two and a half weeks since my last work out. while i do wish i could say it was due to another bout of laziness accompanied by a case of the fuckits, it wasn't. motherfucking ankle injury, coming back to haunt me. evil ankle.
my last workout was insanity's pure cardio. i felt fine afterwards, but the next morning as soon as i took a step down the stairs to grab the laundry, i felt a weird twinge and my ankle began to throb. it got worse and worse as the day went on. i wasn't particularly concerned at first, since it was my rest day, so i figured if i took some ibuprofen, iced it a couple times, and stayed off of it as much as i could, i would be good to go the next day.
well, the next day it was still hurting. obviously, i wasn't going to get my run in. and it sucked. despite BF's admonitions to stay the hell off my feet for another day, i ended up being a dumbass and taking the kids for a walk to the store. by the time we got there, it hurt so fucking bad. i'm just glad that my sister was at the store. she gave me a lift home, and i vowed to rest my ankle until it didn't hurt anymore.
resting is not always easy with three kids, three dogs, two cats, and a household to take care of. and to top it all off, i caught a nasty flu on my second day off. it hit me like a ton of bricks, and i was actually bedridden for 2 days. but maybe it was a blessing in disguise, since it kept me off of my feet. i recovered from this death flu just in time for easter. and of course, being the stubborn dumbass that i am, i ended up walking to my mother's for easter, even though i could have easily caught a ride with some relatives. i'm such an idiot sometimes. when i need to be active, i find myself hit with the fuckits and an intense desire to just flop on my bed and watch hours of daytime tv and drink endless coffee. on the other hand, if i am supposed to be taking it easy or if i am in any kind of discomfort, i essentially have to be physically restrained to sit still. it's definitely something i need to work on.
anyway, i eventually gave myself a swift mental kick in the ass and tried to concentrate on the fact that every time i was out walking around and overdoing it even though my ankle was throbbing and screaming out for me to stop, all i was accomplishing was increasing the time it would take for me to recover. which of course leads to less calories burned, and eventually, weight gain. to be honest, right now after not having done anything for over two weeks, i feel like a big fat blob. i KNOW it's all in my head, i know that i didn't pack on any significant amount of weight in these 17 days, and this is reinforced by the fact that the compliments from friends and neighbours are still trickling in. my dear old auntie even told me that she didn't recognize me the other day; apparently, she had mistaken me for "one of those little teeny-boppers." WOOO!! i'll take that compliment, especially since it's been a few years since i've been asked for ID at the liquor store. BUT the thing is, when i'm home i don't think like that. i was seeing the days go by without any workouts, and psychologically at least, i was packing on the pounds. especially in the second week. man, i felt like shit.
just when i thought that my ankle would never EVER heal, and i'd be confined to my couch and/or bed forever, eventually growing to the size of a walrus and needing to be washed by a hose and squeegee by my poor children, it happened. i had to go grocery shopping. i dreaded it, and looked at it as yet another thing that was going to set me back. but what in god's name would we end up being stuck eating if i sent BF?! so i wrapped my ankle and went. surprisingly, i was ok during and after the trip. my ankle didn't pain anymore, but it did feel weak. i made sure to keep up with my ice/ibuprofen/elevating regimen anyway, just to be on the safe side.
yesterday, i was a bit more active. ok, well a lot more. i mopped all of the floors and was up and down the stairs eleventy bajillion times to and from the laundry room. halfway through all of this activity, i stepped in puppy pee with my only ankle wrap. so of course, it had to come off and go into the wash. i was surprised that i really didn't need it anymore. the pain was gone, and even though my ankle felt kind of weak and i was a little nervous that i would be sore at the end of the day, i wasn't.
today, it feels nearly 100%. i'm starting from scratch again though, since i really don't want to be injured again. i'm going to do my oxygen circuit today and see how i feel. if i have no pain, i will be doing the circuit until saturday. i plan to take sunday off, and start fresh on monday with a new running program. it's meant for beginners, and is geared towards people who are trying to transition from a completely sendentary lifestyle to an active one. i think this will be the best way to start in order to prevent injury. i don't dare start running right away, so i will just be walking for the rest of next week. also, i will not be doing any insanity workouts for at least 8 weeks.
just a few days ago, i was depressed. i looked at these two weeks off as time and progress lost. i felt fat, useless, and weak. i see it differently now. my body needed the break from all of the jumping, running, and other high impact punishments i had been putting it through. it has been a learning experience. i realize now that two weeks of rest does not equal failure.
it's not supposed to be like this. people can and do change. right? love is real. isn't it? we're still ok. aren't we?
how can one incident, no matter how frightening, bring me back to this terrifying place that i had thought was long gone and behind us for good? you're right here, right beside me. i can touch you. but i feel completely alone. why do i suddenly feel as if this entire past year has been just a dream, just a sickeningly sweet dream that i am desperately, but hopelessly, grasping at?
why can't you ever apologize? why don't you ever ask if i'm ok? in case you're wondering, i'm not. i'm hurting, torn open, fucking hemorrhaging at the thought of how quickly and easily you reverted back to your old, cruel ways. 8 years, and suddenly i feel like i don't even know you.
what about the past year? where is that sweet, gentle man? was it all a lie, or some hopelessly foolish fantasy that i allowed myself to believe? all of the kisses, all of the hours spent without words, just us, being together. how could you fake all of that?
call me stupid, but it's been real for me. and you can never say i didn't try. i gave you everything, all of me. i worked so hard to be everything: the perfect mom, wife, friend. but for what? when i think of it now, you never noticed how much i was trying. you don't even fucking notice ME, unless of course, i fuck something up.
wait just one fucking minute here, motherfucker. when i started writing this shit, i was in tears, silently sobbing, feeling helpless in the wake of your rage. so i take a break, grab a glass of water, smoke.. come back to read over what i had written..
WHAT IN THE SWEET FLYING FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? fuck you, asshole. you put a hole in my wall, or fuck anything up in my fucking house, expect some fucking nut-sack obliterating wrath. you frighten my children, MY VERY REASONS FOR EXISTENCE, i will fucking end you. you insult my family just because they don't like you, you better go take a flying fuck at a flaming tire, because that's the only thing your dick is getting near.
you're sleeping now. content. peaceful. you know nothing of this other than the defeated look you put on my face, and the tears that you caused to flow against my will. you probably think you've won, broken me some how. you have no fucking idea. i hope you get your fucking rest, you cunt, because you are going to fucking need it.
