Ow.
After some serious slacking, I started going back to the gym in January. For probably the first time ever, I had a really positive attitude about it. I was excited about working out, I was enjoying both the strength training and the dreaded cardio, and I was really happy to be making such a positive change in my life. I was determined to keep at it, and in order to keep from becoming bored with the same thing day after day I decided to try new things. On the 19th of January, my new thing was jumping rope for the cardio portion of my workout.
Jumping rope? Not the same at 34 as at 13. Jumping rope kicked my ass. It also seriously hurt my feet, which were encased at the time in shoes that were perhaps not in top shape. The day after The Great Jumping Rope Incident, I considered amputating them in order to relieve the pain. I was in absolute agony with every single step.
Things have not improved but rather have, instead, gone downhill. Now my legs hurt, too. Below the knee, pretty much always. The knees, relatively often. Above the knees, a couple of times a week. I'm sure the leg pain is a result of walking strangely to compensate for the foot pain, but that knowledge doesn't make it any more fun to deal with. And now my lower back is starting to hurt, too.
I'm taking Advil every four to six hours, spending quite a bit of time with my bag-o'-frozen-peas ice pack, and planning my activities based on the amount of pain I'm willing to endure later that day or early the next. On Tuesday, I stopped on my way home to pick up my new glasses, and ended up walking an extra few blocks as a result. Yesterday I could hardly walk, and I'm still feeling it today.
The pain sucks. It is truly no fun at all. Worse, though, is the frustration and the feeling of limitation. On Monday when we had our glorious spring day, I wanted very much to walk around the lake. There's no way I'd have made it without hurting myself; walking out to the swing and back was more than I should have done. I'd love to start working out again, but the walk from the bus stop to the gym is excruciating. The idea of dragging my carcass a couple of miles on the treadmill fills me with hysterical dread. The elliptical machine, rowing machine, and bikes are no better. The lower-body weights are torture devices now, too.
I know that this is a temporary thing. I know that if I take care of myself and don't push it, I will get better and all will be well again. And still I feel as though I'm on the outside of my life, looking in, unable to fully participate. I cannot imagine what it must be like to live with a chronic illness that limits activity and choice. What I'm going through is nothing like that, and I know it, but it definitely helps me to better empathize and sympathize.
Jumping rope? Not the same at 34 as at 13. Jumping rope kicked my ass. It also seriously hurt my feet, which were encased at the time in shoes that were perhaps not in top shape. The day after The Great Jumping Rope Incident, I considered amputating them in order to relieve the pain. I was in absolute agony with every single step.
Things have not improved but rather have, instead, gone downhill. Now my legs hurt, too. Below the knee, pretty much always. The knees, relatively often. Above the knees, a couple of times a week. I'm sure the leg pain is a result of walking strangely to compensate for the foot pain, but that knowledge doesn't make it any more fun to deal with. And now my lower back is starting to hurt, too.
I'm taking Advil every four to six hours, spending quite a bit of time with my bag-o'-frozen-peas ice pack, and planning my activities based on the amount of pain I'm willing to endure later that day or early the next. On Tuesday, I stopped on my way home to pick up my new glasses, and ended up walking an extra few blocks as a result. Yesterday I could hardly walk, and I'm still feeling it today.
The pain sucks. It is truly no fun at all. Worse, though, is the frustration and the feeling of limitation. On Monday when we had our glorious spring day, I wanted very much to walk around the lake. There's no way I'd have made it without hurting myself; walking out to the swing and back was more than I should have done. I'd love to start working out again, but the walk from the bus stop to the gym is excruciating. The idea of dragging my carcass a couple of miles on the treadmill fills me with hysterical dread. The elliptical machine, rowing machine, and bikes are no better. The lower-body weights are torture devices now, too.
I know that this is a temporary thing. I know that if I take care of myself and don't push it, I will get better and all will be well again. And still I feel as though I'm on the outside of my life, looking in, unable to fully participate. I cannot imagine what it must be like to live with a chronic illness that limits activity and choice. What I'm going through is nothing like that, and I know it, but it definitely helps me to better empathize and sympathize.