My first hike after years of pain and immobility wasn’t a Hollywood moment. There was no slow-motion shot of me walking with tears in my eyes as the sun set behind me. It was a four-mile hike in Arizona. It wasn’t perfect, but I was out doing something I hadn’t been able to do in years. And when I finished, I put my stuff in the car, sat down, and felt…nothing.
To be honest, I wasn’t so surprised. Real life isn’t a Hallmark movie where the soundtrack swells and everything clicks into place. That’s not how life works. My journey with ankylosing spondylitis has taught me that—and so much more.
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My ankylosing spondylitis presented in my feet. This is rare, apparently, because it’s known for presenting in the back and hip. I didn’t want to believe it when, three years before my diagnosis, the very first podiatrist I went to said, “I think you’ve got ankylosing spondylitis.” I was about 30 or 31 at the time, super active. Working out, hiking—that was my identity. And I thought, “No, that’s not me. That’s an old person’s disease. I’m sorry, doc, you’ve got the wrong person.”
The MRI report showed stress fractures and bone marrow edema. The doctor told me the edema was an indicator of stress fractures, so I kept wearing boots and dealing with the pain. My feet got so bad that the bones in my midfoot expanded. Even now, the fifth metatarsal droops over the edge of my shoe. No matter how wide the shoe is—and I have the widest shoes possible—it still hangs over. That’s where most of my pain was coming from at that time. My feet didn’t fit in regular shoes, but I told myself, “The swelling will go down eventually.”
But it didn’t. After three or four months with boots on both legs, I was using a knee scooter and crawling to the bathroom just to get there. Propping myself up on the toilet. Doing whatever I could. And it wasn’t just the pain in my feet. It felt like whack-a-mole—one area would get slightly better, and then something else would pop up.
For the next three years, I was in and out of physical therapy, in and out of boots, and spending no less than three to five hours a day on rehab. I was doing everything I could to get back to my life of hiking. Hiking Half Dome, the Grand Canyon—that’s where I wanted to be.
I did a lot of research. I thought, “Maybe it’s my gait. Maybe the pressure from my body weight is causing this.” I started looking at everything holistically, trying to learn about all the body parts that could be contributing to my pains, like my feet, ankles, and neck.
I went from specialist to specialist—rheumatologists, podiatrists. One after another. I was referred to some of the top people in the country. I got second opinions, third opinions. My blood work was fine—no answers there. Physical therapy wasn’t the solution—it was a temporary feel-good thing, like a massage. I needed more, a real diagnosis and effective treatment.
One highly respected specialist said, “I think you might just be in pain forever.” What kind of answer is that? That’s not what I wanted to hear.
At one point, I even scheduled surgery to have my foot shaved down to size. But I canceled it. Why have surgery when they didn’t even know the root problem?
I’d have stretches where things seemed to be improving—maybe 30 days where I thought, “I’ve got this. I’m getting back on track.” Then it would get worse again.
By now, the problem had spread from my feet to my hands to other parts of my body. I was in a bad place. Depressed. One doctor thought I had Wilson’s disease and told me to take zinc for 30 days. It actually helped for a bit, and I thought, “This might be it!” But then the pain got bad again.
I could still walk—barely—but I was in massive pain. I’m a tough guy, but the pain was so intense. And of course, it’s frustrating because no one can see your pain on the outside. I’d ask for a wheelchair at the airport, and people would say, “You look fine.” How do you even respond to that?
I dreaded going on vacation. I dreaded dragging myself out of the house to go do anything. It was embarrassing, and a lot of people didn’t understand. Feet are literally your foundation, so if they’re messed up, you’re messed up.
My podiatrist said, “I have one more person for you to see. She’s a life-changer.”
That’s when I met Dr. Arnold, my rheumatologist. A lot of the doctors I’d seen hadn’t wanted to go into the backstory of my symptoms, but she actually listened to my whole story. She picked up on cues no one else had noticed. One of those cues was that I felt okay in the morning but was in so much pain by nighttime that I was basically crawling. That kind of cycle is a textbook symptom of AS, and no one else caught it.
She said, “What you’ve been through is terrible. I’m sorry we didn’t meet three years ago because I could have helped you. But you’re in the right place now, and I’m going to help you now.”
She ran tests. I was positive for HLA-B27. She confirmed ankylosing spondylitis and recommended Humira. I took it, and life started changing. Rehab and exercise got better.
4 DAYS after I started HUMIRA I was in Arizona, had an urge to go for a hike to see what would happen and ended up hiking 4 miles and felt GREAT…..Just 4 days earlier I was crawling on my hands and knees from my bed to bathroom.
5 months later I felt better and better, and eventually, I decided it was time for a real hiking trip. And that’s when I took a solo hiking trip to Colorado – one of my favorite destinations.
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I have to admit, right before I took that hike, I thought that when I finished, it would be a bit like a movie. After all, after three years of pain and very little relief, I had finally returned to hiking and being active. Of course, I would have this emotional explosion, right?
But once I finished the hike and was back in the car, I felt nothing. And almost immediately, I knew why. Even through the worst pain, I always expected myself to get back to hiking at some point, despite what doctors and physical therapists said. Even during the most hopeless moments, I still had conviction.
That conviction wasn’t new—it’s something I’ve relied on throughout my career. I’m in sales, and part of succeeding in sales is persistence. It’s about believing in a vision even when the path forward isn’t clear. It’s not always about the destination.
For me, conquering the Rim to Rim hike in the Grand Canyon will mark my true comeback. I’ve already booked my trip for October. Will it feel like a Hollywood moment when I finish? Probably not. But it’ll be gratifying because I’m a competitor.
Resilience and conviction—being your own advocate—aren’t unique traits, but for those of us navigating health challenges, they’re a way of life. We’re fighters. And that’s something to be proud of, whether we’re tackling the Grand Canyon or walking around the block.
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