I Hope Nobody Chases Me
Because I can’t get away.
Remember that day I whined about my heel? (If not, you can go ahead and read it now. I’ll wait, but not forever, so you might want to skim now and read for content later.)
A lot of you emailed, commented or tweeted your ideas about what was ailing me and how I could speed the recovery process. I never followed up with you to let you know how things turned out. Here’s my tale.
The general consensus after my convalescence post was plantar fasciitis. I ultimately agreed, and decided to quack on myself. I tried to fix it without going to the doctor.
Wrong.
After a few weeks of toughing it out, trying to run and ending up in excruciating pain every time, I listened to those wiser than I am (that would be: everyone). The coaches of my triathlon training team kept asking, “Have you seen anyone about this?”
They were subtle about it. Until one day when they were not.
“Go see someone, please,” they practically shouted.
Turns out, I do not have plantar faciitis. Are you ready for the diagnosis? I’m about to get very technical here, so forgive me. The problem is this: my legs are screwed up. From hips to heels, my legs are defective.
The doctor’s exact words: “Your calves are very special. In fact, you may have the tightest set of calves I’ve ever seen.”
Sometimes it’s good to be special, but this is not one of those times. Sometimes it’s good to be tight, but this is most certainly not one of those times.
The heel pain was due to – another technical term coming at you – calf messed-up-ness. The calf trouble is due to two things: decade-old injuries to both legs, leaving me with a lot of scar tissue (that’s another story altogether), and some poor construction. As in, I’m put together a little bit wonky, and all of my muscles are t-i-g-h-t. All the time. If you poke my hip, I will flinch, because my IT band is rock hard. (But really, why would you poke my hips? Keep your fingers to yourselves.)
On top of that – or, more accurately, because of that – I also walk funny. My left foot strikes on the outside, then rolls in, and I slam down on my heel. My right foot sort of clumps. Are you picturing Igor? It’s not obvious to the untrained eye (at least I don’t think it is… People who know me, is it obvious that I walk like a monster?). My efforts to compensate for this mess have left me with some gait issues.
Good lord.
I’ve had some hip issues since P was born, and truth be told, my lower back has always been a bit troublesome. The thing is, I ignored all of this. Mostly. There were times I would think, OUCH. But in general, I could function day-to-day and exercise moderately. So I ignored the daily discomfort and frequent pain.
Stupid.
I also kind of thought everyone felt this way. I didn’t know that muscles were not supposed to be hard. All the time. I assumed everyone had some pain when, and after, running. I mean, it’s running. It hurts, right?
Stupid.
So now I know. And if I haven’t mentioned it, I feel kind of stupid for not taking care of it sooner. A decade ago I did some physical therapy for my calves, but as soon as I reached a day-to-day functional level, I was done.
Ten years later, I really miss the camaraderie of training and the excitement of pursuing a goal, like a marathon or triathlon. And that gets us back to the beginning of this tale. I decided to train for the Danskin Triathlon, and realized that my legs still need work.
Long story still long, I now spend two-to-four days every week doing Active Release Technique, therapeutic massage (and massage is a really kind word for that – it’s the most painful thing I’ve experienced next to labor pains), and PT. At home, I’m stretching, doing PT exercises and icing. This is what I do. This, plus laundry, and you have my day.
The bad news? I have a long, long, looooong way to go. My calves are loosening, but my IT band and everything in the hip/butt/thigh region needs more time.
The good news? I am still signed up for the Danskin on June 5. The doctors and my training group coaches feel like I can at least complete the race. This year it’s about finishing. By next year, my legs will work and I can do the race in a more timely fashion.
The moral of this story: do not ignore chronic pain. Do not accept that day-to-day functional levels are good enough. It’s possible that you can do better. It’s possible that you can get better.
I can’t believe I have lived most of my life, and to a greater extent, the last 10 years, in daily pain or discomfort. Stoopid. With two o’s.
I wonder…
:: Have you ever dealt with chronic pain?
:: Do you ever think, duh, why didn’t I do this sooner? (About anything, not just your health.)
read moreIt’s Not a Couch, It’s a Learning Lab
I’m convalescing.
That sounds sophisticated. Much too sophisticated for what I’m doing here.
I’m wallowing in my pajamas, looking six kinds of pitiful, my heel wrapped in ice. I’m not doing one thing that contributes to society in a positive manner.
I hurt my heel. Or as I choose to look at it, my shoes hurt my heel. It went like this: I was fine, I bought new shoes, I jogged in those shoes, I cannot walk today.
This morning I hopped out of bed and pain shot through my heel, causing me to stop breathing. I had to decide which was the lesser of two evils: fainting from the pain as I hobbled to the bathroom or wetting my pants.
