The Story: How I Tore My ACL

In January, I declared 2018 “The Year to Thrive.” Well, that’s special.

Not that it has been a bad year, not by any means. After all, our baby girl is turning into a little human with an actual personality and I feel beyond fortunate to watch her grow and develop every single day! We’ve been able to do a fair bit of traveling, including a return trip to Iceland and France with Liliana. And in just a few days, we’re embarking upon our long-awaited 3-month road trip.

So no, 2018 hasn’t been a bad year. Not at all. I continue to thank my lucky stars every day for this life that I’ve been given.

But I now realize how naive I was when I wrote that initial post.

Postpartum, I had this grand delusion that I would be back at it within a few months. Back at trail running and CrossFitting and ski mountaineering and my writing career in general. Because naturally, I wanted to be Super Mom. I could handle taking care of a baby every day and maintaining my previous life, right?

It was barely Christmas when I realized I would never be able to continue as a CrossFit coach. Was it possible? Of course, but it wasn’t working for me. I continued coaching through February before I finally threw in the towel. Quite simply, I didn’t have the time. I was using all of my babysitting points for coaching when I desperately needed to save them for my actual career. Plus, the timing seemed perfect. My beloved Big Horn CrossFit was undergoing new ownership and headed in a direction I was unsure of, so it seemed like a good time to leave. So I left.

Physically it’s taken me awhile to bounce back as well. Naturally, I had been told this by many experienced mothers but I’ll admit that I never believed it would take me this long. Here I am, 7 months postpartum, and I’m still carrying a bonus 15 pounds. I was finally beginning to chip away at my baby fat and increase my postpartum fitness, starting around six months. Maybe that’s different from woman to woman, but that is when I felt comfortable pushing my limits and getting fierce in the gym.

But then, I went boom. And y’all, it was a big boom.

A few weeks back, Will and I were both up in Idaho’s Pioneer Range with Backpacker magazine. It was the Fall 2018 Editors’ Choice trip and we had five glorious days to ski the backcountry. To be sure, I was a basket case before we left. It was the first time I’d left Liliana and while I knew she was in good hands with three of her four grandparents attending to her, I was still nervous.

Headed up!

Regardless, I knew this trip would be good for me so when I got the invite, I accepted. And then I became excited. For the first time postpartum, I was going to be able to get out into the mountains in a way that was normal for me pre-baby. The guides at Sun Valley Trekking would be showing us the Pioneer Range’s finest ski lines and ski mountaineering, and I was beyond stoked. A couple days of backcountry skiing was just what I needed for a little rejuvenation, yanno?

We skinned into the Pioneer Yurt on Saturday underneath a warm and sunny sky. I was at the back of the group with Will. Admittedly, it was a good reminder that I still have a long way to go before I achieve my pre-baby fitness. I could cover the distance without problem, but I sure wasn’t as fast as the rest of the group! {And hot damn, it had been awhile since I’d carried a heavy pack!} But regardless, spirits were high and I was so thankful for the opportunity to get out into the mountains for a week of unadulterated outdoor playtime.

Sunday was our first backcountry skiing day. Our guides told us that we were going to skin 3000 vertical feet up to the top of a peak before enjoying the ride down. Sounded great to me!

The initial climb was steep and our group eventually strapped on our ski crampons to ensure we had traction on the icy steeps. Y’all, even this was fun to me! I’d never used ski crampons before so I was enjoying learning how they worked. {Note: They’re awesome. I kinda love them.}

We plodded along, the zippiest at the front and inevitably me and the videographer at the back {but only because he had 80 million pounds of camera gear.} Our guide Joe was fantastic in understanding that I needed to pump so after a few hours, he guided us to a saddle known as ‘The Beach.’ It was slightly protected from the wind and I sat in the sunshine with my breast pump while enjoying the view from 12,000 feet. Not a bad way to pump, yanno?

We trekked on through a sequence of mishaps {Hello, broken binding!}, eventually arriving at the summit. Since the day was warming up, we quickly transitioned and headed down the mountain, one at a time.

After two segments, we headed into a third bit of the line. Our guide went first and radioed back that the snow was getting punchy through the couloir. Punchy snow is heavier and stickier on the top and lighter and fluffier underneath. Basically, you have to be more careful since it’s easier for your skis to stick.

And you can see where this is going…

Will’s last shot of me before I disappeared over the lip and fell

We descended one at a time until it was my turn. I began skiing, hooting and hollering and enjoying the thrill of the speed and the feel of the sunshine on my cheeks. I was so psyched to be in Idaho with my friends, enjoying this time in the mountains.

