It has been a pretty darn good week, but earlier today I felt that itch creeping’ back, slowly but surely. I wanted to move. I wanted to do something. I wanted to swim. I wanted to bike. I wanted to lift. I wanted to run.
I knew going into this surgery that it was going to be tough. Before the surgery, though it pained me greatly to do so, I would still swim, bike, lift, and run. But I wouldn’t have opted to have the surgery if I could push through the pain I had been feeling since the end of June. By December, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was so tired of waking up sore, going to work sore, sitting sore, sleeping sore, moving sore, living sore. I was tired of being depressed about not being able to give 100% to training and racing. Surgery was the only option for me.
And I knew I would have to pay the price. I knew that I wouldn’t be back at it for a long time, four, six, maybe even eight months from the point of surgery. It was something for which I had to mentally steel myself, and while I feel that I have been successful with that for the past 18 days, today was just one of those days where those wants and desires started to get in a little. I’ve been doing my best to push them out, and now that the day is over and I am settling in for the night, I’ve managed to push those feelings away, but the memory of that urge unfortunately remains. My muscles tingled. My bones felt light. My skin tightened. My hair stood on end. I wanted to do.
And then I reached for my crutch, and I sidled back to my office, and I grabbed my coat and bag, and I drove home. And now I lie on the couch with a cat on my lap, and I am comfortable and warm and content. Soon. It won’t be long. It took me six months to admit defeat and get the surgery. What’s another six to start training and realizing what I’m truly capable of, especially since I will be training the right way this time around? So I’ll be patient. I can’t say much for my muscles and my bones and my skin, but I’ll be patient, and then I’ll be better than ever.