I’ve been in hiding from you. I’ve been hiding from me. Yep, and the truth. It’s been a lame (and futile) attempt to hide from the truth. This snarfing (and drinking, oh I will miss you Pom momtinis) with reckless abandon for the last month under cover of the “holidays” has been asinine, or maybe I should say ASS-and-nine. There’s really no hiding from the truth, is there? So here you go. I said my hips don’t lie and well, dammit if they’re not a full inch bigger.
And I gained ten pounds.
There.
I said it.
Back to the grind.
33 pounds to go.
Yeah. These hips don’t lie. Damn their honesty. (shakes head, looks at ass in mirror… limps away)
Credits roll: A special thanks to Ruby Red Vodka, cheesecake, Krispy Kreme, gluten free baking (I got skills) and the absence of Will Power. You’re a deserting sh*t Will.
My “countdown to the court” timer hit 0 a full WEEK ago. I should be out swinging my racket, breathing in the the lovely 60 degree weather (and the cedarfreakingpollen) pounding little yellow balls and enjoying life. Instead, I’m at home in stretchy pants (yes, I’ve gained 3 pounds from my bottom… my low weight, I should say. I hope it’s not all on my bottom!) It’s not a pretty picture y’all. Stretchy pants, though, VERY cute EcoGirl pants, and fuzzy crocs with socks. I’ve quite obviously hit the bottom.
My problem is that my knee is worse than ever, and not even slightly better. Was it the fact that I missed 3 weeks of PT because they were too busy to see me, and I was too busy to book myself in at another place? Was it the
House Concerts, Good Fun, Hard on Knees, photo courtesy of Ruby C, and Ruby Red!
Ruby Red Vodka and the two-stepping while enjoying a house concert at my very
own house by the amazing band Beat Root? Probably, but really, it wasn’t that crazy. That was 8 days ago. Since that night, and I only danced a couple of songs, and had a few drinks (holds one hand up 5 fingers splayed) my knee’s gone so far south. It shoots sharp pain and then gives way. Well, I’m not sure that it gives way as much as I give way. I make funny old people noises out of the blue when it happens and clutch whatever or whomever is closest. Sometimes my hands just fly up in the air in an unconscious effort to de-weight my knee, much to the surprise and amusement of the people who are blessed just enough to witness this little spaz attack in person. This truly sucks (tennis) balls.
At PT on Wednesday, I could not do basic things, and the PT boy said, “Wow! Your knee is pissed!” Why yes, my boy, and so am I. I’m so pissed, in fact, that I’ve booked an appointment, with the PA of my surgeon, for Tuesday. I might just have to demand another MRI. If we need to go back in there, I wanna do it NOW while all the deductibles are paid. I want to do it now because I’ve wasted so much time. I want to be on the court right NOW. Hell, I’d be happy to just walk without pain or spazzes as the white hot icepick style torture shoots through me.
Oh the horror! I’ve resorted to fuzzy crocs, Ice, and (cute) stretchy pants.
Given my tendency to seek comfort in Gluten free graham crackers stacked with about 10 ultra dark chocolate chips, zapped in the microwave for 30 seconds, 3 pounds probably isn’t bad. So, for right now, please don’t hate the fuzzy crocs, the hair from last night, my ugly metal crutch (I carry around just in case) or the chocolate on my chin. Put your finger on the timer and restart my countdown clock. Let’s see if another 30 days, or another surgery, whichever comes first can reverse this damage. My knee and my soul (not to mention my monkey) are desperate.
So, yes, my one day of eating freely, turned into 3 days of gobbling, AND 3 freaking pounds. The real truth is that I didn’t feel good after doing it. So why, why, why, why did I do it? I’m not stupid. Really, you may beg to differ by now, but I’m really not. I think that I just got tired. I was tired of being vigilant. I got tired of putting forth extra effort to find good food. I got tired of being good-ish and losing so slowly. I was all set to phase off my Ideal Protein regime before Christmas and then resume in the new year. You might have noticed, I got tired of writing. Well, maybe not tired of writing, but lazy on the blog front. I’m sorry. I missed it so. My fingers are flying and my brain is whizzing and my heart feels happy with every word I type.
I’m three pounds up, but I’m back on the horse. I’ve got a renewed vigor and desire to go ahead and tap that bell at the goal line. (What analogy is that? It makes no sense, but I like it. It is staying) To add insult to injury (in a literal sense), I’ve gotten a new Physical Therapy person at a new clinic. My surgeon’s office was great, but their PT guy was so busy that I couldn’t get in and not only was I slacking on the food front, I was slacking on my rehab, which frankly, is flat out astonishing. Unforgivable. I so want to play tennis again and be able to do all my activities without pain and swelling, that I’m kind of flabbergasted that I let life and busy-ness get in my way. I took a break from being good. I was bad.
Monday though, thank God for Monday, I got back on the food wagon. Today, I hit the PT. Holy wow. I love my new gal. She really pushed me. In fact, she said, “Your knee’s gonna be mad, I’m not gonna lie.” I didn’t care. I went from not wanting to change clothes, go out in the cold in shorts, drive to the PT place and get going, to holy crap my legs are wimpy and weak and I’m so glad I got my ass out here to work out. It felt so good! It was a bit disheartening to realize that my good leg is actually my weak leg. What the…??? It was frustrating to have your muscles not respond like they’re supposed to. She promised to make me strong again and re-emphasized that microfracture surgery is kind of a big deal. She reminded me that most athletes don’t get back to their sport for 6 months after that kind of surgery. She was encouraging and kind. She brought me back from the brink of knee hell. Yes, it’s swollen and a wee bit sore, but it hurts so good. Hand me the ice pack, a protein bar and my laptop. I’m back! Dammit, I’m back, with a tiny limp, a few extra pounds and a head of steam. Watch out.
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