I fell back into bed and prayed my bladder could hold out. Eventually I did make it to the bathroom, but I haven’t managed to do much else today.
This is a fabulous start to my triathlon training.
Rather than use my time constructively today, I watched a lot of TV. You know when people say there’s nothing good on TV during the day? Those people are wrong. I wouldn’t want to spend every day in this spot, or even more than about one day a year, but I learned some stuff today.
What I Learned During My Convalescence
- Hoda and Kathie Lee are nutty. Those ladies are either morning show geniuses (geniusi?) who will do anything for a laugh, or they’re plain crazy.
- It’s hard to get out of mom mode. I was flipping through the guide and instinctively paused to see what was on the kid channels. I’d seen that episode of Phineas and Ferb, though, so I moved on.
- There are finally new episodes of Cash Cab. When I’m in New York City I spend all my time looking for minivan cabs. It’s not because I think I would do well on the show; it’s because I have a bit of a crush on Ben. My ultimate dream: riding in the Cash Cab with a really smart person. That way, I get to meet Ben and win some cash to pay for my trip.
- There is now a Cash Cab Chicago. It’s not as good as the original. I think that’s a universal truth: copies, knock-offs and sequels are rarely as good as the original.
- I don’t particularly care for doing crafts, but today I learned that I like to watch other people do crafts. I watched almost two hours of The Martha Stewart Show. I actually rewound at one point so I could more closely study how Hannah Milman soaked, shaped and trimmed a grapevine wreath to make it an oval shape. Also, if you can bake, I would not be sad if you made this and sent it to me: Yeasted Chocolate Coffee Cake.
- I’ll watch anything with the words The Real Housewives of… in the title.
- Watching daytime TV eliminates any questions you may have about the source of America’s weight problem: every food or restaurant advertised features obscene quantities of cheese. In other news, I’d sell my kids for a pizza right about now.
- I already knew this, but today it was confirmed once again. A giggling baby is the sweetest sound on the planet. This video, featured today on both Ellen and Today (are we getting the picture about exactly how much TV I watched today?) is pure goodness:
- My kids laughing while watching that baby laugh was priceless. I could have captured the moment on video and made millions on You Tube (that’s how it works, right?), but that would have required walking.
- Per the look on the FedEx guy’s face, I cannot pull off the “casually messy unwashed for three days” hair look. I didn’t actually learn that from TV, but I did learn it during my TV time.
I wonder…
:: When was the last time you convalesced?
:: Do you know anything about this heel pain of mine? Are you an expert with shoes, running, bio-mechanics, etc.? Help me!
:: Please don’t judge me for squandering my time today. Well, judge if you must. But don’t tell me about it. I know, that’s not a question.
read moreSmooth Operator: Jockey® Giveaway
A little known fact about blogging conferences: they can be good for your bottom line. And I’m not talking finances.
Badum-Bum. It’s possible I have an inner vaudevillian or Catskills comic lurking in me.
But seriously folks, if you’re looking to meet brands and find new products, there are few better places than a blogging conference. Among my favorites from Blissdom was Jockey®.
Before we ever got to the conference, Jockey® reached out and offered to send some of their shapewear for attendees to try. I can’t speak for everyone, but this girl would never turn down a slimmer, firmer backside.
{No, silly, that’s not me. I know it looks a lot like me. A lot. But I don’t model anymore. I blog instead.}
ALERT: If you’re a man, like my Dad, just for example, and you’re actually still reading, now would be the time to move on with your day. Okay?
At first I was delusional and requested the wrong style. Turns out that the Plunging Bra Cami Shaper is not for everyone. My one request to Jockey is that they look into larger and more supportive cup sizes for their cami shapers.
Ahem.
So we regrouped, and I ended up with a Hi-Waist Mini Shaper and a Hi-Waist Mini Brief Shaper. Let’s talk a minute about the experience of putting on shapewear. I’m guessing there is a handful of women out there who have never done the shimmy & wiggle dance into a pair of slimming panty hose or a slip that guarantees to make you one size smaller. Most of us, though, have probably experienced the shimmy and the ensuing discomfort for the rest of the night. There’s nothing like a rubberized, gripping waistband sticking to your body to make a girl feel pretty.
The beautiful thing about the pieces of Jockey® shapewear that I tried? No rubbery grippers. And while it’s snug (what would be the point, otherwise?), it’s soft and comfortable. I didn’t feel like I was trying to pass off a wet suit as a shaper. I barely registered the extra layer under my clothes.
Once we all got to Blissdom, shapewear safely tucked into our suitcases, Jockey® surprised every attendee with more gifts. One was a coupon for a free pair of panties, and while I did get a pair, I’ve never worn them. I had to lend them to a friend, but that’s a story for another day.
