If you’re me, you scream and cry and embarrass your mother by shouting at everyone to “F**K OFF” while your doctor is thanking God that at this Catholic hospital, the nuns are on another floor that day. The priest isn’t though, and he could come douse you in holy water any second because absolutely NO ONE acts this way who isn’t possessed.
Rewind. March was a hellaciously busy month, the one time of year where I was required to work long hours and forget I had a life. ‘Stressful’ doesn’t begin to define it. Just as the end was in sight, I ended up rounding out the month with emergency gall bladder surgery. This is when I discovered anesthesia makes me go all Regan MacNeil on the entire third floor. So now I shall offer a public apology to my parents and my doctors: Sorry for the bad language. The drugs made me do it. Thank you for not enacting an Exorcism.
We’re almost into June now and I admit I don’t miss my gall bladder at all. However, recovery time made me realize I do miss having my butt kicked in bootcamp on a regular basis. I miss getting sweaty. I miss feeling like jello on the gym floor saying, “SAVE YOURSELVES, GO ON WITHOUT ME!” I miss looking like the woman on the billboard advertising lipo—only I’ve never had lipo, just four days a week of torture that I can’t seem to say no to.
To compensate, I tried to sneak in workouts by vacuuming, lifting my laundry bags, scrubbing the tile floors. Let’s face it though, I despise domesticity and these things were all on the doc’s To-Don’t list anyway so it didn’t last long. With no reason to properly fuel for fitness, I only thought it logical to divert back to the Wine & Krystals diet (also on the doc’s To-Don’t list) in search of happiness.
Luckily, I have an amazing boyfriend who counted down the days until I could get physical again and out of my slump. Not so much to prevent the weight gain, more to preserve the sanity of us both. Six weeks to the minute, he carried my bike downstairs and we set out on a short AM trek through the ‘hood. At seven weeks, he corked the wine, deemed Krystals unacceptable (except in cases of extreme emergency), and filled the crisper with veggie goodness. We went on my first run since February. It was painfully slow, but he stayed with me and was my biggest cheerleader. After a mile, we stopped for step-ups on a ledge near the sidewalk and a few sets of lunges, followed by more running and walking. I don’t remember the last time a two mile trek made me feel so accomplished. The following day, I wept tears of joy over my sore glutes.
Over the past year, exercise has been the best medicine, keeping me both physically and emotionally healthy. Occasionally, I’d want to take breaks if it got too hard. Two months off because I had to made me a basket case and was definitely harder than the most torturous days in the gym. Now when I set out, I have a whole new respect and appreciation for the burn and if I can help it, I’m not going to give it up again!