🦵 Week 1 Post‑ACL Reconstruction: Pain, Progress & Perspective from a 43‑Year‑Old Strength Coach
- Michael Calderaro-Tracey
- Apr 8
- 5 min read
Last week, I swapped barbells for hospital gowns and underwent ACL reconstruction surgery on my left knee — complete with a successful bone graft and the kind of anaesthetic that makes you wonder whether you confessed any embarrassing childhood stories to the medical staff. (If I told anyone I once believed I could become a professional wrestler at age 10… let’s pretend that conversation never happened.)
As a 43‑year‑old personal trainer and strength coach who specialises in helping people move from pain to performance, I’ve spent years guiding clients through their own rehab journeys. I’ve coached them through setbacks, celebrated their wins, and reminded them that recovery is rarely glamorous.
Now it’s my turn to live it — properly.
And let me tell you… it hits differently when you’re the one on two crutches trying to navigate stairs like they’re a final boss in a video game.
This is my honest chronicle of Week 1.
🚶♂️ Relearning How to Move: The Humbling Reality of Two Crutches
There’s something profoundly humbling about going from coaching athletes through explosive movements… to taking 12 seconds to stand up from a chair.
Two crutches have become my new training partners. They don’t talk back, they don’t skip sessions, and they don’t complain — but they also don’t let you cheat. Every step is deliberate. Every shift of weight is a negotiation. Every doorway feels narrower than it did last week.
And stairs? Stairs are currently my Everest.
The physio instructions were clear: “Up with the good, down with the bad.” Simple. Logical. Sensible.
Yet somehow, halfway up, my brain still panics like it’s forgotten which leg belongs to me.
But here’s the thing: This is the process. This is the work. This is the part no one posts on Instagram.
And as someone who coaches others through this exact journey, it’s a powerful reminder that empathy isn’t built in textbooks — it’s built in lived experience.
🧊 Swelling: My New Full‑Time Job
I’ve always been a fan of structure and routine, but Week 1 post‑op has taken it to another level:
Ice ❄️
Elevate 🛏️
Compress 🧦
Repeat 🔁
Swelling management has become a full‑time job, and my knee currently resembles a small, angry watermelon. The kind that looks like it would argue with you in a supermarket car park.
But swelling is part of the healing process. It’s the body’s way of saying:
“Mate, calm down. I’m rebuilding you.”
So I’m listening. I’m slowing down. I’m respecting the biology.
Because recovery isn’t about forcing your way forward — it’s about creating the conditions for progress to happen.
🧠 Brain Fog: The Side Quest No One Warned Me About
One thing I didn’t fully appreciate — even after years of coaching clients through surgery recovery — is just how real the post‑anaesthesia brain fog is.
Between the general anaesthetic and the pain medication, my brain spent the first few days operating like a browser with 47 tabs open, 46 of which were frozen, and the last one playing music I couldn’t locate.
The fog is strange. It’s not dramatic. It’s not frightening. It’s just… thick.
Here’s what it looked like for me:
🧩 Losing my train of thought mid‑sentence
🕰️ Time distortion — hours disappearing with no memory of what I was doing
📱 Staring at my phone like it was a GCSE maths paper
🛋️ Sitting down to do something… and forgetting what the something was
🧠 Feeling like my brain was wrapped in bubble wrap
And here’s the thought‑provoking part:
When your brain slows down, you realise how much of your identity is tied to clarity, sharpness, and capability.
As a coach, I’m used to being switched on — analysing movement, solving problems, making decisions, reading people. As a patient, I’m learning to accept that healing isn’t just physical. The brain needs time too.
The fog is lifting now, slowly but surely. But it’s been a powerful reminder that recovery isn’t just about the knee — it’s about the whole system recalibrating.
And honestly… it’s made me even more empathetic to clients who’ve said:
“I just don’t feel like myself yet.”
Because now I get it. Deeply.
🦵 Mobility Exercises: Where Millimetres Matter
As a coach, I’ve always preached the importance of fundamentals. As a patient, I’m now living them.
Heel slides. Quad squeezes. Gentle range‑of‑motion drills. The glamorous stuff.
These exercises look simple — almost laughably so — until you’re the one doing them with a knee that feels like it’s been replaced with a block of concrete.
But this is where the magic happens.
Every millimetre of movement is a win. Every successful quad contraction is a victory. Every degree of flexion is a step toward performance.
And here’s the thought‑provoking bit:
In a world obsessed with big wins, rehab teaches you to fall in love with the smallest ones.
It’s a lesson I’ll be taking back into my coaching with even more conviction.
🧠 The Mindset Battle: Slowing Down Without Losing Yourself
The physical side of recovery is challenging, but the mental side… that’s where the real work is.
As a coach, I’m used to being active, capable, and in control of my body. As a patient, I’m learning to surrender to the process.
There’s frustration. There’s boredom. There’s the occasional internal tantrum when you drop something on the floor and realise retrieving it will require a full strategic operation.
But there’s also clarity.
Being forced to slow down has a strange way of sharpening your perspective. You start noticing things you’d normally rush past. You start appreciating progress you’d normally overlook. You start understanding your own clients on a deeper level.
And perhaps most importantly:
You realise that resilience isn’t built in the gym — it’s built in the quiet, unglamorous moments when no one is watching.
😂 A Few Humorous Observations from Week 1
Because if you can’t laugh at yourself during rehab, you’re missing half the therapy.
I now understand why flamingos stand on one leg — it’s not balance, it’s survival.
My crutches have developed personalities. One is supportive. The other is a liability.
I’ve discovered that socks are the natural enemy of anyone with limited knee flexion.
I’ve never been more aware of how many things in my house are stored just slightly too low.
I’ve perfected the “crutch shuffle” — a move that will not be appearing in any dance tutorials.
Humour doesn’t remove the challenge, but it definitely makes the journey lighter.
🔥 What This Week Has Taught Me (That I Thought I Already Knew)
As a coach, I’ve said these things hundreds of times. As a patient, I’m finally feeling them.
Recovery is not linear.
Consistency beats intensity.
Your ego is not invited to rehab.
Asking for help is a strength.
Progress compounds.
Rehab is the ultimate teacher of patience, humility, and long‑term thinking — qualities that translate far beyond the gym.
📣 If this resonated, here’s my ask…
If you found this useful, relatable, or even mildly entertaining, it would mean a lot if you could:
👍 Like the post
💬 Comment with your own recovery experiences or words of wisdom
🔁 Share it with someone who might need encouragement
➕ Follow me for updates on the journey from pain to performance — including the coaching insights I’m gaining along the way
Your engagement helps this message reach more people who might need it.
Comments