The other gift was a code that we entered into a computer at their booth. Every code revealed a different prize, varying in value. I have to tell you I rarely win anything, so I was stunned when I hit the jackpot at Jockey’s booth. My prize allowed me to pick out a pair of pants from their new Sport collection.
I’m a gym-wear, sportswear, yoga pant addict, so this, truly, was like winning the lottery. A whole pair of pants! For free! I selected the Relaxed Pant, because I thought I would try dressing for who I want to be. Let’s go for relaxed, rather than stressed out and wound up, shall we?
These pants? I am in love. They are on a wear-wash-wear-maybe wear again-wash cycle. I’m guessing they’ve been washed six to eight times over the last three weeks, and so far they are holding up beautifully. I do think the waistband shrunk a tad (It cannot be that my waist grew. Cannot. Be.), so I recommend drying them on the lowest setting or hanging them up to dry. Other than that, they have held their shape and the length is perfect.
I also ordered a shirt (out of my own budget) from the Jockey Sport collection. I had to have the Active Tee with Pockets, because, well, it has pockets. How great is that? The shirt just arrived, so I can’t speak to how it holds up through the wash, but I did try it on and cannot wait to wear it to the gym. It’s by far the cutest workout shirt I own.
Are you ready to get to the giveaway portion of our program?
I don’t blame you. It’s time for you to try Jockey® for yourself. So here’s the deal:
Two, yes TWO (2), lucky readers will get a $50 shopping spree at Jockey.com!
And there’s more: your $50 shopping spree will also include FREE shipping, up to a $7 value.
Not too shabby. Your prize will be in the form of a gift code that can be used on Jockey.com only, and it will be valid for a one-time use through 12/31/11. If you’re really generous and organized, you could even use it for next year’s Christmas shopping. But I recommend indulging and using it for yourself.
How to enter:
I don’t want you to have to jump through hoops, but I would like you to get to know Jockey®. Therefore, you will get one entry for each of the following actions. To get your maximum number of entries, please leave a comment for each thing that you do.
1. Just comment here. Say whatever you want, about whatever you want to talk about. If you do, however, have a Jockey-related comment, I would love to hear it and so would they.
2. Follow Jockey® on Twitter.
3. Become a fan of Jockey® on Facebook.
This giveaway will close on Friday, February 25, 2011 at midnight. Two winners will be drawn via random number generation and the winners will be notified on Saturday, February 26, 2011. Jockey® will send the coupon codes to the winners.
The fine print:
I was compensated with free products to review, but the opinions expressed in this post are entirely my own.
Am I Beyond Help? My Trip to the Spa
Last week I was indulgent and self-absorbed and coated in herbal-scented oils.
I got a massage.
And it was one of the best massages I’ve ever had. I was so relaxed that I fell asleep on the table. Yes, I did, and I’m not one bit embarrassed about it. I am a little embarrassed about the snoring. Just a little, though.
So the massage was amazing, but… (There’s always a but.)
But, according to the massage therapist my muscles are outrageously tight and knotted up. She kindly recommended that I stretch more often and consider frequent massages.
Next, after 80 minutes (80!! Eight-Zero minutes. Mercy.), of having my muscles rubbed into submission, I got a facial. I cannot remember the last time I had a facial, but I think I was pregnant with P, who will be two soon.
The esthetician was trying to be kind, but her disappointment was clear when she asked, “Do you exfoliate weekly, dear?”
Well, I thought I did, but apparently it’s not working. I use this fruit enzyme scrub in the shower a couple times each week, but according to the woman squeezing gunk out of my pores, my scrub is not working. Or I’m possibly doing it wrong. Turns out, I have no idea how to properly rid my face of dead skin cells. Add skincare to the list of stuff I’m messing up.
I gathered from the tut-tuts that my chin congestion rivals that of my cedar-fevered head. This skincare guru then recommended that I consider purchasing some more effective products, and, you guessed it: try to get more frequent facials.
If I’m to follow the guidance I received during my day of indulgence, my periodic trips to the spa need to become once or twice-monthly trips. And I need to invest in some better (read: pricey) products to use at home.
I’m sure these women meant well. Neither one of them was pushy or rude. Well, the esthetician seemed a little dismayed by the state of my chin, but she was mostly kind. On the way home from Me Day, with arms so relaxed and noodly I probably shouldn’t have driven, I had some thoughts:
1. Perhaps I look rich? But who looks rich while wearing the spa-provided robe and sporting oiled-up-crazy-massage hair? Maybe everyone does? It just might be a Great Equalizer Look: when everyone looks the same level of greasy and bed-headed, they all look wealthy.