And then, BOOM.

Out of nowhere, my ski stuck and I fell. I wish I could say it was an insanely technical section or even that it was an impressive fall, but it was neither. {The videographer showed me the footage afterwards and it’s such a bizarre fall. I just kinda….fell over.}

My left ski popped off thankfully, but my right one remained attached to my boot. And immediately, I knew something was wrong since I felt an incredibly painful burning sensation in the front of my kneecap. I lay on the snow for a few minutes, willing the pain to subside while catching my breath, but I knew this wasn’t good.

After a few minutes, I tried to get up and realized that I couldn’t unless I had assistance. By this point, two of the guides had skied over to check on me. Amidst my hollering {many F-bombs were dropped},  I was able to communicate that my knee hurt like hell. They administered a few field tests so we were confident that nothing was broken.

Here’s the kicker: once they got me standing, we realized I couldn’t ski down the remainder of the mountain. Every time I put weight on my right leg, my knee would buckle inwards and I would begin hollering anew. This would be slightly problematic while skiing inbounds at a resort, but it was a serious concern considering we were a few miles and a couple thousand feet of descent into the backcountry. I began sidestepping down the couloir while putting my weight on one of the guides. After 20 minutes, I’d descended maybe 20 feet.

And that’s when one guide mentioned the words I most despised hearing: We may need to call you a helicopter.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” I hollered. “We are not calling a rescue helicopter! I will figure out how to get down this mountain, I promise!”

“Heather, you may not have a choice,” he told me. And he was right. That’s when I realized this could be serious.

“I can do it,” I told him. “I’ll figure it out.”

First, I swallowed my fear and opted to ski down the remainder of the couloir on my single good ski. Skiing on one leg wasn’t the problem, but my terror came from the concern that I would accidentally drop my right leg when I got moving too quickly. You know, out of habit. Finally, I made it down from the chute, so I was feeling somewhat vindicated.

From there, I sat down on a pack and propped my leg up for the guides to examine. There was a lot of speculation as to what I had done, but the takeaway was this: we still had a very long traverse back to the saddle where a rescue sled would be. If I couldn’t do the traverse, we had a problem.

Joe showing me how to steer the sled

To prevent my knee from buckling, the guides put a gigantic splint on my leg that stabilized my joint. Once that was on my leg, I had a semblance of confidence. As long as my knee didn’t buckle, the pain was gone and I felt fairly okay. They took my pack and all my gear so I wasn’t carrying any weight. Then, two of them went in front of me, tramping down a flat skin track for the traverse. This kept my knee on a relatively flat plane, minimizing the buckling.

Thankfully, it worked like a charm! There was a small downhill section where I took off my skis and butt slid down, but otherwise, I was able to skin all the way to the saddle under my own power. Once I arrived, I looked at the guide again and said, “Think we can veto the helicopter finally?” He agreed and I celebrated. {We later found out that helicopters won’t land back where we were skiing, so it was extra fortuitous that I was able to get myself out!}

Little did I know, the fun was just beginning. We still had a 1000 foot descent from the saddle to the yurt, and it was steep. This was the same section where we had used ski crampons in the morning, so I knew there was no way I could ski it. Instead, we turned our eyes to the rescue sled that Joe– Sun Valley Trekking owner– brought up from the yurt.

I sat in the sled with my legs straight out in front of me and a small sleeping bag rolled up underneath my right knee to relieve tension. One guide was attached to the front of the sled and a second to the back, while the other two guides acted like bumpers on either side. Initially, I thought this would be easy. They’ll just ski down the mountain, right?

Not quite! The terrain got so steep that they couldn’t ski straight downhill for fear of me and the sled zooming past them, so we had to switchback our way down the mountain. But, when we traversed, the hill was so steep that my sled kept tipping over.

I finally realized that using a ski pole like a kayak paddle really helped steer and keep me upright, but holy hell! That was far tougher than I expected and my abs were legitimately sore from leaning and bracing my body. But, on the bright side, if I did topple out of the sled, it wasn’t like I was going anywhere fast! The snow was so warm that it was like mashed potatoes, so there was very little chance that I’d go sledding downhill. For particularly steep section, the back guide unclipped from the sled, built a snow anchor, and lowered me and the sled via a belay system while the front guide escorted the sled from the front. It would have been amazing to watch them use their skills if I wasn’t so angry and mortified with myself.

