Time for MORE PT?

OK – So I apparently have the best blog readers ever! Thanks for all your advice getting signed up for PT. I had my first few appointments and here’s what she says: I am built very, very wrong. My spine does X, I bend from Y in one direction and Z in the other. My hips are not open or something. Basically… I’ve got a lot of work to do.

But what else? I fucked up my back ROYALLY! In my latest gym routine, I did these inverted pushups with my legs on the bench and my hands on the floor. So, ya know the part where the trainer is like “tighten your core! support your back!” and you’re all… “um… whatever.” Well, I get it now.

I think my problem came when I confused “good pain” with “bad pain”. The kind of pain that you feel when things are getting stronger vs the kind of pain when you need to say, “STOP!” I missed it, and now my back feel like the muscles are attacking themselves, all squeezing right into the middle of my back. Right now it hurts the most to sit, but for a while it hurt to lie on the floor, too. The foam roller was — is — my best friend. The euphoric *crack crack crack crack* as I rolled down the length of my spine, as I let out a near-orgasmic moan right in the middle of the stretching area.  The Physical Therapist says “try the chiropractor” but I am so skeptical of chiropractic. It seems like a quick fix… something people get addicted to. But maybe I’m wrong.

Thankfully, that’s the least of my problems as lately I’ve spent most of my time on my back. I had foot surgery on Tuesday to fix a Morton’s Neuroma in my right foot. So now, I’m not just not-running. I’m not just not-squatting-or-lunging… Now I’m not doing anything at all. I’ll start physical therapy for the surgery in 2 weeks, and I’m still in physical therapy for my knee, and my back feels like it has a vendetta against me — PT or chiropractic is in the future for that, too.

I worked really hard to get in shape. Now, I have to persevere through some pretty significant setbacks. S-U-C-K-S!!!!! I have to avoid all the pity eating that usually comes with me pitying myself because I’m not doing anything to burn the pity-calories. Gah. Crutching around seems to be showcasing my triceps pretty well :) What!? I gotta feel good about something.

Time for PT?

To Physical Therapy or Not to Physical Therapy… that is the question plaguing me today, months after being diagnosed with the most annoyingly named diagnosis ever: Runner’s Knee.

I haven’t actually run properly since… January? February? March? Sometime Q1 when I decided my knee pain really wasn’t something to just completely ignore. Since then, I have tried a veritable cornucopia of cardiovascular activities including but not limited to…

• “Power” yoga
• “Power” walking
• Spinning
• Swimming
• Elliptical-ing
• Kickboxing

All of them hurt in one way or the other and I’m getting a bit distraught. I can’t do lunges or squats, and I can’t do any cardio… That is a huge loss as far as my caloric expenditure goes since those big muscles burn so many nasty calories when you work them out properly.

I have been diligently doing my straight leg lifts and leg kick backs and all the little exercises the doc said I could do safely, but I am just not seeing an improvement.

Hence the question at hand: Do I go to PT to try and get this thing fixed the right way? Is that even the right idea? Doctor Cocky who diagnosed me said it wasn’t necessary since I went to the gym so much, but I feel like if they watched me doing the excercises, perhaps I’d get closer to fixing it sooner.

Y’all always have great advice. Bring it on. I need you.

Body Pump Karaoke

Dear Substitue Body Pump Instructor:

Please don’t sing along to the tracks at any point during the class. Ever.

Thanks.

Jane
OBO – Body Pump Class, 7pm Monday.

Back to the Grind

Yesterday was the first day back at the gym post hand gashing. I was so excited to be back. I kept wanting to show people how dedicated I was to being back at the gym and working out. How my feeble muscles hadn’t atrophied after my heartbreaking week away.

But no one cared. Hell, no one noticed. I don’t exactly know what I was expecting as I clearly don’t talk to anyone at the gym and I hadn’t been there to tell them of my harrowing tale. So instead I went about my business, thrilled that nothing was hurting *too* bad and that I hadn’t lost much ground.

As I was finishing up on the bench press I look over at the guy watching the really distracting TV. He was a regular. And his  middle finger was in a cast. Talk about feeling like a ponce. He’s got a gimped up finger and I have a little boo-boo and can’t make it in?

