Runner’s Knee – Go on, flatter me.

My knee. My &*#^& knee.

I finally went to get it checked today and after reporting on my symptoms (which I probably could have stopped listing as soon as I said, “I just started running”) the mildly overconfident doctor got up and said in that really annoying “I’m about to knock your socks off” voice… “Sounds like you’ve got runner’s knee.”

So he came over and started just manhandling my 2-days-since-shaving legs. Poke, twist, prod, bend, scrunch.

“Does this hurt?” No.

“Does this hurt?” No.

“Does this hurt?” No.

(Dude, you fucking know what’s wrong with me already so how about we get on with it…)

“Does this hurt?” Twist-Push… YEAH! THAT HURTS THANKS!

Yeah – Runner’s knee. *eye rolls*

So – what does that mean? No running. FuX0r. But I’ll go with “duh” on that one. So, I ask what I can do. Before he can even open his mouth I know the answer. Same one my foot doctor gave me. “Swim.” Well… how handy. Because I suck at swimming. And have no pool to swim in that doesn’t also contain urinating/screaming/obnoxious children.

Oh, and the elliptical! Yes! Because I fucking hate the elliptical!

I can ride the bike as long as my knees don’t extend too far. And I am pretty sure I can rollerblade. Yes. I still rollerblade. And I am AWESOME.

He asks, “So besides cardio, what’s the rest of your strength training routine?” I tell him. Then I make a bet – “Bet I can’t lunge or squat!” Man I wish I had money. He said, no. No lunging. No squatting. He actually said they are like the worst possible thing for knees which makes me wonder why they are so darn popular amongst, ya know, everyone. And I guess the question is… what else? All have to shallow-bend or straight-leg exercises. Joy. No ass for Jane. I was banking on those squats.

It’ll take time to heal (yay!) and there’s not a lot I can do besides these lame exercises (yay!) but eventually, maybe, it’ll get better just in time for me to never run again.

Good news: My knees are picture perfect :) I’m not nearly as knock-kneed as I could be, and my knee caps are perfectly aligned. Really, I just did running wrong. Apparently if you start too late (26 years old really is old. I knew it!) and over work your shit, then you break. And I broke.

But because I had runner’s knee, that means I was a runner for whatever short amount of time I could run. And that, my friend, is a win.

Hello, Stranger!

Either he goes to the gym every day, or he goes to the gym every day that I’m there. Which, while flattering, seems highly unlikely.  Way more unlikely that I’d want it to be.

He was the hunk in the neighborhood growing up. Tall, Latin, star of the baseball team… And best friends with my neighbor, Junior. The neighbor who harassed me every day for almost my entire childhood. (The neighbor who could probably buy me and all of my wordly possessions if he wanted to… then, like, burn them and rebuy them all, and then, like, give them to the homeless and buy me a third set. Because he can. Bastard.)

So the point of this is I was the biggest loser of all time ever as a kid and that lasted pretty much until 3 years ago — OK, last week. Whatever. Don’t be mean. So my neighbor Junior and his best friend spent a lot of time either a) ignoring me, or b) making my life a living hell. That lasted until high school when they both ceased to acknowledge my existence. Blessing, meet curse.

Well with the advent of the “facebooks” I “friended” both of these “people” and then proceeded not to have any contact with them because that’s weird.

But when I was at the gym a few months ago, I noticed this really tall, attractive, Latin guy who was really well built and didn’t listen to any music. Then I saw him a few weeks later and something went off in my head. He looked familiar. He was The Stud. He got built. And hot-er.

And clearly he had no clue who I was.

But I started realizing that he was always at the gym. And was always on some apparatus that faced whatever apparatus I was on. There was eye contact. But absolutely no acknowledgment. To be fair, until today I had never even seen him smile at the gym. And he still doesn’t listen to music. But the question is… do I say something? Re-introduce myself? Don’t get me wrong – mama has no interest in this character, but it’s just bizarre. He knows me. We grew up together.

So I came up with a few options:

1a) Approach him and say something to the effect of, “So, are you here every night? Or just every night that I’m here. Because that would be creepy. And not likely.”

1b) Send him the same message on Facebook (because were are totally “friends”) but add “I figured this was safer so we can still continue to ignore each other at the gym” — this would allow for the less awkward first encounter.

2) Approach him and say, “Hi. I’m Jane. Junior’s neighbor. How’s it going? I see you here a lot…”

3) Leave him the fuck alone because clearly if he wanted to say hi, he would have. And no one needs akwardness at the gym.

I haven’t had to use my “gym balls” since Plank Guy, so this would be a new fun challenge.

In the comments – tell me what you would do! Are you an at-the-gym-friend-maker?

Hard Ass Jane?

Well, fuckin’ a. Duh – I’m a total hard ass.

At Body Pump the other night, a group of giggling girls from a not-so-local high school graced us with their presence. I would say there were a veritable “gaggle” of said girls, all honking in unison at a joke no one else understood cared about.

I got it. Fine. High school girls giggle. In gaggles. It’s just how they do. They are harmless enough. I guess it wasn’t until the end of the class, the cool down, when I had finally had enough. We were all quiet, stretching, lamenting the pain that were in/going to be in the next day. The sappy cool down music was soothing us as we gently released all of our old-people stress. And there they were. Giggling louder than ever. TheyWouldn’tShutTheFuckUp. My evil glares had gone unnoticed. The mimed gun to my head directed was not attracting nearly the reaction I had hoped. So I snapped.

“How about you just shut up?”

Silence.

AWESOME! POWER! I PWN!

I felt bad for like a millisecond until, that is, I realized how lovely it was to finally be pumping in peace.

In the locker room, my class-partner in crime said to me, “Wow! I didn’t know you were such a hard ass, Jane!” My response? “I hated them in high school. I hate them now.”

Stupid high school girls. Gah.

Cause for Celebration: No Diet Day

Body Pump was kind of awesome last night. I almost wrote “sucked” in stead of “was kind of awesome”, but that would have been a squideon of a lie. (Squidegon?!) The substitute instructor was rad. Short and perky. And she counted, which, by the way, is the best quality in a fitness instructor. The ability to fucking count, in order, without getting distracted.

So after body pump, I came home to do some baking. The problem with baking is that you have to do it with a spoon. Ya know, the mixing and scooping, and whatnots. Spoons are the thing you do eating with. So naturally, as the baking goes on, the spoon becomes en-fooded, and then has to be eaten off of. It’s just the order of things.

Ugh. So I ate and ate the thing that I was baking in its not-yet-baked form until Jane’s tummy hurt. And then, once the thing that I was baking was baked, I had to taste it because it was a new recipe and I would never give an untested recipe to anyone I cared about. Selfless, I tell you. I sacrificed all those hard-earned extra calories for the safety and taste-security of my closest friends.

But here’s the best part: Rather than continue to lament the completely wasted Body Pump class, I can now rejoice in my inadvertent celebration of a Inter-National Holiday! Apparently, accoring to FitSugar (with whom I have a love/hate relationship) today is International No Diet Day!

So, I’d like to send a big “Cheers, eh?!” to Canada’s National Eating Disorder Information Centre for helping me not feel bad about the million calories I licked off the spoon last night, and encourage everyone to go eat something bad today!