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By October 2019, Matt had made incredible strides, but his gait still harbored stubborn anomalies. To build on the great work already accomplished, we were eager to try a specialized piece of technology at Sunnyview Hospital: a lower-body Exoskeleton—an "Ironman" contraption of sorts from the waist down. It was an uncompromising teacher, programmed to allow only perfect movement: no hip drop, no buckled knees, no scissoring. If his technique went awry, the machine intervened.
For the first time since the injury, he was being "recalibrated." In the first session, the Exoskeleton reported that Matt could perform some aspects of the gait sequence better than others and that he initiated steps appropriately in a quarter of trials. By session five, he was increasingly self-directing the rig and shifting weight over his right leg—a movement that had been resistant to our most intensive efforts and seemed counterintuitive to his brain’s feedback.
His physical therapist introduced freestyle, self-initiated movements—relying on the device as backup—sideways and backward. When she encouraged him to pick up the pace, he clocked 1,400 steps. Best of all, the carryover finally became noticeable after he was unhooked. At home, Matt walked with a more upright posture and a rhythmic cadence in sync with a metronome. He was finally in control—provided he remained mindful. However, the moment he became distracted or lapsed into unconscious movement, the rhythm broke. It was like a juggler dropping a ball the second his focus wavers, simply because the skill hasn't yet become rote. For most, ambulation is automatic; for Matt, the request to intentionally engage his core and rotate his legs outward with every step was like rubbing his belly while patting his head. It was a tall order, and we could only hope that time and constant reminders would eventually turn this taxing effort into a habit.
Despite the wonders of robotics, I observed a mechanical limitation: the device did not facilitate sufficient hip extension. The therapist agreed to my suggestion to add electrical stimulation to elicit a coordinated gluteal contraction during weight-bearing on his right foot. It was essentially a cattle prod—a sharp wake-up call to the muscles' inadequate execution. I had the guilty pleasure of administering each jolt, step by step, inch by inch, and—as with so many of my ‘out of the box’ ideas—Matt simply took it in stride.
While there was no way to tell the immediate or long-term effects of my DIY intervention, the overall results were significant. My journal notes from December 20, 2019, clearly state: “As he strides, his gluteal muscles are kicking in to prevent his hip from dropping.” On a personal note, the therapist’s receptivity was yet another example of the Sunnyview team’s incredible willingness to treat us as partners in the lab, not just spectators in the waiting room.
With the mechanical form corrected, phase two began: High-Intensity Gait Training (HIGT). If the Exoskeleton was about the mechanics of walking, HIGT was about forcing the nervous system to adapt through sheer, repetitive exertion, regardless of technique. They were polar opposites, yet his therapy sought the benefit of both: the opportunity to do each step right, a thousand times, while pushing his body to its limit. By January 2020, the test data were favorable; balance on the right leg had gone from zero seconds to a shaky five; fast-walking speed increased to 1.9 meters per second; and at home, Matt was doing better on hopping drills, jumping jacks, and climbing up two or three steps at once—displays of propulsion and power that seemed impossible a year earlier.
Matt was not off the hook at home. Every two weeks, I continued to modify our flow sheet of more than twenty activities and exercises. Mom’s Boot Camp remained the backbone and measuring rod of his progress, addressing the critical pillars of core strength, posture, balance, endurance, and gait.
Core strength, encompassing the abdominal, back, and pelvic muscles, is fundamental to function and interwoven into every aspect of daily life. It acts as the body's stabilizer and power center for nearly every movement, from taking long or quick strides to lifting, work, and athletics. A strong core makes everyday activities easier by improving posture, enhancing balance, and reducing the risk of injury. We tackled this beast in multiple ways, including floor exercises that engage the abdominal muscles during resisted arm raises, crawling, planks, and bridges: feet on the floor or a therapy ball.
In normal stance or stagger footing, Matt strengthened arms and legs with resistance bands, free weights, or a medicine ball, moving beyond the simple to three different planes of motion using a medicine ball: up, out, or around.
To address his postural slouch and protruding head, we used a small biofeedback device called the Upright Go. A sensor placed at the base of his neck vibrated whenever he leaned forward more than ten degrees—a silent, electronic nag—sit up straight—to retrain his proprioception and internal sensory receptors by ‘invigorating’ his nervous system.
Our balance routine was equally diverse. Matt performed step-taps or raised his arms alternately while standing on one leg. Upright with one foot perched on a soccer ball, his stability slowly increased to thirty seconds, and on a wobbly half-foam roll—as if on a balance beam—for ten seconds. Like high-wire acts, they require precise muscle control.
Earlier in our journey, the BOSU ball had been a source of dread. But as Matt overcame the initial fear of mounting that bouncy, rubbery dome, our expectations grew. He soon learned to balance on top, gently raising his arms or executing squats without toppling. The real test of his precision, however, was stepping up and over it—to him, it was a long excursion. Truthfully, the sight was often comical; Matt looked like a novice snowboarder, with a crouched posture and arms flailing nervously—or stabbing outward in a desperate attempt to grab me for support. I often dodged those reaches, forcing him to find his own center. The strategy worked: by May, he had mastered thirty seconds of unassisted balance.
The endurance work was just as relentless. Although he did so reluctantly, Matt put in twenty-minute sessions on the NordicTrack and alternated between the arm and leg bikes. The payoff showed up on our neighborhood ¾-mile loop. In February, he clocked a fifteen-minute lap on the ¾-mile loop—beating his record by two minutes—and by April, he had whittled it down to fourteen.
With the arrival of spring warmth, we upped the ante, tackling the larger 1¼-mile loop more frequently and logging 27½ minutes one sunny day. And then Matt got cute. That afternoon, I looked up to see a huge grin spreading across his face. I didn't have to ask why. For the first time, he had overtaken me. Seeing him outpace me made my heart soar — it was the most beautiful 'defeat' I have ever known. For two long years, I was the one setting the pace, pushing him toward the summit. Now, a spark of hope flickered in me that this internal motivation and role reversal would replace me.
"These newly acquired skills were soon put to the test as we took to the skies for a well-earned vacation with Ryan and Corinne in California in March. Over two consecutive days, Matt logged 12,500 and 14,000 steps. He began in the soft, unstable sand of Long Beach, followed by a hike up Mount Rubidoux—a 3.2-mile trek with a 505-foot elevation gain.
By the end, we watched, hearts in our throats, as his right leg fatigued and his posture deteriorated. There was no handrail, no exoskeleton, and no brace—only Matt, radiating sheer grit and determination. If one of us moved close to intervene, Matt wouldn't have it. He refused help, refused support, and kept his eyes on the path ahead. Every lunge walk, every 'helicopter' twist, and every second on the half-foam roll culminated in this 505-foot gain. This was his claim to fame, his Olympic performance, and he wouldn’t be denied the trophy at the end.
© 2026, Sarah Watkins
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