Monthly Archives: October 2011

I Don’t Care

There really has not been anything I’ve felt like saying lately… hence my lack of posting.  I could have bitched and whined like I did in my past couple of posts, but that would have gotten really old, really fast.

So, in a nutshell, to sum up the last couple of weeks:

I paid $350 completely out of pocket to see one of the best sports orthopedists in the city, who ordered a zillion and one tests (okay, three… blood test, twenty-four hour urinalysis, and a DEXA) and also referred me to another doctor in the hospital whose specialty is the female athlete triad.  Which, by the way, abbreviates to F. A. T.  Which is exactly what I am right now.  Anyway, funny as I think this is, since I’m the least active person on the planet right now, it gets even funnier.  I went to see a sports nutritionist.  The only event for which I am currently training is “sitting around on my rapidly expanding ass and stuffing my face,” so the whole situation is extremely ironic.

I can ride my bike pretty much pain-free, which is nice, but I’m terrified of overdoing it, and it’s freaking freezing outside, and stationary bikes are nearly as bad as treadmills in my opinion, so … yeah, I can freeze my butt off on the bike for half an hour a few times a week.  However, I cannot swim, even with a pull buoy, because it hurts my back.  Lovely.

Today I went to see that specialist.  I was under the impression that I was looking for a building with the number 532.  I passed 530, reached the end of the street, and found myself at the river.  I should have just jumped in and drowned myself.  I did find the building (523, not 532), only to make it through the most devastatingly depressing appointment of my entire life.  I don’t even want to think about it.  But I have to go to another million appointments now in the hospital, and would someone please explain to me why the hell it’s in the middle of nowhere?!  Seriously — the nearest subway stop is almost a mile away!

In short, I am hemorrhaging money I don’t have (okay, that’s not entirely true — I don’t spend money if I don’t have it, but I’d rather be able to save money than spend it like this), and at this point, I’m really feeling like it’s all just a waste of time and resources and I am never going to be able to run again, and I am just doomed to a life of being a fat sedentary lump… and I hate myself for it.  Especially because it’s largely my own ****ing fault.

Since I’m already hemorrhaging money, and ready to claw my own eyes out from the envy of seeing other people sign up for the Turkey Trot, December 5K, and January half marathon for which I am registered — in Bermuda — I booked a dive trip.  It’s been entirely too long since I’ve gone diving, and while I truly do love it, and in fact loved it before I loved running, it’s an entirely different kind of love.  It does not replace it at all.

I really don’t talk about this much in real life, because nobody really cares or understands that it is killing me not to be able to run.  The people who tell me to just replace it with another hobby?  They make me want to shoot someone.  I’m actually finally taking the photography course I’ve been intending to take after grad school (hemorrhaging money, remember), and while I do enjoy photography, A) I am not very good at it and B) it is not the same as running!

And now I have to buy cold weather cycling gear.  Which I wasn’t going to do since I wasn’t planning to cycle outside in the winter, I was planning to run!

Even though I know it won’t fix anything, and even though I haven’t done it in so long I can’t remember when the last time was, this whole situation is really making me want to cut.  One of the main reasons I haven’t in so long is because I knew I’d be swimming, and I don’t need to put evidence of my crazy on display.  But since I will evidently not be swimming in the forseeable future, and since I’ve given everything else a shot over the past five weeks and nothing has made a difference, I really, really, really don’t think I care anymore.  About anything.



Not even going to say anything. Except that I am not handling this very well.

At all.

So Wrong

Today was Yom Kippur.  While the vast majority of people spent it praying for a year of life and all that jazz, I must confess that I was kind of wishing for the exact opposite.  I’ve been transformed from a very active person to an inert blob, and I’m not happy about it.

And then I came home tonight to a message from the sports medicine specialist whom I went to see after my doctor insisted that it was a tendon.  I had to fight and scream and claw my way to an MRI, thanks to my insurance company, and that MRI showed what I was hoping it wouldn’t.

I have a stress fracture.

And I don’t know why it even matters whether I rehab it “properly,” since I’m just going to get ****ed over again somehow.  Starting with the half marathon I should have been running in January, but which is looking more and more unlikely.

“Being loving to yourself” is all nice and wonderful, but pretty difficult when you’re so damn easy to hate.  Seriously.  Every time I think it’s not possible for me to hate myself more than I already do, I am astounded to discover that my capacity for self-hatred is apparently limitless.

You know those sunshine-y blog posts where you pretend everything is fine even if the world is crumbling to bits around you?… This isn’t one of those.  So if you like to believe that the world is a fabulous place filled with only good things, just stop reading now.

I realized that when I said “tendon,” most people probably assumed I meant the Achilles tendon.  I didn’t.  It’s actually in my hip.  The upper inner thigh, if we’re going to be precise.  And it means that I can’t do anything.  Not in the “I can’t run so I am riding / swimming / going to the gym instead” way; more like, sitting down or standing up, getting in or out of bed, stepping over the rim of the tub to get into the shower are all excruciatingly painful.  I have not left the house since Tuesday, and frankly, I don’t feel like going anywhere ever again.  Because it was Rosh Hashanah, I only missed two days of work instead of four, but it also means that my sole activity has consisted of moving from my bed to the bathroom to the couch to the table to stuff my fat ugly face and back again, day after day.

After all of the experience I have with injuries, you’d think I would know how to handle this better, but apparently I don’t, because I am kind of completely falling apart.  I tried being patient, but it’s hard to be excited about graduating from crutches to a cane when it still hurts just as much… and I still don’t even know what’s wrong, because my doctor is a total idiot and didn’t give me a referral for an X-ray since he insists it’s not a stress fracture, it’s a tendon… but he wouldn’t give me a referral for an MRI, either, so I had to get that from my endocrinologist, only my insurance company rejected it because it needs to be preceded by an X-ray that shows no abnormalities.  In other words, I am screwed.

And I need a new doctor.  Which I already knew.  Except that I can’t be bothered right now, considering I don’t want to ever go anywhere again.  Even though I am avoiding mirrors, I don’t have to see myself to feel the unwelcome and unnecessary layer of fat that’s draping itself over my rapidly atrophying muscles.  My skin is practically crawling with revulsion, it is driving me insane, and I can’t do a damn thing about it because I can hardly move; I just get to sit around all day ruminating over what a useless waste of space I am, good at nothing but taking up even more and more and more of that space.

I can’t go through this again.  I really, really can’t.