I did take Le Petite Belle’s advice and did my share of cardio, but wow did I feel like a gigantic sloth. My paltry push-ups were enough to remind me that I love the gym and missed it dearly. And I am so ready to get back on my game.

Last 5 lbs? Yeah – I’m talking to you. We’re over. This is it. You’re coming off.

An apple a day, my ass!

I am notorious for my snacks. I eat 3 meals and up to 3 snacks a day. Every day I cut up an apple and eat it with Trader Joe’s fucking amazing peanut butter. Every day.

This morning, I got up at the ass crack of dawn (as always), made breakfast, and decided to prepare my snacks for the day before jumping back into bed for my daily morning nap. Apparently the gods of good health were not smiling upon me today, for as I was mid apple cut, my knife slipped and I cut the web of my hand. ‘Member how your mom always told you to never cut into your hand? I’m going to go ahead and second that… now.

So I went to the hospital, blah blah blah, got stitches and a tetanus shot and I was back home before I technically had to even be awake to get to work on time. Mama calls that… productive!

Anyway, so after the shock wore off and the throbbing started, it dawned on me that I won’t be able to lift weights for … a long time.

Well, I suppose I could lift with my right arm. And do cardio… But I’m supposed to start pilates and I am in the thick of my lifting program and this could be a major set back.

So what should I do?

What do you do if you’re gym-restricted? How do you stay motivated? Not slip into a non-gym depression?

By the way… I maintain that no one has ever needed stitches from cutting chocolate.

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!

Summer Camp for Old People – My mom’s gym

I spent the weekend in FL – 3 “glorious” days. It was my mom’s birthday. My parents live in an “Active Adult Community” (aka summer camp for the aging). You have to be over 55 to live there, and your kids have to be over 18 if they are going to live with you. The whole place sucks. If you go to the pool, and close your eyes, you swear you’re in the old country. Or New York. The accents are thick and the volume is set at 11.

They sit in circles and gossip about what the other old people are doing. Oh – and they cause trouble! My mom said that they can’t bring gym bags to the “sports club” anymore, only clear bags, because people were stealing weights. Stealing weights!!! They fight over tennis times and police one another at the pool – “Are you sure you can eat heee-ah?” They take aerobics classes and whine about the instructors. “Ohh… she’s tough! What does she think we’re 20 or somethin’?” *sigh*

So with all that said – going down to spend time at summer camp is never all that pleasant. But their gym is incredible. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of going to the gym with my mom.

When you go there,You know the nagging thing moms do? The looking-over-your-shoulder-on-the-computer-asking-”what’s that?” thing? My mom does that, oh, does she ever. But this weekend when I was down there, she brought her 4-star nagging to the gym.

The gym is my safe space. When I needed to zen out after a day and a half of dealing with my mom and dad, I didn’t go to the beach, I went to the gym. Looking hot. Because some of these old people have super hot kids. Not many — but some. Unfortunately, my mom came along with me.

“So, Jane. Can we work out together?”

“No.”

5 minutes later -

“Can you show me a few exercises?”

“No.”

With phat beats coming from the overhead speakers (Johnny Angel? Really?), I was pumped up. Gah. I stuck my earphones in and turned up the volume. I went straight into lunges. I was super focused. I needed this workout.

“Jane? *mumble mumble*” I saw her lips moving, but I didn’t have a clue, mid-lunge, what the heck she wanted.

I dropped my left earphone – “Jane, what are those for?”

“Your legs, ma. They’re bad for your knees. Don’t bother.”

I didn’t mean to blow her off, but I am really used to working out alone. With all the voices in my head. I mean music! The music.

I finally think she got the point and left me to my workout. Finally. It was the only 25 minutes I had sans nagging for my entire stay. It was a great workout. I showed up the one other old guy working out there. Hell yeah I can curl as much as you, old guy.

I am so sad.

Lessons learned: Gym alone, always. Show up everyone in the gym regardless of how old and decrepit they are. Always look cute. Because some of those old decrepit guys you’re showing up have cute sons. Or so I hear.