Today's Tuesday Tune was going to be all about alliterations, in that I'd take all of the alliterative tunes in my library and put them up here for all an any to enjoy. I've made it through just the Cs, however, and I've got a hundred tunes already. This one will take some work. So, until I figure out how to pair it down some, it will wait.
In the mean time, today's Tuesday Tune is Achilles Last Stand - Led Zeppelin. Now is the last stand this dumb Achilles has at keeping me down. I plan to put my Boat on a River and dip my heel in the Styx.
Friends, Mormons, and Fellow Nutjobs.... I haven't been running in a month.
Being injured was somewhat fun for the first two weeks. I took it easy, I shellacked and chilled. I was pleasant and patient, then patient and pleasant. But then, when the two weeks were up, and I went out for a casual stroll, I was stopped in my tracks after one very short, very slow mile, then had to walk home. I cried real tears. (But don't tell anyone 'cause, like, no one really knows about my giant inner-baby.)
After a good cry, I vowed to take yet another week off. This week was different, however, because I had plans to add some Physical Therapy to the mix. Some heat, some ultrasound, some astym, some stretching. Last Thursday, the therapist gave strict instructions: Run one half mile. Only one half mile. No more. Even if you feel good. I made it an entire 1/2 mile without any pain. Things were looking up!
Today, the plan was to up it a mile, for a total of 1.5. Let's just ease into this running thing, shall we? Okay! This morning, I jumped on a dreadmill, with high-1.5-mile hopes – hopes that would be smashed into oblivion after exactly .49 of a mile. A globule of pain lodged itself on the inner side of my left soleus, drew itself into a ball of NO WAY! and gave the achilles a nice, solid tug.
And now I'm back to the square I was at four weeks ago. Yay. I'm turning into a giant nay-saying ninny. I'm wondering if I'll ever run again. I'm wondering if my favorite tool for managing the game of "life" is going away for good. I'm trying to stay positive. Honest. But it's just... it just... it's just... heart breaking.
Today, I had physical therapy planned. He asked how things were going. I became a begging mess... "Please!" I said, "Give me a stress fracture instead! I can do a stress fracture. I cannot do this!"
So, here I am, in a new position where I must reinvent all sorts of things.
I have to reinvent exercise. The elliptical is a bad, bad, boring thing, cross-country skiing is wonderful, but, like I have three hours a day to do that. Biking is great too, but again, a time sucker.
I have to reinvent my social life. I haven't seen most of my running buddies in a month. We meet early in the morning... that was the only time we had together. Now that I can't keep up, my social life is missing in action.
I have to reinvent fun. Good grief how will I do that? Take up scrapbooking? Again? Please say it won't happen. PLEASE! Also, cleaning the house is not an option, so don't tell me about how my house can get clean now because I'm going to use all that extra energy cleaning it.
I have to reinvent passion. I'm all sorts of passionate about running. I love to feel my heart beat and my lungs breath. I am soothed by the sound of my feet pounding pavement. What, pray tell, will replace this passion?
I have to reinvent my self concept. I like food. A lot. There is no other exercise around that will allow me to eat the way I want and still fit into my current attire. Perhaps it's time I become acquainted with, and like, more of me?
Do you see the trouble with this reinvention stuff? I'm no inventor. I test software for crying-out-loud. I point out engineering problems and say, "You better fix this before a customer comes hollering."
I do, however, take comfort in the fact that I have some great friends. Friends who understand. Like today, Megan added some consolation in an e-mail. "Oh, and you not being able to run? For a month? Are we at war with Canada yet? 'Cause that's some serious shit."
I also take comfort in the fact that, sometimes, I get to come up with solutions at work; solutions that will keep the hollering customer to a minimum. It's not true reinvention, but creating a solution can be a close second.
I also, also take comfort in the fact that no one reads this blog any more. For here lies extra proof that I'm a pathetic mess!
Today I shall wallow in my own self-pity. After today it will stop. Tomorrow I shall be grateful 'n stuff, and will find some solutions. Just watch.
(If you feel up to it, you could provide some of your own solutions, solutions you might have discovered when you found yourself in a similar injury-laden boat.)
This blog has proven itself useful when it comes to remembering details. For example, Spouse and I had a recent conversation about Fart Fishes, that, had I not taken the time to document, would have been lost forever. Forever! Can you imagine a Forever that doesn't include Fart Fishes?
Today I plan to play catch-up. So, it is with pleasure and loads of sarcasm, that I present you with "What's Up – The 2012 Edition." It's way random, which is altogether fitting because I'm way random.
Spouse got us new internet for Christmas. He bought us a new modem and signed us up for more megabits and more megapieces. Life has changed around here. Downloads are lightning-quick, and streaming is (mostly) seamless. Oh, dearest, beloved internet, how I love you so. I loved you so before the upgrade. Now, however? My love for you is down right lusty. (No, I'm not into porn, so not that kind of lusty. More of an information-at-your-fingertips kind of lusty.)
