Have You Ever Thought About Walking?

It’s exactly one month today since my hip replacement. Thirty days since the moment I woke up in a hospital bed thinking, “Right, now what?” The first question that came to mind was, “Can I walk?” — which I quickly answered by nearly fainting on my first attempt. Humbling doesn’t quite cover it.

Yesterday my physio told me I could try walking around without crutches. Today, I got the green light to get back on the bike — just five minutes, stationary, on the turbo — and honestly, it was possibly the happiest five minutes I have ever had on a bike. There was no speed, no distance, no data — just the simple joy of movement again.

Recovery has been strange, humbling, and oddly nice. One of the most interesting parts has been the singularity of using crutches. Life suddenly slows down to one task at a time. You can’t multitask. If the phone rings, you stop walking. If you want to grab a drink, it becomes a full operation. It’s simplicity in its rawest form. In a weird way, it reminded me of mindfulness — the forced presence of being limited to one action and doing it deliberately.

And that sense of presence has carried right through to learning how to walk properly again over the past two days. My physio told me to think about my posture, to walk slower, to tuck my pelvis a bit more. It’s tough, uncomfortable, and quite frankly a bit annoying at times. There are moments I literally have to stop mid-step, reset, and make sure I’m doing it right. But it will be worth it.

Of course there is frustration at times. The most common question I get asked is, “When will you be fully recovered?” — a question I wish I knew the answer to more than anybody. But I can’t think that far ahead of myself. More than anything, I know I’d hold myself to that exact date, and if it turned out to be wrong, I’d probably push too hard and do more harm than good. Every day has been about ticking the boxes, doing the exercises, and thinking — quite literally — about walking.

There’s a strong sports-psychology lesson in all this: accept where you are, and work to improve that situation. That’s it. Control what you can, do it well, and let time do its part.

I recently read The Alchemist, and one line stuck with me — that when you improve where you are, you improve everything around you. That’s all any of us really have: this moment, this place, this small piece of control. It’s easy to chase what’s next, but sometimes the real growth is right where you’re standing — or, in my case, where you’re slowly learning to stand again.

So here I am, one month in, proud of every small win, still slightly frustrated at how slow it can feel at times, but grateful — not only for the chance to rebuild from the ground up, but for the fact that this experience is within my control. Because for many people, they don’t get that luxury.

And that, more than anything, has made me appreciate just how nice walking really is.