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The DayTreader stood silent this week.
I consumed oxycodone and celebrated my achievement of making a 20-foot trip from the couch to the bathroom and back.
On Sunday, I took my son and a friend to Swiss Valley Ski Area to celebrate his 15th birthday and give downhill skiing a try for myself.
My skiing career was both glorious and brief.
After a dozen or so impressive runs down the bunny hill, and feeling fairly confident that I should soon try out for the next Winter Olympics team, I moved to the big-boy slope.
Within minutes, I was in a snow drift with a shattered fibula and tibia, my Olympic dreams fading. The ski patrol team, including Tom and Mary Ann Kaade, wrenched my ski boot off, stabilized my leg with an inventive (almost artistic) combination of cardboard, foam and duct tape.
I snapped my leg at 4 p.m. By 11 p.m. I was out of surgery. Thank God for ski patrol, good friends who are willing to haul bellowing cargo to Elkhart General Hospital, ER nurses, and on-call surgery teams.
The surgeon, Dr. Schramm, tells me I have 6 to 8 weeks of healing ahead. I haven't mentioned the DayTreader yet. My hope is that after about 3 weeks, once the screws and plates are firmly in place, I will be released to tread an hour or so a day. I am counting on it to be part of my therapy regimen.
Suffice it to say I have not stepped on the scale. The heavy brace and bandages would skew results anyway.