In one month’s time I am going under the knife, the saw… Let’s get real… a powerful electric drill bit.
Do you think the surgeon will use a wireless drill, like the one my husband uses to hang stuff around the house? I understand the drill bit is very long.
Will the surgeon wear safety glasses so bone fragments don’t fly up and hit her in the eye when she’s boring a hole through the length of my femur?
How does she prevent my muscle tissue from splattering everywhere? Or, maybe it does splatter everywhere, and the whole OR looks like a crime scene before she’s done. How would I know? The last face I will see is the anesthesiologist’s. Medical science is such a mystery to me.
I am trying not to get a little freaked out by all of this. I mean, I didn’t break my leg, I don’t have a malignant tumor, and I could go on as-is and be… me. Yet, I am electing to have a ROD permanently installed down the length of my FEMUR and fastened with three BOLTS. Fuck!
I am doing this for my long term fitness and lifestyle goals, and that seems a bit selfish and indulgent. Just typing that, I know it isn’t true, but I also know many, many women would not choose to do what I am doing. It’s inconvenient and disruptive to my family and employer. I saw that in the eyes of the very lovely nurse practitioner who, like me, is a mom, seems pretty smart and chill, and demurred when I asked her what she would do, if she were me. I am uncomfortable with this. Yet, I am going through with it, and I am putting my family through it, too, so I can be more comfortable and push myself to run further and faster.
In real terms, I am creating a Google calendar solely for the care for and transport of my precious children for two weeks, and I am nowhere on it. This is a bit stressful, to say the least. Exercise is a stress-reliever. Sure, it is; But those bull-shitting magazine publishers and athletic lifestyle retailers know full well that serious distance running or training for any endurance event is also a second job, and that is work. Werk. It’s not all, “feel the endorphins and float on air in your Athleta wear.” Like anything, it becomes an obligation, and that adds stress. It just does.
The last thing I need is an anxiety attack or depressive episode to derail all of this progress I’ve been making, finally. So in the weeks before my surgery I’ve decided to go easy on myself and only choose fun and challenging workouts that I don’t typically make time for when I am training for a race – things like yoga classes, TRX, and pilates. I will continue running outside when I can, of course. I might even get a sitter and convince my husband to hit up the rock climbing gym with me one night. In B.C. (Before Children), we used to do that together quite a bit.
I checked out “gloga” (black light yoga) and discovered it is impossible to balance in semi-darkness. Frickin’ impossible.
I spent some time on the erg (ergometer? Can’t they come up with a better name for this contraption?) and as always, I spent the entire time reminiscing about my prep school days and the friends of mine that rowed. “Is this the right form? Is this how Meghan and Margaret used to do it?” I wasn’t one of them, but I have tremendous respect for rowers.
I smoked my glutes in front of a “Biggest Loser” 60 minute workout during the faux blizzard. Guys, they know what they are doing on that show. I’m still feeling the burn 3 days later.
We’re getting more snow this weekend, too, so I might break out the snow shoes again or rent some cross country skis on Sunday, if I can get away. That may be tough, because I am hosting a bowling party in the afternoon. And no, bowling isn’t exercise. It’s not even a debate.
Has exercise ever felt like an obligation? How do you break the pattern?
What form of exercise do you enjoy so much it that it feels like an indulgence? It’s skiing for me.
Should bowling be considered a sport? Why is it hard to think of bowlers as athletes (when they clearly are)?