Lowering me + my sled down a steep section

Finally, after what felt like hours upon hours of a rescue attempt, our guides, the sled, and I arrived back at the yurt with the rest of our group trailing behind. They escorted me inside where Joe promptly set me up on a bed, propped up my knee, fed me Ibuprofen, and wrapped a gigantic bag of snow around the offensive joint. And that’s where I remained the rest of the night.

In the morning, I was relieved to see that while swollen and stuff, I wasn’t in intense pain. I was hobbling around and certainly couldn’t ski, but as long as I didn’t twist my knee, there wasn’t much pain. This pleased me to no end. You see, I was terrified that everyone would have to cut their trip short and return to the city if I needed immediate medical attention. Not only would my trip be ruined, but everyone else too? Worst nightmare.

Again, I talked to Joe and told him where I was mentally. It was Monday and we weren’t supposed to ski out until Wednesday. I told him I was fine hanging out at the yurt all day while everyone else skied. Then, we could figure out how to get me the four miles back to the trailhead on Wednesday. After a bit of convincing, he agreed.

And then I spent two days reading in the sunshine near a backcountry yurt. Could be worse. 

Wednesday arrived and we enacted a similar plan to that which we had used on Sunday. I skinned the initial flat section while everyone else carried my gear. Then, when we got to the steep downhill, the guides loaded me back into a sled and took off. This time, we had a routine and I was much better at steering with a ski pole, so it became akin to Mario Go Kart. Y’all, we were bombing down that mountain and I won’t lie: it was fun!

Finally, the speed ran out and we were on a mainly flat section with two miles left, so they helped me out of the sled and I put on my skis.  I had no idea how my leg was going to tolerate the abuse, but I knew that it was the best way to get back to the car. So, off we went!

I say that so dramatically but in reality, I was moving at a speed akin to a tortoise. Everyone else in the group took off the the trailhead so it was just me, Joe, Will, and our editor-in-chief. Flat terrain was fine but anytime I encountered a slight downhill, I had to kick off my skis and sidestep downhill. Then, I’d put the skis back on and begin the slow slide back to the cars.

Halfway back, my knee let me know that it was getting tired but thankfully, it wasn’t excruciating. It was more of a dull ache that occasionally transitioned to sharp pain. It was certainly tolerable, for which I was thankful. As it was, everyone was carrying all of my gear so I felt the least I could do was manpower my way out of the backcountry.

Finally, after what felt like forever, I made it back to the cars. I was tired, my knee was sore, and truthfully, I was near tears. Now that we were back in civilization, the reality of the situation sunk in and I knew I was going to have to deal with whatever I had done to myself.

Were our road trips plans in jeopardy?

How would I take care of a baby with a busted knee?

Was I done with skiing for the next season?

Once we got back to our hotel in Sun Valley, I combed through our insurance’s website to find a doc who could see me in Denver the following day. With our road trip plans looming on the horizon, I needed answers ASAP.

Final Verdict: Torn ACL

After visiting the doc the next morning, I left the building knowing I tore my ACL {which he determined based on a manual test.} The question was whether I tore anything else in my knee like my MCL, PCL or meniscus. We scheduled an MRI for the following week and pending those results, he would give me his final decision on whether our hiking road trip was an option.

Turns out, everything else in my knee looks great {hallelujah!} so the doc gave me the okay to hit the road this weekend. We ordered a custom brace for my leg and I”m under strict instructions to wear it while hiking and backpacking over the next few months.

I also began pre-hab at a local PT facility called Next Level Sports Performance. The owner is an old high school friend who I trust, so I knew he would give it to me straight. He has been helping me establish a good routine with leg strengthening exercises to ensure I can get these legs into tip-top condition over the next three months.

As for when we return? Sadly, I do need surgery and will take care of that in August. If I wanted to limit my activity for the rest of my life, I could go without an ACL but it’s not conducive for my lifestyle. I opted for surgery and truthfully, I’m dreading it {No surprise there, right?} While the procedure itself is very common, I’ve heard the rehab can be tough, both physically and mentally. I’ll be able to get some functional fitness back after 3-4 months, but I’ve been told not to expect full activity until 9 months post-operation. So yes, next year’s ski season is out.

Mentally, I’m struggling with a lot of this but that’s a story for another day. For now, I’m focusing on the good: we’re leaving for one helluva trip in three days. I’ll just worry about the negative when I get back.

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