Bike Time: 50 minutes
Distance: 9.05 miles on interval training (i.e., not no resistance)
Today is the last day of Spring Break. I went on Facebook, which was a bad idea. I saw pictures of my friends hiking the Grand Canyon, visiting Red Rock, frolicking with dolphins in Cabo, and seeing Broadway plays in New York. I got a big case of FOMO (fear of missing out), as this is what my FB Spring Break post would look like:
Hey! Here are the great books I've read and I am reading. I've done some sewing, and shipped off a blanket to my mom. Made some napkins too using this pattern! Never mind my teenage daughter thinks making napkins is an economic waste. "Consider your hourly rate at least $15 an hour. How long does it take you to make a napkin, plus the cost of supplies and driving to the fabric store? Those napkins are $17 each and you buy one at Mrs. Cooks for $5." Who says high school kids these days don't know anything? She doesn't know my billable rate when I was at the consulting firm. If you took all of the napkins and other stuff I've sewn since my injury times my billable rate, they would cost more than I paid for the dining room table and chairs! Ha!
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| "Love the first 50 pages! Bitchy! but in a good way!" -- Lauren |
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| "Steamy." -- Lauren |
Yes, I am getting to the point where what used to be a hobby is now a major form of entertainment. Did I mention I have limited mobility and it is driving me nuts? My physical therapist said if I went to New York for vacation six weeks after the surgery, my knee would be mad at me. Instead, the rest of my body is mad at my knee for keeping me home.
There was some good news. My friend Vicki from college sent me text saying she wanted to chat and she was hoping I was having a good recovery from my surgery. She lives in California, but has family in the Pacific Northwest who she visits frequently. When we connected in real time, she asked how I was doing. I took a deep breath. I feared boring her or being Debbie Downer. She seemed sincerely curious. She is an old friend, but most people who haven't been through a knee surgery think "You can walk now, right? All's good." I told her how I am working out, and I can't walk up and downstairs normally--my usual list of stuff.
She told me about her knee surgery in her thirties, which I had forgotten about. I remember her having knee trouble, and finally getting it fixed. I was probably one of those people who thought "All's good." In my thirties, I probably wasn't used to dealing with people with ailments. Now, I keep a mental register for injuries and infirmities. For example, my friend Karen's husband tore his achilles tendon, and Tanya's husband has his appendix out. Tanya was mugged in her early twenties, and the attacker stabbed her hand. She went through months of agonizing physical therapy to be able to touch her fingers to her thumb.
Vicki was now a prophet from my future. I've talked to other people who've torn their ACL, but here one of my oldest friends had gone through it, too. "I thought that I would never get better. I thought I might get stuck like this forever. But now I can dance and walk."
We talked about physical therapy. She'd go to the gym before work, ride the exercise bike for ten minutes, and then ride the bike for ten minutes afterward work. She was impressed that I was up to forty-five minutes on the bike. We talked about the differences in recovery between being in your thirties versus forties, and how it would only get worse the older we get.
My favorite part was when we talked about crossing the street, and the million micro-decisions that are made. "I can't do a mini-jog when I cross the street, so I try to walk as fast as I could so I can make before the 'walk' sign changes. But I don't want to walk so fast that I trip and fall. That would be worse," I said.
"I took my time," Vicki said. "I didn't care if cars had to wait for me." I laughed. She was right, but then I remember the time a guy in a white muscle sports car let me cross the street, not realizing there are tortoises at the zoo who move faster than me. He tried to clip me as soon he had enough room to pass me.
"You'll be better soon," she said. "Before you know it, you'll be dancing." A call from an old friend was worth a thousand FB posts.
Vicki was now a prophet from my future. I've talked to other people who've torn their ACL, but here one of my oldest friends had gone through it, too. "I thought that I would never get better. I thought I might get stuck like this forever. But now I can dance and walk."
We talked about physical therapy. She'd go to the gym before work, ride the exercise bike for ten minutes, and then ride the bike for ten minutes afterward work. She was impressed that I was up to forty-five minutes on the bike. We talked about the differences in recovery between being in your thirties versus forties, and how it would only get worse the older we get.
My favorite part was when we talked about crossing the street, and the million micro-decisions that are made. "I can't do a mini-jog when I cross the street, so I try to walk as fast as I could so I can make before the 'walk' sign changes. But I don't want to walk so fast that I trip and fall. That would be worse," I said.
"I took my time," Vicki said. "I didn't care if cars had to wait for me." I laughed. She was right, but then I remember the time a guy in a white muscle sports car let me cross the street, not realizing there are tortoises at the zoo who move faster than me. He tried to clip me as soon he had enough room to pass me.
"You'll be better soon," she said. "Before you know it, you'll be dancing." A call from an old friend was worth a thousand FB posts.
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