physical. It messes with your head.
Week 7: Small Wins and Big Feelings
Then, at the start of week seven, something shifted.
I did a quad set. I lifted my leg. Just a little, but I did it.
If you’ve never had your body refuse to cooperate, that might sound like nothing. To me, it was everything. I was genuinely thrilled by those tiny movements, the kind of things I used to take completely for granted.
But I’d be lying if I said it was all joy. I was also depressed. Frustrated. Angry that this had happened at all, and worn down by the feeling of starting from scratch again. Both things were true at once: proud of the small wins and heartbroken about the setback. I think that’s the reality of recovery nobody prepares you for.
Where I Am Now
Now, at the end of week seven and heading into week eight, I’m feeling a little better. A little stronger. And, for the first time in a while, hopeful again.
I’m optimistic that within the next couple of weeks, I’ll be back in the open water, back on my feet walking, and back on my bike. Not at full speed, and not without patience, but back.
Here’s what this whole mess taught me. Recovery isn’t linear, and setbacks aren’t failures. They’re part of the road. If you’re rebuilding after surgery or injury, be kind to yourself on the hard days. Celebrate the quad sets and the first shaky steps. Lean on your people. And keep your eyes on the water, the road, or whatever finish line is calling you.
I’ll get there. So will you. One small, stubborn win at a time.
