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Strength is often defined by the ways we push our physical limits—running faster, lifting heavier, going farther. That’s just as true for people with medical complexities or chronic illness, whether they’re training, competing, or simply trying to stay active. But the liminal space between one state and another—stop and go, sick and well, good days and bad—is even more important. True strength takes shape in that liminal space.
All athletes understand that physical activity rarely follows a straight, predictable path. Training cycles include recovery days, lighter sessions, and moments of recalibration. Living with medical complexity doesn’t change that. It makes it even more visible. What might otherwise go unnoticed becomes explicit. Adjusting pace or approach isn’t a failure of strength. It’s part of how strength is harnessed and maintained.
For people with medical devices such as a central line, feeding tube, or ostomy, physical activity can come with real logistical concerns. And these aren’t hypothetical questions. They’re part of everyday decision-making.
Questions like:
Answers to these questions can cause a lot of stop and go, or a sense of hurry up and wait. One key part of the solution is proper medical line stabilization. Products like Gus Gear’s LOCK 2000 Vest and LOCK 3000 Belt are designed to secure and protect central lines, feeding tubes, and peritoneal dialysis catheters and their tubing during movement. By reducing the risk of pulling or dressing disruption, they help create a more stable baseline. One where movement feels less uncertain, and consistent activity becomes more possible.
At Gus Gear, we’ve seen how the right securement solution can change what feels possible. Our case study with Keko is one example. A competitive sled hockey player living with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and reliant on a central line, Keko reached a point where even small movements like raising an arm or stepping into the shower risked dislodging their line. After losing multiple lines in a matter of weeks, the question wasn’t whether they wanted to return to the ice. It was whether it was safe to try.
With the addition of a securement vest, that calculation changed. The line stabilized. The risk decreased. And over time, so did the hesitation. Keko returned to the ice with the ability to stay present not just in the game, but with their team. That shift from uncertainty to stability is what makes continued movement possible.
When medical devices are properly supported, possibilities open up. Movement becomes less uncertain. Participation becomes more accessible. What once felt risky can begin to feel routine again. Strength, in this context, isn’t about returning to a previous version of yourself. It’s about continuing forward with the right systems in place. Sometimes that looks like getting back on the ice. Other times, it won’t, and that’s OK too. On those days, strength might look like something smaller and quieter, but no less meaningful. It might just look like hope!