Patience is a virtue.

I won’t lie, I want to take off and be right back where I was the morning of October 29 – uninjured. I did my first wog yesterday, and I was told I would be sore.

I. AM. SORE.

I. AM. TIGHT.

I. AM….. injured?

So okay, a long tendon was pulled into two pieces a few weeks back, and that might require some healing, I get it. My muscles atrophied after not being able to use them for a while. Yep, got that too. I have to be patient.

Ooooo, yea ok that’s where you lost me.Image result for tear

I don’t do patience. Patience is another word for “loss of control” or “you just aren’t strong enough”.

I am recovering twice as fast as I was told I would. Is that good enough? Nope. Because I have no paaaaatienceeeee.

So I got up this morning intent to go do another mile. My leg said, ha, no you will NOT. Do your PT and be patient. Try again tomorrow, you crazy bitch.

Then it shed a small tear.

The Bitch is back!

Ladies and gentlemen, I am BACK. After six weeks of recovery from a ruptured tendon in my calf, I wogged this morning!

Little over a mile. Not far, not fast. I was told four to six months before I’d be back. I’m not completely to my old self, but I showed up. Take that four months and shove it, burn it, bury it.

You know it’s hard when you can’t do something. Eat sugar, smoke a cigarette. You want to do it more because you can’t. Ahh that little feel good because I did something this morning, pride or esteem or just not being a lazy shit.

I earn a Smiling Sloth!

Now I’m gonna have to go ice. Bye.

 

 

 

PT sucks awesomely!

I am a week in to my physical therapy, and boy can I tell a difference! I am now down to one crutch and my boot. I feel like a new woman!

And oh it is painful, the PT I mean. This man is torturing me, hurting me, making me hurt MYSELF, and it is lovely. Tears stream as he pokes his fingers straight into the part of my calf that is bruised yellow and angry.

I can now stand without holding on to anything, I can use one hand to open a door, I can obsessively clean coffee tables and get up off the toilet! (this image shows all the muscles used for that) Yeah it takes me three times as long as a normal person, but who cares??? I can now hobble!

He told me four more weeks in the boot. I’m shooting for two. I live for beating deadlines.

Never whine about your time.

Well, well, well. Isn’t this funny. A month ago I would have been quite devastated with wogging a 15-minute mile.

Today, I can’t walk two steps.

But I will. And I won’t care about my pace.

I received my official diagnosis today… right plantaris rupture. It’s a muscle/tendon. Not a big one either, the bastard. BOINK. In two pieces. Nope, didn’t happen wogging, happened when someone stepped on me at work while we were moving fast. No surgery (whew!). Just heals in two pieces and the Achilles takes over. Hurts like a son of a bitch though. At least now I know the pain was real and I’m not a weak pansy ass.

Walk normal = 6 weeks. Wog = 4-6 months.

I started wogging back in May. I haven’t been active in years, wogging 9-10 miles a week made me feel powerful. On hot summer mornings, sweating and heaving. Rain. Celebrating cool fall mornings. Bursitis. Shin splints. LOVING it. I was finally doing something that was mine, doing something that made me feel accomplished. It was hard, I was improving. Buying cool gear for my ‘sport’! Proud of myself. Ran my first 5K three weeks ago.

Won’t be doing the one this weekend I signed up for. I won’t be doing one for a long time.

No weight on that leg now. Just crutches, an air boot. No driving. Just sitting on my ass. The ass that will just get fatter and fatter.

PT will be a bitch, but it gets me back to where I need to be. I’m going to do it and do it well. Watch me.

I’m not quitting, I’m not giving it up. But I will be starting over with a new perspective.

Nice boot and lessons learned.

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I have to say, I didn’t really understand the crap that comes along with injury. I broke my arm really bad when I was 13 and had a cast for four months. At 13, it was super cool. At 41, this is not cool.

I have a nice new boot, see? Fashion statement it is not. At first, it was like a torture device but now it makes hobbling on crutches easier. Not easy, easiER. I can’t put any weight on that leg, so the struggle is real.

It’s been just a week, but I’ve learned a lot: Toilets are way too low. Most doors don’t open themselves, and those are the heaviest doors. Standing on one leg to brush your teeth is harder than you think. Sometimes crawling is the best way to go. You have to either cry or scream to not implode. Stairs SUCK. It’s not always worth the effort to go pee. You can’t carry a coffee cup with just two fingers. Pain hurts, a lot. Driving is a privilege. Sitting naked on the edge of the tub to take a shower is not a good look, ever. It is possible to miss cleaning the house, cooking, and doing laundry.

crutches

But here are the REAL things I have learned this week:

Being able to wog at ANY speed is a gift.

It could always be worse, so try to be grateful in the midst of tears.

Having someone to help you that also loves you is a blessing beyond words.

Personal pity parties are okay, but try to make a joke soon after.

Sometimes you have to give people directions, but don’t think they will do it like you would do it. Let it go.

If you think you are too weak/sore/tired to stand up even one more time, do it anyway. You don’t have a choice.

You are valued by those around you more than you realized, and perhaps more than they did too.

I had an MRI yesterday, and I go back to the orthopedic surgeon Monday to get the results and next steps. Here’s praying that it’s PT and this chapter is nearing the end. Crutches crossed!!!