Ten years. Ten. Years.

It’s been ten years since I last posted on this website. (Do we even call them blogs anymore?)

For now at least, I’m not going to waste much time reflecting on the last decade. Yes, much has happened, much has changed. That baby boy I had is now 11. I have another child, too. My career changed. We moved houses (albeit just down the street) and did a complete renovation over three years. I travel very little now – my new job is different that way – oh and there was a pandemic and travel sucks more than ever, so. And I still love riding bikes. And other things. But none of that is why I’m back here writing again.

To be honest, I was knowingly, wincingly, guiltily ignoring my site; yes it was there, but it felt as though life had moved on and what was the point anymore? Those posts about bikes and travel and taking pictures – that was life before kids, before chaos, when time and creativity and inspiration were plentiful and I had some inane urge to share my inner monologue.

Now I’m back for a very different reason. This time, my intent is to journal – it’s entirely personal, documentary, and maybe even therapeutic… Why?

On Thursday (at 4:00 PM on April 16, 2026 to be precise) as I was climbing down a ladder after briefly tending to my apple tree, I misjudged how many steps I had left, and the ground wasn’t there when I stepped back. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but my right knee buckled and I collapsed to the ground in an absolute world of pain, having (what I would learn later) just snapped the patellar tendon.

I was by myself – my wife was out of town and my kids were playing with friends after school. It was scary and distressing, and amid the agony, my thoughts raced a mile a minute in every possible direction. All the ways you can imagine catastrophizing the implications of something like this started flashing before my eyes, mixed with agony, shock, sadness, hopelessness and regret.

I was lucky to have my phone with me and called 911. Soon, the paramedics arrived and took me to the hospital. A few hours later, I was sent home in a leg brace and told to expect calls the next day for imaging and then to schedule surgery.

The outlook for this type of injury is not for the feint of heart. Yes, a complete recovery is possible, but knee ligaments and the impacted muscle groups usually require a full year of therapy and rehabilitation. You can imagine what this might do to the psyche of a middle-aged man who was fully engaged in strength and cardio training – who was used to walking 5 km each day, who lifted weights three days a week, who rode his bike 150 km on weekends – in the pursuit of decent fitness to compensate for growing older.

My mind has oscillated between gratitude for my existing fitness and motivation to begin recovering, to just giving the fuck up and to stop pushing so hard because the whole effort feels pointless.

Add in the fact that I’m basically immobile right now and will be in a leg brace for at least another couple of months, and this is why I’m dusting things off here and writing again. All of a sudden, it seems like I have time again, and a whole lot of processing to do.

I think I’m going to be pretty frank here. Document the stories, my feelings and my progress. Whether anyone ever reads any of it is completely beside the point. But who knows, maybe it will float out there in the internet and land with someone going through the same thing.

Anyway, here we are. Day 2. The journey begins.