Retraining the System

By Tom Neal
Bigfoot Trails Basecamp | Independent Adventure Media

I knew a guy. I’ve kinda lost touch with him over the last few years, but he was one funny dude. Out of respect for him, I won’t mention his name, nor what he did or what he was charged with doing, but he did 13 years in the federal penitentiary system. He ran with a bad crowd for a while, but after having a family, he got out of the life. A couple years later, they busted down his doors and hauled him off.

After his release, he reunited with his wife and daughter and rebuilt that relationship. He was such an amazing storyteller. The emotions, the body language, the way he told a story—I just wish I could do his stories justice.

You could say we worked together for a couple years, not as coworkers, but he delivered parts to a shop I worked at. He would hang out, shoot the shit, and tell stories about his time before prison, during prison, and after. We got along so well because we knew some of the same people, we knew the lifestyle which had broken him, and we just had a lot in common.

One of the stories he told me, I thought I understood at the time. It wasn’t until recently that I realized I really didn’t.

He told me about the day he was released from prison. From the time they put him on the transport van to the airport, it was weird. They were going down the road at what may have been about 45 miles an hour, but he said it felt like hyperspeed to him. It was the first time he had been in a vehicle during daylight hours in nearly a decade. Everything moved by so fast. It was incredible.

After arriving at the airport, they gave him a manilla envelope with his ticket, his papers, and a couple hundred bucks cash. Then they basically drop-kicked him to the curb and wished him luck.

The airport experience was INSANE. The colors, so many colors. The beautiful women—shit, every woman was beautiful. But the scary part was how fast everyone was moving. It seemed like everyone in the airport was in a rush to get somewhere, and that actually scared him.

See, in prison, people don’t move fast and scatter unless shit is about to pop off. So his senses were on super high alert. All these people moving quickly in every direction probably looked to him like something was about to happen.

It was freaking him out so bad that he ran off into the bathroom to hide and calm down.

After finally calming down and leaving the bathroom, he said he had to focus on something calming. That didn’t take long.

During his time inside, tight yoga pants had become the fashion of choice, the travel attire for a lot of women, and he picked up on that pretty quick. All these beautiful women walking around wearing pants that left nothing to the imagination.

Maybe life outside won’t be so bad!

I heard that story from him years ago and thought I understood it. I could understand why being thrown from 13 years of prison into a busy airport would be overwhelming. I just didn’t understand what that actually felt like.

It wasn’t until after my brain surgery that I could finally relate.

A couple months after surgery, I had to go to the hospital for lab work and to pick up a prescription. My wife drove me in. Two simple errands. Nothing complicated.

We walked in and the place was PACKED.

The lights were super bright, people were rushing in all directions, and it was loud and chaotic. I got my number to get my prescription, and my wife got the number for my lab work.

We hadn’t even been there that long. Maybe 10 minutes.

I looked at her and told her I needed to get the hell out of there. I was gonna lose my shit.

It wasn’t just the noise. It wasn’t just the lights or all the people moving around. It was EVERYTHING. Every sense was being hit at the same time. My central nervous system was all jacked up after the brain surgery, and my body was trying to heal. But at that moment, it felt like every damn thing around me was turned up way too loud.

I had to retreat to the car. The car was the safe place. Quiet. Familiar. And my dog was there.

Not only was the anxiety kicking into overdrive, but so was my anger, and that scared me. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I stayed in there.

I got in the car, and my Rottweiler lap dog came up to comfort me and protect me.

It wasn’t until later, looking back on that day, that I thought about my buddy and that airport.

Holy shit.

I finally understood.

He had spent 13 years in an environment where his nervous system had learned what was normal and what meant danger. Fast movement and people scattering meant something was happening. Then, in one day, he was dumped back into a world where everything moved fast, everything was bright, there were people everywhere, and none of it was actually dangerous.

But his body didn’t know that yet.

That was the part I finally understood.

My situation was obviously different. I hadn’t spent 13 years in prison. But my brain surgery had changed the way I experienced the world around me. Things that used to be normal could suddenly become overwhelming. Noise, light, movement, crowds, smells—it could all pile on at once.

My buddy had to retrain his system to live in the outside world.

I’m having to learn how to retrain mine.

And somewhere along the way, my dog decided she was going to help.

My Rotty was not previously trained as a service dog, but she has stepped up into the role. Over the last number of months, she has put herself between me and people or situations. Somehow, she just knew.

She went nearly everywhere with us before, but now, unless it’s food or doctor-related, she is there. Even on the other trips, she rides along and hangs out in the car while we do our thing. She has become my protector and, in her own way, trained herself to be my service dog.

Now, as I’ve learned to be more aware of the way my body is healing—or not healing—and how I need to adjust, I also know she won’t be around forever.

That thought scares the hell out of me.

So I need to get myself squared away.

Just like my buddy had to retrain his central nervous system, I need to do the same. He had a couple advantages over me. One, he did it over many years. Two, he wasn’t fighting a nervous system that had been damaged and was also trying to heal.

I’m trying to do this while my body is still figuring out what the hell happened to it.

It’s been a short timeframe, but a long fucking journey. And I know the journey has just started.

So it’s time to drop it into 4-Low and get ready for a rough ride.

But you know what they say.

Rough roads lead to beautiful places.

About the Author

Tom Neal is the founder and writer behind Bigfoot Trails Basecamp, an independent adventure media project built around real experiences, honest storytelling, and the people and places found along the way. His work has also appeared in Quick Throttle Magazine and the Freedom Newsletter.

Bigfoot Trails Basecamp isn’t about selling a lifestyle or pretending every adventure is perfect. It’s about getting out there, doing the thing, and telling the story when you get back.