The weeks following my knee reconstruction surgery were littered with sleepless nights. I was practically immobile; a leg brace appropriate for a 6-foot man restricted my every move. My mom set me up in the main-floor bedroom of our summer lake house. Though the mattress and bedding were plush, sleep wasn’t an easy feat. I was frustrated, emotionally and physically. I wanted to be wake boarding and training for collegiate soccer preseason and playing beach volleyball and running from the cops at parties with my friends–not swimming laps in a geriatric jog belt while my leg flopped around.