After my visit to San Francisco to start my new job, I found myself finally coming to grips with a known reality: I am not in shape. For the inexperienced, this may seem like a strange thing for me to admit – not the truth of the statement, but the coming to grips. There is, as I now understand it, a deep-seated subconscious force that allows you to deny something, even when staring it in the face. The brain just refuses to integrate the truth into your own reality.
I am fat. Well, that’s probably not fair to most “fat” people, because I don’t have a few extra pounds, I have a few extra people’s worth of pounds. After my visit to San Fran, and the walking I did (which, by the way, wore me out, but I survived enough to complain), the walls in my brain finally crumbled.
It was time to go back to the gym.
Last week, I set out with good intentions. Monday morning, I hauled myself to the gym. Wednesday, the same. Friday I missed because of carpenters showing up unannounced, but it didn’t matter. By Friday night, I couldn’t move. And so began days of wavering between discomfort and outright pain.
Normally, by day three or four of this (I think it was just a pinched nerve, fwiw – Monday I had been very vigorous on the elliptical), I would have gone to a doctor. Except health insurance for the new job didn’t kick in until the first – so anything I went to a doctor for would have been a paperwork nightmare as the claims shuffled between insurance companies. So I did what any red blooded, testosterone laden male would do – I suffered the pain and waited.
The first came, but insurance was still messed up – no relief for at least another day. By this point I was sleeping on the couch at night – why make my wife suffer with me? – and watching the equivalent of late night TV on Netflix (Jessica Fletcher is my girl now). As a side effect of all of this, my non-work hours were suffering. Blogging, writing (though more on that later this week), journaling, etc., were taking a hit. It’s hard to accomplish things when it hurts to sit, hurts to stand, hurts to walk, and lying down just increases the sharpness of the pain.
Today I woke up to two wonderful surprises, once I uncontorted myself on the couch. First, my insurance was fixed, and my family was again under an umbrella. Technically we always were, but not being able to point at an ID # or a policy makes a father of three…nervous. Second, by some miracle (I think something in the contortion, actually), I awoke painless.
I sat up slowly, as has become my custom, trying to ease into the sharp pangs of gravity. Nothing.
I stood up, tentatively moving my legs. Nothing.
I took a step, then another. I glided up stairs – frigging glided up them – Nothing. In fact, in some weird, post-traumatic disorder, I actually feel better than I have in a really long time. More…elastic.
I am also treading a very careful, tight rope here. I’m trying not to fool myself into thinking its better. By bedtime, I could be a mess again. I need to be more cautious and acknowledge that I can’t just dive into a harsh workout without any preamble. Taking this lesson to heart, time to start again.
Oh, and I’m back 🙂