Speaking of streaming, streaming's the only way we watch TV. We have ditched the cable and the dish, for the up-and-coming internet technology. Lately, we're into that show Psych. Holy smokes that's a funny one. We are almost through season 5. When we finish Season 5, we'll prolly go back to Season 1 and watch it all over again. Watching TV shows after the fact is the only way to go... no wasted time on commercials.
Speaking of commercials, sometimes I miss the commercials. Some commercials can be quite funny. Like this one:
'Cept I'm not going to post it because each youtube offering has loads of offended folks leaving F-bombs. Come on... if you cannot make fun of yourself, life will cease to be fun. Get it? The only way to have fun is to make fun. I think the F-bomb is lazy way to insult. It lacks any and all creativity. Like, if you feel the urge and/or need to tell someone to eff-off, there's got to be a clevererererer way to do it. Like, you could say, "I was going to tell you to eff off but decided not to 'cause I'm way clevererererererer."
Speaking of F-bombs, I get lots of them in my line of work. It's joyous. I used to take it personally but have since decided that it's a lazy way to insult, and only people for which I need to be sorry use it when requesting help. As if your effing adjectives and effing adverbs will procure a desire for me to assist you immediately. As if. Lemme give you a little hint.... "please" and "thank you" work wonders above and beyond eff'n thises or eff'n thats.
Speaking of my job, I've worked 55 days in a row. Granted, they are not full days, but a day I can't jet nonetheless. I had thought about taking a day off somewhere around day 40 but decided working that many days is fine fodder for bragging, and 60 days would be a nice, round, bragging number. I will take a day off after I hit 60. Something tells me that I'll be rearing for a full day off at day 60 and won't be able to do it... Or, that day 60 will roll around and I'll say, "Forget about 60! Let's go the whole season!"
Speaking of jets and days off, I've skied exactly once this year. And it wasn't even a full day. I'd really love to blame this on something, but honestly, I haven't had the desire. Not a lot of snow has landed this year. Also, the Yahoos aren't into it much and I cannot muster the cheerleading required to make them go.
Also speaking of jets and days off, Megan and Jessica talked me into running the NYC marathon again. We wacky three have planned an inter-statial rendezvous. Can't wait.
Speaking of Megan, she sent me these fun socks, they're anatomy socks.
Speaking of anatomy, then speaking of running, I'm injured. Good grief it's about time. I've been waiting for this to happen so that I can take some time off. Kidding. Totally kidding. I'm going out of my mind.
Speaking of injury and pain, Yahoo #2 lost his third tooth. He tugged on that thing for weeks, then finally allowed Spouse to yank it with pliers. Strange. You should see that kid get his teeth cleaned. He cries and bawls like someone's jamming toothpicks under his finger and toenails.
Speaking of finger and toenails, I trimmed the Yahoo's nails today. This is necessary for piano practice.
Speaking of piano practice, the Yahoo's piano teachers are moving to an as-of-yet unknown location. Yahoo #1's teacher (Josh) has applied entry to the DMA program at many schools. The closest school is in Cleveland, and the furthest (farthest?) is New York, I think. (Julliard... funny how the Cleveland school is a better school, yet Julliard carries more weight among the non musically educated. Or so I've heard. Also, DMA stands for Doctorate of Musical Arts or something like that.) Since Yahoo #2's piano teacher is married to Yahoo #1's piano teacher (Lindsey) that means she moves too. She has a DMA from the University of Utah. She's fancy like that. Also, drop-dead gorgeous. Wow.
Speaking of Lindsey, the Rabid has made arrangements for piano lessons this summer. At Yahoo #2's recital, I watched her play, and I watched her students play. Right then I thought, "She's moving away. What if they move away forever and I never have the chance to take lessons from her?!" That's when I sweet-talked her into some summer schooling.
Speaking of schooling, I've been schooling myself about food, and more specifically, the origin of food. It all started with a mad dose of documentaries. I watched King Corn, then Food, Inc. and a few others. I've since decided that the egg is the perfect food because it's loaded with protein and has minimal processing. I've been eating a lot of eggs lately. The trouble, however, is eggs can be pretty boring and I've had to look for recipes. Shakshura is my favorite egg dish thus far.
Speaking of recipes, I've found Pinterest. I don't use Pinterest to follow people... I really couldn't give a crap about what other people are surfing. Pinterest is how I've decided to manage the muchiness of the Internet. Sometimes the internet just has too much stuff. Don't you think? It's very muchy. How do you harness this muchiness? Lemme tell ya: Pinterest. I use Pinterest to organize stuff on the internet. When I see something that I want to remember, something I really like – a Shakshura recipe for example – I pin it and classify. Pins are the ultimate internet bookmark. All visual and stuff.
Speaking of the internet, Spouse got us new internet for Christmas. He bought us a new modem and signed us up for more megabits and more megapieces. Life has changed around here.
Lots has been going on around here, yet nothing has been going on around here. How is it that so little can happen when so much is going on? Baffling, I say. Baffling. There's so much I need to tell you all!
