Attending cardiac rehab was the right thing. It allowed me to push towards the limits, and then surpass them. I asked for more- more effort or more time- and they gave it to me. My heart behaved most of the time. When it did not, I watched the poker faced therapists monitoring my vitals. They didn't wince and they didn't say "no", so I just kept going. My cardiologist said there was nothing more he could do for me, my rehab therapists gave me a protocol for advancing my fitness, and the whole bunch thereby set me free.
So we went to the nearest Airstream dealer, picked out our dream rig, and financed it into oblivion- without any hint of a future job. Whatever.
We took possession of our gorgeous 19' Bambi Signature Series 15 days ago, and have lived in it from that very moment. We are meandering south down the eastern face of the Sierra Nevada, through snow, rain, and brutal heat, and it is perfect. So now my rehab is the deserts and mountains. Rocky trails are my treadmills. Rocks of every dimension are my free weights. And after, I rest in our rolling urban condo, with a hot meal, a cold drink and a billion dollar view.
I am now walking rocky trails at 4500' for one to two hours every day. I have tripled the length of my weight workout, and increased the size of stones twice. It is not as if I feel great, and certainly not "reborn". I have no love for my new body, so I don't mind being its master. It has no choice but to take me to the places I want it to, and with my heart rate monitor keeping me reasonable, I treat it like a valuable... slave.
I can almost imagine running....