By Cristie Gardner

It began with belief—and a vision.

It would’ve been easy to blame my injury for my inability to walk more than a few yards without being consumed by pain in my legs. But I’ve done the work now—the fierce determination, the sacrifices, the time, the study, the anguished pleas for Divine intervention, and the answered prayers. And today, I can gratefully stand before you—and walk before you—pain-free, and able to go great distances.

Years ago, when I worked for US Airways in Cleveland, Ohio, my station manager told us we had to work on the concrete floors of the airport without any padding beneath our feet. (Apparently, he was more concerned about tripping than protecting our bodies.) As a general agent for the airline, I worked at the ticket counter, lifting bags that often weighed over 50 pounds onto the conveyor. I also boarded passengers and often ran through the terminal to meet arriving aircraft. I loved the job—the people, the constant movement, the little microcosm of humanity I got to serve every day. The free flight perks were a nice bonus, too.

But one day, at the end of a shift, it felt like I was walking on shards of glass—glass that had been shot out of a volcano. I was eventually diagnosed with severe plantar fasciitis and bone spurs. I had never been injured like this before—never had something that didn’t resolve within a few weeks. The company ruled me disabled. But I refused to let that define me. I believed I could change it with sheer willpower and positive thinking.

Over the years, I tried everything: magnets, sonography, platelet-rich plasma injections (which were very painful), massage therapy, physical therapy, muscle integration, and prolozone therapy (absolutely excruciating). And while I had almost accepted the idea of being disabled for life, I never gave up.

What finally made the difference was learning how to retrain my muscles by stretching the opposing muscle groups—teaching them to work in harmony again. Walking involves muscles that counterbalance one another. Without that harmony, the pain never truly leaves.

In a way, it felt like being a baby again—relearning how to balance, how to move, how to engage both sides of my legs equally. Without the polarity—without involving both ends, both sides—healing remained incomplete. Imbalance kept me stuck.

So I began again, but this time, differently. I overhauled my diet, cutting out foods that caused inflammation. I bought a massage gun and, night after night, I went to work—hammering away at tight, knotted muscles, confusing them just enough to soften their resistance. Over time, the inflammation decreased. I was able to stretch. I could walk short distances with less pain. And I practiced—again and again—until the muscles remembered what they were made to do. Until they could move in balance. Until they could relax.

And with movement, came momentum. My body remembered. My weight dropped. My energy returned.

I became the very vision I had in my heart when I first set out to heal.

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