You know that Taylor Swift song, “Stupid girl. Should have known. I should have known”?
That’s how I feel.
It turns into a breakup song after that, and, since I’m usually the one doing the breaking up, I can’t relate all that much to the rest of it. I was still super into it freshmen year of college though. Anyway, that one little line of it has been echoing around in my head all week.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Sometimes, I start feeling totally indestructible. This is a bad sign. It’s usually accompanied by a brief period of euphoria, during which I think that I will eventually be able to accomplish (insert impractical/impossible goal here), and then followed by some disastrous reminder that I am, in fact, only human.
I’ve been on a blog-writing hiatus for a while because of my broken computer. Well, I finally have one again! But only because I have lovely friends who apparently have old laptops sitting on shelves collecting dust. My OWN computer is still bouncing around somewhere in Texas, while the warranty people attempt to get their act together and fix it (for the fourth week running).
At some point while I was busy not writing, I fell apart. Or at least that’s how it feels.
Two days after the mildly uncomfortable shoulder injury I got during my Tough Mudder, I thought it would be a good idea to do some overhead squats at the box. Stupid girl. I thought my arm was going to fall off. I swear I could actually HEAR something in my shoulder crunching and ripping at the same time, (although nobody else did, so my brain may be adding in a few theatrics of its own).
I’ve never been in tears at the box before. I’m not a tearful sort of person in general. It was horribly embarrassing. Especially when I kept responding to people’s concerned questions with the obviously untrue (and slightly rude), “I’m not crying. Go away.”
My shoulder hurt so badly that I didn’t go back to the box for THREE DAYS. Major holidays or vacations excluded, I think this may be a personal record for me. Within those three days, what I had thought was a mild case of twisted ankle (also a gift from my dear friend Tough Mudder) turned into a full-on sprain. I spent the end of the week doing WODs of my own invention, which consisted of the few things I could come up with that involved neither my feet nor my shoulders, and trying to will my ankle better in time for the half marathon I was supposed to run that weekend.
Stupid girl. Why would you stack your races like that? I didn’t run it. I wouldn’t have made it 400 meters.
At the moment, my ankle is at least mended enough that I could run a somewhat slow 5k on it yesterday (which I promise I will write a proper post about soon), but my shoulder seems to be on a downward spiral. I hurt it again a few days ago snatching a measly little 55 lbs. I miss being able to throw my body around. I miss moving fast. I miss lifting heavy. I miss feeling like I’m not afraid of getting hurt.
I miss being on my parent’s health insurance.
I caved in and made an appointment to get it looked at today. I suppose the bright side to all of this is that I’m finally getting a four-year-old injury treated. Or evaluated, at least. I’ll have to somehow make my bank account get along with my insurance deductible before I actually get anything fixed. I guess I could give up entering races for a while. Mmm, but there’s a half in Virginia Beach that I really want to run in September. Running AND the beach. How can you possibly say no to that?