After work, my hubs and I went on a mountain bike ride with a wee friend of mine. She brought along two other gals. None of these girls are beginners, and they’ve all got mondo bikes, like Nelly. (Yes, my bike has a name and don’t be surprised when I’ve written a song about her. I know — eye roll– I’ve already started it!) These ladies are really good bikers. Tonight though, I sucked. I sucked hard. I also realized how it truly sucks to suck.
You read that right. Casual Sets. Clever team name, huh? What a fun tourney! Heck any tourney would have been a fun tourney after over a year of no tourneys, but this one is especially fun. Put on by our local Capital Area Tennis Association, most all of us approach it as a “just for fun” tourney even though you can advance to a statewide tourney if you take it all. Of course, we’re tennis players, we like to win, DUH, but we Continue reading “Casual Sets at the Combo Tourney… BOOM!”→
Glorious, fuzzy yellow balls! Oh, and the sound… it’s just one of those things like, like… horse smells. You know, if you’re a horse person, you love the way they smell. Back me up here horse peeps. It’s just a thing. I get it! But the sound of a racket striking a ball solid and hard, I love that sound! And so there were balls, and friends, and miss-hits, and crap serving (a weird disconnect has happened… it feels so foreign), but I got to hit, and feel and hear. And move! I couldn’t last all that long, though, disappointingly, the knee started to get annoyed. So, I did what I was supposed to do. I stopped!
Okay, I stopped playing tennis like a good girl, but not having fun. Of course, there was celebratory eating and drinking with the besties and the hubs. I love these people, and not just because of tennis! I just do.
And, tonight I actually get to hit my regular session at my club. I think that I will skip the drills class after, just because that’s probably more than I should do. What did the PT say? “Be smart. (bawhahha) Don’t go from 0-100 in one day, or even week.” Fine. I will try to breathe despite the cedar pollen that will attempt to kill me. I will try to get my timing back. I will try to get some stamina in my quad and get all those wimpy little atrophied muscles up and firing! One thing is quite clear, it will (obviously) ROCK my world to hit balls two days in a row.
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
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.
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.
My count down timer seems to be working over in the side bar. That’s the good news, but right now, I’m seriously doubting I’ll ever get to play tennis again. I want to throw things, like glasses that will shatter and make a big mess and a lot of noise. I always want to make things crash when I get extremely frustrated. Since May, I’ve been off the courts and hobbling around like I’m twenty years older, no, maybe 40 years older. It has not been easy for me to slow down. Well, we upped my workout the other day, and the PT said, “monitor for the next 24 hours, so we’ll know if we need to adjust what we did. If you have pain or swelling, we’ll need to back off.” Well, there was some pain. Then, we left for Auburn, AL to meet some very old (as in time, not age), very dear friends for the Texas A&M – Auburn game. Even before we left the airport, I was limping badly and trying not to think about the pain, the twinges that make me jerk involuntarily as I walk. I was just happy to get going. My friends and I have been apart for years. How do we let life do that?
And, just so you know, I felt 20 years younger, because some things just never change. Friend holds finger up in the air, “I feel a drunk front blowing through…” How old are we? People got referred to by nicknames, “Lose-A-Koozie” and we stayed up til almost 3 the first night drinking, playing guitar and singing badly. Friday night, rest assured, I felt no pain. Saturday morning, though, I thought my head would fall off! Self induced, though it was, it was part allergies and part well, let’s go with dehydration. We were at the tailgater by noon and the game wouldn’t start until 3:30. I drank lots of water and sat in a chair for a very long time because standing hurt, and not just my head. My knee was speaking to me. Loudly. In tongues.
I will throw out there right now, that Auburn fans are the most gracious fans I’ve ever experienced. My husband, Lose-A-Koozie and I were tailgating with our buddy’s friends (Auburn grads) who’ve been doing this for almost 20 years. We were the maroon dots in a sea of orange and were completely blown away by the hospitality and genuine welcome we got from everyone! There will definitely be another post about that, soon!
I slowed the whole group down on the limp to the game. My husband and I sat on the complete opposite side of the stadium from our friends. We were right next to the Fightin’ Texas Aggie Band, which was a super thrill for
me. However, the walk was long and painful. Instead of enjoying that air of excitement, the pagentry and the joy of people watching, I was concentrating on every f(*&^%ing step. What the mother-freaking hell was going on? I had packed very light (clothes wise) and only had the one pair of boots. I had obviously not been thinking, because on the last trip, they got worn once, because of knee pain. They were all I brought, and I suffered. They’re just black, biker looking boots. They don’t have a high heel, but there’s just something about them that aggravates my knee, ugh. The game was completely exciting and thrilling to the last few seconds. The Auburn fans around us were so nice, in fact, when the woman to my right left, we hugged each other. She was adorable. Even in defeat, they were gracious beyond measure.
We got back to the house, much, much later, we all sat down to watch the LSU – Bama game and I got out my ice pack and put my leg up. Holy spit fire, this was not funny. This is when the sinking feeling began to really kick in. Like a ton of bricks. I started to freak out. There, in the after glow of a glorious game, and beautiful day, I sat with my friends and began an internal, private, full-on spaz attack. Here I am with my count down timer, steadily counting down my remaining sans tennis days. I’ve done nothing, and I mean really nothing to speak of since my PT appointment. How the hell will I be able to get on the court in 26 days if walking brings the pitchforks of pain? Doubt crept in. I got up and went to bed before anyone else.
The closest I’ve ever come to flat out tears about this whole debacle happened in the Atlanta airport on Sunday. I seriously wanted a lift in a wheelchair. Imagine my frustration. I am not pre-surgery. I have HAD my knee “fixed.” I was back to pre-surgery pain levels. At one point, I had to stop and rest it. Standing in the staggeringly long security line, hot tears filled my eyes. I was staring straight ahead, the hubs standing close behind me. I almost lost it there for a long minute. It felt pretty helpless… hopeless and exceedingly frustrating. This morning, after a lot of ice last night, getting barefoot, and ditching those damned boots, it feels a bit better. Still though, the fact that just a few days ago, I joyously announced to the world that I’d be back in 30 days, just doesn’t seem remotely possible. Right about now, (funk soul brother… sorry, that’s how my random ADHD brain works… someone uses a phrase, even if it’s myself, and part of me blurts whatever comes next)… anyway, now, I’m just hoping that I get back to the courts at all. Sometime. Anytime. I’m watching my count down, but my excitement and anticipation are dissipating quickly.