Day 889. 218 lbs. lost (as of 6-14).
Twenty-seven pounds. It doesn’t seem like that large of a number compared to the total, but it was enough to feel it when I walk, and I can see it in the mirror. Being fairly limited to a chair and not exactly sticking to my zone for the first eight weeks can take a toll. Did I always make the best choices? No, not at all. Some of it is inflammation, some of it just too many days of feeling like Pineapple Sherbet was the only thing that was going to make me feel better. I was a little miffed that I gained a single pound but pardon the pun, that’s not exactly what was weighing me down over the weekend.
I kept telling myself I was fine for the last few weeks. Maybe I was just “frustrated” with the slow progress. I mean, after all, they reconstructed my right leg. It wasn’t just my knee the doctors replaced; they changed the entire way I walk. I thought maybe it was the fact my lower back and hips are killing me. My body doesn’t feel right anymore; my step feels out of place. So much so that I now require inserts in my left shoe to balance the now straight right leg. It also requires multiple times a week visits to my new chiropractor who is working on realigning my hips. I feel like a toddler learning how to walk again. I am somewhere in that wobbly stage and could drop to my ass at any moment.
Maybe I was just anxious. I had been nothing more than a sideline CrossFit watcher for almost ten weeks. Every week that went by I was growing increasingly weepy and sensitive. CrossFit has always been such a mental outlet for me. I wasn’t even logging into Facebook or Instagram as often; fearful I might have to see people posting pics of their WODS and smiling faces. Obviously, it was nothing more than a strong desire to be one of the people in those pics. The grind, the sweat, the redden-faced-post-workout photos I grew to love. I missed it, I missed all of it. My doctors stated they were not going to give me the green light to return to CrossFit. Not today, not anytime in the future. I was angry and frustrated because I’m convinced they think I’m going to march in there and attempt jump rope and box jumps. All I wanted was a green light to normal. I wasn’t going to get it.
Perhaps I was just tired. I have very little energy to get through anything more than a typical workday. I managed to get off the heavy narcotics around week 6 but was right back on them with the second surgery. The pills make me sleepy, but I could never sleep that well. I was in a never-ending too tired but can’t sleep kind of mood.
My body was tired, my mind was tired, my heart was tired. Sometimes all it takes is that one final thing that triggers everything. It happened to me on Sunday.
I went up to my folk’s place on Saturday and was getting ready to head home. My Dad found a poopie on the floor; a gift from Kodiak; my pup who still refuses to go potty outside when its raining. I can’t say I blame him, right? But he hasn’t quite grasped the fact we go potty outside in all weather. This silly dog will go potty outside in a blizzard but apparently not rain. Anyway, I had just gotten out of the shower and could hear my Dad grumbling about this poopie. That was all it took. I gathered up my things and my dogs and decided it was time to head home. I got out to my car and was desperately trying to choke back my tears, but Moms always know. I couldn’t hide it, and there I was in the driver’s seat trying to tell her I was fine, so I could get out there. She talked me back inside and with tears running down my face. “Mom, I can’t go through this shit again. I cannot do this again”.
It wasn’t the poopie, it wasn’t being tired, it wasn’t feeling anxious, or the fact that I put on a little weight during recovery. It was all of it – but bottom line I didn’t want to do it again. I simply couldn’t wrap my head around having to go through this again.
Concerned, she looked at me and said, “How is your other leg doing”?
I said, “NOT GOOD!”…. Now I’m just stupid sobbing.
She knew it. I knew it. There’s no getting out of it. In ten weeks, I have to go through this damn circus again, and my body, heart, and mind are screaming…… “I’ve had enough.”
About a year ago, someone I used to know had a small surgical procedure. I think it was day three when she was going through weeping and tears. Admittedly I had little sympathy to give when she told me it was “after surgery depression.” This couldn’t possibly be a thing, I honestly believed she was just acting silly. I thought it was more like…. “buyers remorse.” But here we are a year later, and I’m telling you it’s a real thing. Whether you feel like you lose control of your life for a few days or ten weeks, it’s the loss of normality, the loss of routine, the loss of your limbs working correctly – whatever it is, it’s a real feeling. To that person, I’m sorry. I was wrong.
I got a healthy dose of reality sitting there on that porch yesterday. “What’s the one thing you always tell people Athena.”
“Focus on today.”
“Then why do you think about something two months down the road? Think about what you can do today, focus on today”.
Indeed. This is precisely what I tell everyone; I got a nice heaping spoonful of my own coaching. Yes, even coaches need coaching. She was right. I drove home and found myself once again hitting my knees. Okay, that was metaphoric “hitting my knees”. This girl isn’t getting down on her knees anytime soon. God understands… In any case, I needed help. And that help could only come from one place.
I’m not making progress right now because I’m focused on a future I can’t control. I can control today. I committed to my journey, but I also committed to this surgery process so I could have a better life. I know what I need to do; finish strong. There’s only one way to do that. Don’t think about a day from now or a week from now. Focus on today, right here right now.