I need to tell you all that my job is crazy time-consuming right now, but that I love it. Which means I need to tell you that I'm embarrassed to admit that I love a job that has to do with taxes. This would then lead into me telling you that my job is a really a problem-solving job that involves taxes as opposed to a tax job that has a few problems to solve on the side. See, there's a huge difference between a problem-solving tax-time job and tax-time problem-solving job. It's like having ice cream with just a little chocolate syrup as opposed to dish of chocolate syrup with only a dollop of ice cream.
I just totally compared my tax job to ice cream. Wow.
I have lots to say. Eventually, I want to document the nitty gritty details of the Houston Marathon. It was a great experience and I want to make sure I remember it. Today (tonight, actually) I don't have the gumption and/or drive to write it up, so the entire documentation of said Houston Marathon will need to wait.
What will not wait, however, is a full-on recap of something that happened a few weeks before the marathon, and how I was riding that dreaded teeter-totter o' injury. (It's March now, so we'll spice up the internet with an obnoxious display of o'thises and o'thats.)
Two weeks before marathon day, I developed a calf-strain. It was a day just like today, only it was a stressful day. We had made a huge purchase and I was having buckets o' stress about this purchase. (See... I need to tell you about this purchase too!) I jumped up to go grab something, when out of nowhere, a giant shark bit my calf! It was an inner-shark really, more like a calf knot shark that went on strike and yelled "NO MORE." That calf bite stopped me in my tracks. I was on the couch for a day or two.
I'm prone to calf issues. I try to frequent a deep tissue massage at least once a month to keep the calf issues to a minimum. But as luck would have it, I was stressed, the body was feeling "off", and the calf-shark decided to bite.
Now, remember up above? Where I said I was already stressed? With buckets o' stress? Yes, I was stressed, and having a calf strain two weeks before a marathon adds oceans o' stress... or at least an English Channel o'stress.
So what did I do? Did I panic and cry and complain? Yes, but just a little bit. After I had thrown a minor pity-party, I brought out my big-gun injury treatment procedures and began to relax. What are these big-gun treatments o' injury procedures? Here they are... in x amount of steps. (Where x is the number that I end up with when I'm finished.)
Step One: Don't panic. Panic does not help the body recover. Relax, grab some movies, sit around and chill. And I do mean chill. No cross-training, no nothing. Chill. And if it's March then o' chill. (After a few days of chill, then you can start the cross-training.)
Step Two: Send blood to the injury. This involves going to the freezer for that blood you set aside a few weeks back – you know, that blood you were hoping to inject for extra umph a few days before the day o' the race – and injecting that blood directly into the site o' the injury.
Totally kidding, of course. Like I have syringes and whatnot at my disposal for doing stuff like this. As if.
For reals, though, send some blood to the injury. Injury treatment is all about tricking the body. You need to trick that body of yours into sending all the blood it can to the injured area. The more blood in the area, the quicker the body will heal. Some people say this can be accomplished with some metaphysical bull-honkey – you know, where you imagine little tiny blood-cell men, marching straight to the injury with swords, salves and syringes. But this is not the trickery I mean. The trickery I'm talking about is temperature shock. That is, get the area as hot as you can stand it, then get it as cold as you can stand it.
On the first day o' injury, apply cold. Do not apply heat. After a day or two, switch it up with some hot-cold-hot-cold action, and make sure you listen to that Katy Perry hot then yer cold, PMSing like a bee-otch tune while you do it. (Note: Always, always, ALWAYS, end on cold. I don't know why, I just always do. ALWAYS.)
The calfs and ankles are my spots o' trouble. Therefore, you'll find me doing the hot-cold-hot-cold ritual the minute I feel something isn't right. For example, during the last couple of days, my left calf has been acting up. And when the calf acts up, it pulls on the achilles. The achilles is not something you mess with, like, ever, so the minute I full an uncomfortable o' yankery, the feet and calves go a soaking.
Usually, I fill one side of my sink with water o' hot-as-hades, and dump a bag of ice with cold water in the other. Then I soak in the hot for 5-10 minutes, switch it to ice-bath for 5-10 and repeat – always, always, ALWAYS ending on cold. (Just trust me on the ALWAYS part, it works.)
Here's the cool part about this little ritual o' mine: after you finish, you can feel all sorts of extra blood pumping it's way to the injury. That area has been shocked with temperature, and the body panics by sending blood. It's totally terrific. You should try it some time. If you're lucky like me, you can get a Yahoo to join. And if you're really lucky, he'll protect you with a fully-automatic lego-assault rifle.
Step Two Point Five: Sterilize the sink.
Step Three: Take some ibuprofen. For ibuprofen is the nectar of the gods. And if you believe in only one God, it's proof that He loves us.
Step Four: Find a way to laugh. It ain't the end of the world and it will get better. In the mean time, lighten up and make fun of something, like yourself. For laughter will forever (and ever and ever) be the best of medicines.
Step Five: If you can't find anything to laugh at, get yourself a pound cake and a jar of Nutella.