I’m still in a funk, my back still hurts. I’m still really angry about it. But at least I’ve stopped crying in frustration each time I think about it. So today, I’m determined to be a little less pissed off—or at least to spend less time thinking about how pissed off I am.
Last week the Washington Post ran a stellar series on traumatic brain injuries (TBIs) among soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan: Coming Home a Different Person. You should check it out, if you missed it. There’s also a fascinating description of how damage to different parts of the brain affects not only mobility and other physical functions, but also mood regulation, decision-making, etc. I don’t know, there’s something about understanding the exact part of my brain that’s damaged that I find intriguing—in a “know thy enemy” kind of way. The graphics here are really cool.
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I’m trying not to think of yesterday as getting off track. Maybe it’s more like sitting down on the side of the road–or more like wallowing in a ditch on the side of the road. I felt like it was important to share yesterday’s despondent moment, least you all get the impression that I’m always cheerful, always positive, and always constructive in the way I handle the challenges in my life. I’m not and I don’t. Some days I’m angry and can’t see straight. Some days I’m just tired and not feeling up to any challenge at all. And I think that’s ok. No one is brave or valiant or tenacious all the time. Like all muscles, I think your tenacity muscle grows when it’s at rest. In the moments you let it be quiet and still. And long-term success–and growth–I think, is determined by your ability to cut yourself a break and recognize those days that you’re just not ready for battle.
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Last week, I was having a boxer week. I was right hooking, left hooking and jabbing, landing punches everywhere–I went to PT, I had virtually no pain, I was cleared to jog for the first time in six years. I wrote the “never-give-in” post you can read below.
This week I’m definitely feeling like the bag: tired, beat to hell, and ready to give up. And I’m angry. I’m angry because, I hurt and I don’t know why. Read more…
This week in Dan Savage’s column Savage Love, I read about a 15-year old Indiana teenager who committed suicide recently after being mercilessly bullied for being gay. I was touched—ok, reduced to tears—by the out-pouring of support from gay, lesbian, and transgendered adults, and their friends who wished they could have told the boy, Billy Lucas: “No matter how bad things are right now, life gets better.” You can check out the video project here:
http://www.youtube.com/itgetsbetterproject
Warning: You’ll need some tissues.
Billy Lucas isn’t the only one, either—we’ve all seen the Breakfast Club, we know that bullying isn’t about the flavor of your difference, just the difference itself. There have been several cases in recent years of teenagers committing suicide after being bullied online by classmates (or even by the parents of classmates!). All this got me to thinking about the wisdom I wish I had had as a teenager or young adult about coping with being different. Read more…
So one month into the Fierceness Campaign, and I’ve been averaging about 5 workouts a week (2-3 days weight training and small-time cardio, 2-3 days serious cardio). Here’s where we started on August 17, 2010:
Weight: 132 lbs
Body fat: 25.9%
Pounds of Body Fat: 34.1 lbs
Lean Body Mass: 97.9 lbs
Here’s what we’ve got after week 4:
Weight: 126.8 lbs
Body fat: 23.6%
Pounds of Body Fat: 29. 9
Lean Body Mass: 96.8 lbs
Weight loss: 5.2 lbs
Body fat: -2.3%
Fat loss: 4.3 lbs
It’s been kind of awesome, frankly. Read more…
Now that I’m getting a handle on my physical being, I’ve got some other messes to clean up. Since the physical pain factor has been mitigated to a great extent–I’m terrified to say that it’s completely gone, because my body has a habit of doing weird things to spite me. But Botox, Round Four happened this week—including a light slap for my psoas which I think might have tamed the last of the SI joint pain! Jury still out a little as things shift. . .but I definitely feel better. So with that out of the way I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the emotional barriers that keep me from making progress in my life. In particular I’ve been thinking a lot about the thought patterns and behaviors that unleash torrents of unhappiness, inhibiting our ability to change and optimize our lives.
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As we all know, I’m an over-achiever. I credit a lot of my success in these treatments to this trait, which makes me maniacally compliant about physical therapy assignments. Unfortunately, it also makes me notoriously, irrationally impatient to make progress, which makes me a pain in the ass. I always want to know when I can: get this brace off /try a new exercise /walk a little further /go back to the gym, etc. After I fractured my leg I started begging to be taken off bed-rest only a week into my 8-week sentence.I ditched my crutches so many times in the kitchen that my roommate wanted to beat me over the head with them.
So I’ve been to the nutritionist once, and haven’t even received marching orders, and already I’m raring to go. I’ve come up with a few ground rules that I’m hoping will keep me sane and on track.
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At the outset of this blog and this project, my primary goal was to eradicate daily pain from my life, and get as much increased flexibility and mobility as the Botox would allow. Although we haven’t quite got it licked yet, I’d say we’re really really close. I’m hopeful that the next round of injections, which will include two new muscles, will get rid of the pain completely (fingers crossed). So now I’m on to phase two, which is the Fierceness Campaign. This campaign is about more than dropping some body fat and building some muscle. Really what it’s about is about becoming truly proud of my body, what it does, and what it looks like.
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I’ve successfully put in two days of solid cardio at the gym, and man, do I feel better. Much less wobbly, more fluid, and more centered–physically and emotionally. I’ve even managed to ditch the finger splint. I still almost made the toddler at the next table cry at brunch today, when he saw my rug-burned shoulder and started saying: “Boo boo! Boo boo! But all in all, I’m looking less like the walking wounded than earlier in the week. So we’ll put one in the win column for this weekend. I’m hoping that by Wednesday I’ll be able to make a fist comfortably and can get back to work on the weight-training.
On my new fierceness campaign, I’ve decided to call for reinforcements and am bringing a nutritionist onto my team. While I’ve succeeded in keeping off the 50lbs, there’s still some excess baggage hanging around my middle that needs to go. I’m not someone who does things by halves. In the past when I’ve wanted to ditch the last of the weight, I’ve often gone off the deep-end as far as diet is concerned—which lasts anywhere from three days to a few weeks. During that period–whether I’ve gone off meat, or fat, or carbs or booze, or all of the above–I’m a colossal pain in the ass. And in general, no matter what, the scale moves little, if at all, and I get discouraged.
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Erm, ok. I really don’t have a good excuse for not having shown up here for most of the summer. I could say I was traveling–which is true–or that I was busy with out-of-town guests–also true–but neither of these is a good excuse for being a negligent blogger. This time I have to cop to something even worse: July was a fairly light workout month. In the past month I’ve probably averaged about 2 workouts a week, far less than I should be getting. I was out of town or I was recovering from being out of town. It was 975 degrees outside. The list of lame potential excuses goes on.
Although the last round of injections solved a majority of my back problems (whoot!), my balance has really taken a hit. This isn’t so much because of what we treated with a wallop–the adductors–but what we had to leave alone as a result. My solei–the calf muscles predominantly responsible for helping maintain balance–are very, very angry. They’re contracting in seriously inappropriate ways at massively inappropriate times, pitching me forward and sending me into spontaneous face-plants. I’ve fallen three times in the last month, far more than usual. Last week I was standing still and I fell over! It was classy. I ended up with rug-burn on my chin and shoulder, and sprained my ring finger. I’ve begun telling people that I’ve taken up motor-cross in my spare time. That’s far more entertaining, and less embarrassing than: “Yeah, I was standing in my office and spontaneously fell over.”
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