The Travelling (pt. 3)

Throughout my travels, it quickly became clear that travelling really isn’t disability friendly. Adaptations to make things accessible were essentially non-existent. It made me realise how much we take our health and mobility for granted when it comes to – well, everything, really, but in particular - travel. There are obvious challenges such as physically carrying around heavy luggage and the fact that many attractions (hikes, waterfalls, temples, etc.) require full mobility. Additionally, the infrastructure and transportation in a lot of these areas are just suited to people with restricted mobility.  

These are things that most people are oblivious to as it simply doesn’t concern them. No judgement - it just isn’t something that many people would ever need to consider. However, I felt hyperaware of this because of how limited my mobility had been in the past. 

I regularly reflect on how my life used to be, and how vastly different my life is now. Although I still face the odd challenge physically, the improvement to my health is astounding, and it’s something I never want to take for granted. But throughout my trip, there were several humbling reminders that I am in fact, not cured, and I still need to manage my condition wisely. 

The first of these reminders came in Krabi, Thailand. A few months prior to setting off for the trip, I damaged two ligaments in my left ankle which never healed properly (thanks, EDS!). The pain had been niggling on and off but was causing me more and more of an issue. I had reunited with the Belgian girls who I met in Koh Tao during the scuba diving school to gain our PADI certifications (or at least attempt to – a story for another day!). 

One morning, we hopped on our scooters and set off in the rain towards Tiger Cave Temple (not appropriately dressed, so imagine soaring through a thousand tiny shards of glass). After around an hour, we arrived and started scrambling around in the dark in an attempt to find the starting point. Even the few steps I had to climb at this point were causing me to wince aloud with the pain. 

It was here that I realised I had a decision to make, and not a lot of time to do so. Should I continue with the hike up to the top of the temple - a mere 1,200 stairs? Snappy decision-making is definitely not my strong suit. I recall feeling so much resistance when considering not taking part in the climb - as if I wasn’t pushing myself enough, and that I was simply giving up. In the end, I overcame the feeling of defeat and opted to give the climb a miss. Listening to my body and deciding to miss out activities like this was never an easy thing to do. I had been held back so much in the past by my condition, and I naively thought I was now free from its grasp. 

Could I have pushed through the pain and enjoyed the view from the top? Perhaps. Would I have made things worse by ignoring my body’s signals? Most likely. It’s important not to let your ego and stubbornness get in the way of making decisions like this. Easier said than done, a lot of the time. While I do think it’s important to test your limits and see what your body is capable of, there is always a risk of pushing yourself too far and suffering as a result. And so, instead, I chilled at the bottom of the temple with a bunch of dogs who were protecting me from the unhinged monkeys, until my friends returned. 

One of the most physically demanding activities I did throughout the trip was canyoning in Da Lat, Vietnam. Never heard of canyoning? Neither had I, but I still got roped into it (pardon the pun). It’s basically abseiling down waterfalls – sounds pretty cool, right? It absolutely was, and equal parts terrifying. Canyoning was one of the highlights from the whole trip, and I was incredibly proud of myself for managing it. Once the adrenaline had dissipated however, my body was in tatters. It’s not often that a pain flare up is worth whatever I did to cause it – but I believe this was one of those times.  

Next up in the series of ‘How Far Can Kirsten Push Her Body?’ was a sunrise hike up an active volcano in Bali, Indonesia. As if doing this in the dark with chronic pain was not enough of a challenge, there was also an unfortunate case of Bali Belly thrown into the mix (I’ll spare you all the details). A Mount Batur hike was commonplace in a backpacker’s itinerary, so I didn’t consider the fact that it may be somewhat challenging, despite the fact it was 1,717 metres high.  

My friend, Emily, had flown out to Bali to spend a couple of weeks with me at this point. Emily would run up mountains back home for fun, so she was the perfect hype girl to get me through it. Regardless of the difficulty level, I knew I was in safe hands. I won’t lie, climbing to the top was tough. I was on the brink of a tantrum on several occasions, as the lactic acid build-up in my legs was demanding my full attention. We stopped a couple of times to shake off the legs and stretch (and question why I decided to do this), then continued with our tour guide all the way to the top. At the peak of Mount Batur, we soaked in the colourful sunrise show and sipped on a hot chocolate. Naturally, we also had a very lengthy photo shoot.

Hiking wasn’t familiar territory to me, and so I hadn’t anticipated how much pressure and strain goes on your knee joint when climbing downhill. You’d think it would be easier – and it was on my lungs and heart – but the muscles in my legs did not agree. Between the physical exhaustion, fatigue from zero sleep, and excruciating pain in my knees and hips, the tears started overflowing. If you know me personally, you’ll know that crying isn’t out of the ordinary for me. However, it is extremely rare for me to cry when it comes to me personally feeling hard done by - just to provide some context of my overall state at the time.  

Some well-earned rest was on the cards for the rest of the day, and after a minor meltdown back at the hotel, I did a lot of reflection on the hike. I’m a big advocate for feeling your feelings, getting it all out, and then establishing how to move forward. It was during this reflection that I made the decision to start writing this very blog that you are reading today. 

When experiencing a pain flare up, there is often a very real mental battle that goes on internally. You have no idea how long it’s going to last and can almost convince yourself that it’s a major setback. It’s also very easy to become hypercritical and judgemental of yourself in these moments which brings on an extra emotional load. What was I thinking? Did I push myself too far? Why did I think I could manage this? Have I undone years of hard work? I had to remind myself to take a breath and pause. 

Although it may not feel like it in the moment, these flare ups are usually just temporary signals that do ultimately pass. Thanks to the years of rehabilitation and pain management clinics, each time I experienced a flare up, I was able to bring my awareness back to the present moment and look at my situation objectively. Of course my body was screaming at me, I had just completed potentially the most strenuous activities of my entire life. Surely, it would be more alarming if my body was completely fine after it?! 

It took a lot of time and patience for these skills to become engrained. Looking back, I think I was in denial about my health for a long time. There’s a lot to be said for acceptance, and I used to think this was the same as giving up, but that simply isn’t the case. Acceptance is more about choosing peace over having a constant mental battle with yourself. It’s giving yourself what you need in the current moment and finding a way to move forward, over trying to deny your pain’s existence. 

It wasn’t until I shifted towards this mindset that things started improving for me. I accepted my condition for what it was but still had a bit of fire inside of me. I didn’t want to succumb to the limits that had been placed on me by other people - and I do think that is part of the reason I’m where I am today. Although I’m “good” now, Ehler’s Danlos Syndrome is still a condition I will need to manage for the rest of my life. I’ll just do it with muscles.  

It’s incredible now, three years on, how much my health has continued to improve.  In fact, I have signed up to compete in the hybrid fitness competition, Hyrox, in March of next year. Stay tuned – I'll be providing updates (and whimpers of regret) on my training in the new year. I also just recently decided to give a CrossFit competition a bash last month – and I survived! These are things that me and my walking sticks never would have imagined doing in my wildest dreams. Well, bring on the training! I’m ready. 

As always, thanks for reading 😊 

Much love, 

Kirsten xox