Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Compressed
As mentioned earlier, I'm post-knee surgery. At this time, it's been 4.5 weeks since I last ran. Prior to that, I had been averaging 15-25 miles per week, running three to five days per week. I felt good. I felt fucking sane.
So, you can see where this is going...
After the injury but pre-surgery, I cycled and swam. The cycling was enough to wear me out, and I love the exhilaration that comes with riding a bike at speed, but it still wasn't running.
Fast forward, post-surgery and I'm doing push-ups on the hotel room floor, knee all bandaged up. The Percocet sucks every ounce of endurance from me, I feel weak and numb. Mostly, I just sleep and follow an ice/percocet routine.
Physical therapy is doing a fabulous job rehabilitating my knee, Sarah keeps changing the routine, but there's only so many calisthenics a man can do. I'm tossing medicine balls, doing long planks, push-ups and crunches till I lie there aching, but all it does is build up the tension even greater. I'm like a spring, compressed to the point of coil bind, aching for release.
Running makes me calm, workouts make me aggressive. I need to release.
So, you can see where this is going...
After the injury but pre-surgery, I cycled and swam. The cycling was enough to wear me out, and I love the exhilaration that comes with riding a bike at speed, but it still wasn't running.
Fast forward, post-surgery and I'm doing push-ups on the hotel room floor, knee all bandaged up. The Percocet sucks every ounce of endurance from me, I feel weak and numb. Mostly, I just sleep and follow an ice/percocet routine.
Physical therapy is doing a fabulous job rehabilitating my knee, Sarah keeps changing the routine, but there's only so many calisthenics a man can do. I'm tossing medicine balls, doing long planks, push-ups and crunches till I lie there aching, but all it does is build up the tension even greater. I'm like a spring, compressed to the point of coil bind, aching for release.
Running makes me calm, workouts make me aggressive. I need to release.
In Limbo, so a new blog...
I'm in limbo right now, in oh so many ways. I'm away from home at the moment, so I'm feeling a bit like a refugee, and fresh knee surgery won't allow me to run off the stress I'm feeling.
For the sake of context and to satisfy the self-confessional needs of blogging, I'm a 45 yo male IT worker (there's a fucking surprise). I was widowed four years ago, and it hurt, but not as badly as the way it was subsequently used against me emotionally for years afterwards.
By the time I freed myself from that emotionally-abusive relationship, I'd temporarily lost my health, my motorsports hobby, my hometown, and my 25 year long pack a day smoking habit. I visited a doctor for the first time in years, and she said: "all that shit you've been doing, stop. All that shit you haven't been doing, start. You need 30 minutes of exercise every day, for you, an hour or more would be better. Don't even think about ever picking up a cigarette again, you're an addict."
So, I went out and quit doing the shit I'd been doing, and started doing the shit I hadn't.
And here I am, eight months later, in limbo, recovering from a meniscus tear I suffered while running, away from home, and feeling like a refugee.
For the sake of context and to satisfy the self-confessional needs of blogging, I'm a 45 yo male IT worker (there's a fucking surprise). I was widowed four years ago, and it hurt, but not as badly as the way it was subsequently used against me emotionally for years afterwards.
By the time I freed myself from that emotionally-abusive relationship, I'd temporarily lost my health, my motorsports hobby, my hometown, and my 25 year long pack a day smoking habit. I visited a doctor for the first time in years, and she said: "all that shit you've been doing, stop. All that shit you haven't been doing, start. You need 30 minutes of exercise every day, for you, an hour or more would be better. Don't even think about ever picking up a cigarette again, you're an addict."
So, I went out and quit doing the shit I'd been doing, and started doing the shit I hadn't.
And here I am, eight months later, in limbo, recovering from a meniscus tear I suffered while running, away from home, and feeling like a refugee.
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