2. Am I really that pathetic or does everyone get unsolicited advice when they go to the spa? Did the women who pampered me take pity on me, and genuinely want to help? Or do they just spew out advice to everyone they treat?
3. Where can I get a big bucket of money earmarked entirely for personal care? I know it’s incredibly self-indulgent, but I don’t think I care. My face is glowing, people. And my old lady, trick hip has not bothered me in two days. There is no more hitch in my giddy-up.
So I wonder…
:: Do you treat yourself to an indulgent Me Day every once in a while? How often?
:: What’s your best at-home skincare secret?
:: Do you get unsolicited advice from spa personnel? Or do I just look especially helpless?
read moreAway We Go, Smack-Dab Into 2011
Away we go...
Here we are, the eve of a new year.
At the house of Wonder, Friend, we’re walking confidently ahead: hearts full of hope, heads full of ideas. A wink to 2010, a prayer for 2011, and we’re off.
On the one hand, I don’t get too sentimental about the changing of the year. For the practical among us, it’s just a day.
But on the other hand, I honor the tradition around the calendar change. Whatever your take on resolutions (personally, not a big fan), the new year can be a logical time to make a break for it. I honor the idea that it’s never too late to end something, or start something – whatever it is that gets you another step closer to that goal of yours.
My goals – because I know what you’re thinking: Well, speaking of goals, what are yours, Missy? – here are a few of mine.
This list is by no means comprehensive or fixed. Stuff changes. Things happen. That, and well, I didn’t really allow enough time to make the end-all, be-all list yet. For now, we’ll start with this:
:: Make better use of me time, so I am 100% present during family time.
:: Finish the first draft of my novel.
:: Complete a triathlon.
:: Finally wrap up the photo project I started in 2008.
:: Kick it up a bit here on Wonder, Friend.
Before we launch headlong into 2011, I just wanted to say thanks to all of you for making 2010 a year to remember.
And now? I’m off to celebrate this opportunity to start fresh tomorrow. I’ll be back here next week; see you then.
I wonder…
:: Are you sentimental about the start of a New Year?
:: How do you celebrate (or not)?
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A quick P.S. – If you can’t stand it when bloggers blog about blogging, stop reading. But for the rest of you, I just wanted to say I WILL be back to reading and commenting soon. I lost my groove a bit over the holidays, and while I managed to read a lot of posts, I was not great about commenting (or responding to your kind, generous and day-making comments). Don’t give up on me. I’ll see you in 2011.
read moreIt’s Only a Flesh Wound
The flesh wound portion of our story is coming, but first, did you notice I’ve been kind of an asshat and have not kept up with Tri My Way Thursdays? I’m sorry.
Wait, I’m not sorry. Does that make me even more of an asshat?
The thing is, I’ve been doing some blog-searching and decided that Tri My Way Thursdays is a waste of time, mine and yours.
Mind you, I’m still working toward my triathlon goals. If you could see me lurching around the house on legs that won’t properly bend due to overuse, you would believe me. Thank God you cannot see me. It’s not pretty.
I might tweet about how I’m doing with my fitness goals now and then, or include information in posts where appropriate, but say good-bye to Tri My Way Thursdays. We barely knew ye…
So speaking of asshats (subtlety, it’s my specialty), I am not doing well with another goal: improving my sleep habits. And lack of sleep turns me into a world class, well, you know.
For example.
Today I nearly stabbed myself with a paring knife.
While carrying said knife, a cutting board, and a bowl of strawberries to the table I almost offed myself. My plan was to prepare the toddler’s snack tableside. He’s all about the theatrics of food prep. Or I’m too lazy to stand at the counter and cut strawberries in advance of snack time. Let’s go with toddler foodie, okay?
In a moment of incredibly asshatted decision making, I turned the blade of the knife toward my abdomen and then proceeded to tuck the bowl of strawberries under the same arm. I’ll give you a minute to pantomime putting a knife in your left hand, blade sticking out on the same side as your thumb. Now imagine you have small bowl of strawberries and you place it in the crook of your left elbow. Curve your arm toward your body. Stabbed yourself, didn’t you?
I’m sure divine intervention saved my son from seeing mommy bleed all over his snack. In the split second after I caught my near disastrous error, I had this thought: This is a small knife. The wound almost certainly would not be deadly. If I did stab myself, I bet I’d get to spend at least one night in the hospital. Yay, a vacation!
See what I mean? An asshat.
This post is part of Word Up, YO!, a meme hosted by the fabulous ladies of A Belle, A Bean and a Chicago Dog; Mommy of a Monster (I Mean Toddler) & Infant Twins; and Taming Insanity.
read moreI’ll be here on April 29, 2012
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