This past weekend, Christopher, Theresa, and I stepped onto the Greeley Pond Trail — one last true hike before trading in these worn-out knees for new ones.
It felt fitting that this quiet trail tucked off the Kancamagus Highway — wild, obstacle-filled, steady, and honest — is where I was saying thank you and goodbye. Every root and rock reminded me how much I’ve asked of my knees… and how much they’ve given me in return. I felt both gratitude and grief in equal measure.
Greely Pond Trail – via Kancamagus Highway, NH
The trail begins with a steady but moderate climb of about 450 feet over 1.3 miles, with a stream crossing that has you hopping from rock to rock. Yellow blazes mark the way, and the forest quickly engulfs you. The crunch of leaves beneath our feet was the only sound.
On the ascent, I took the lead — trekking poles in hand, chill in the air. I imagined walking past the white blazes of the Appalachian Trail. I knew today’s hike was only about 4.5 miles, but I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to walk 2,190 miles on a six-month trek.
After the initial climb, the trail leveled as we approached the first of the two Greeley Ponds. The beauty and calm of the mirror-like water was stunning — mountains stretching on either side. Standing on the rocky shore, I asked myself if I could even request one more mile from my knees to reach the second pond.
Back on the main trail, I looked at Chris and said, “Let’s keep going.”
The adrenaline had worn off. Pain crept in. But the second pond was worth every step — crisp, cold water, views of Mt. Kancamagus reflected across the surface, and the joy of watching Theresa and Christopher take it all in beside me.
Time and knee pain melted away.
The descent told a different story. Each step of those 450 feet down reminded me that surgery is the right decision. This was no longer about endurance — it was about acceptance. My focus narrowed to the ground below, carefully choosing each placement to avoid pain.
There’s anxiety, yes — the unknown of surgery sits heavy at times: the what-ifs, the recovery questions, the long road ahead.
But there’s also gratitude. Gratitude that I’m doing this not because I’ve given up, but because I still believe there are more miles to walk, more summits to see, and more moments to share with the people I love.
This hike was short, slow, and full of pauses — not to rest, but to reflect.
Each step was a goodbye to the knees that carried me this far, and a quiet promise to the ones that will take me further.
And I will. When I return to this trail, it won’t be to say goodbye — it’ll be to say welcome back.
Here’s to new knees and new trails — and to the courage it takes to take the next step, even when the path ahead isn’t clear, full of roots and rocks, and leads us beyond the comfort of what’s familiar.
The next time I write, I’ll be on the other side of surgery — first new knee in place, recovery underway.
As I heal, share your own journey of courage with me.
What’s your next life-changing challenge — big or small?
Thanks for walking this road with me, and for helping me take this leap.
🌿 Trail Marker: Your turn — what’s your next step of courage? Share it below.
Two knees rebuilt. One dream revived. A life rebuilt, one step at a time.
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