It's Friday afternoon, and you know what that means. I've had a cocktail or two and I'm on a rant. Presently, that rant is happening from my bed where I am situated because the inevitable happened. After compensating for my stress fracture in my left foot - continuing to be active, walk, swim, spin, anything I can do to stay in shape when I can't run - I bent over in the shower to pick up the soap (doesn't the soap always slip out of your hands onto the shower floor?) and SNAP. Pulled my right hip out. Of course. I've been going on long walks with the dog in the hard-soled boots that my podiatrist recommended and spinning on the bike. I've been limping my way into the pool which, mind you, is far away from the parking lot of my health club. I've been basically doing everything I did before in hard soled shoes. That's what my podiatrist said I could do.
On Monday, when said stress fracture was diagnosed and said podiatrist told me I could still walk but to be in hard-soled shoes, I knew this would happen. I even said it out loud a few times to friends who are now witnesses. I said, "I can walk, I'm just afraid that compensating is going to cause problems." Why don't I listen to myself?
Do you know why I don't listen to myself? Because everyone else fucking tells me to keep moving. There doesn't seem to be a person alive who will say to me, "Stay off your legs for a little while. Sit still. Lie on the couch. Don't exercise." So of course, skinny, fit, mountain biking, skate skiing gorgeous podiatrist tells me to continue exercising as much as possible. Just don't run. Well fuck. I haven't run thank you very much, now I can't walk or spin or get to the pool to swim.
I want a doctor to say to me, "BG? You are neurotic. You don't need to keep moving all the time. You can sit still for a week or two and let everything heal and you won't blow up like a balloon and everything will be fine."
Alas, that doctor doesn't seem to exist.
Next week SSMG and I go to Belize. We've had this trip planned for a year. I've spent that year calculating how the fuck I'm going to stay in shape when I'm in the middle of nowhere on the beach with nothing to do. The answer to that question? Run. Run wherever you can. Every morning.
So I've spent the last week coming to terms with the fact that I can't run and I have been planning other options. Swim in the ocean, go to town and find a gym. Hike in the jungle and see cool things. This has gotten me through the week since my stress fracture diagnosis.
Now that my hip has given way, here's the bottom line. I am going to spend a week in Belize on my ass. I can't take Crossfit classes at the only gym that exists on the peninsula, and I probably can't even ride the fucking bike I was going to have at my disposal. I will be sitting on my fat ass drinking cocktails on the beach looking at a gorgeous ocean, and reading some books. I will be eating - yes, I will be eating - and I'll be indulging in total and complete utter laziness. So fucking shoot me.
When I come back from my trip looking like a beached whale, I will get back to my neurotic, injury-inducing lifestyle and devote myself to losing 5 pounds for summer so I can live with myself in a bathing suit. For now, please doc, forgive me for being a sloth. Better yet doc, give me permission.
No comments:
Post a Comment