ALLISON MANN

I’m mad at myself.

No, I’m furious.

I’ve spent the last 11.5 weeks eating and drinking like a fairly normal American adult.  I haven’t exercised.  I’ve lost more muscle and gained more fat.  I don’t even feel that bad, and I’m sleeping just fine.  I eat plenty of vegetables, get enough protein, and ingest healthy fats throughout the day and week as well.

But, in addition to being really sad about my state of physical affairs (part of which I can’t help, having been resigned to zero activity on the couch for 4-5 weeks after surgery), I’m also really mad.

Furious.

It’s entirely my fault.  When I lost everything I thought I had, I figured I’d toss up my hands and just do what I pleased, and I did.  Sometimes I tried to pretend like I cared enough to do the whole30 (I’ve now failed to do that, twice), but I was never really that into it.  Not enough to make it through a day or a week on the whole30 lifestyle.

Which is funny, because I attacked paleo for athletes like my life depended on it, like I cared.  The way I approached training and racing, whole-hog, never questioning, just doing.  I knew what I wanted, I knew where I was going.  I believed that everything rolled into the nice little burrito package was going to be worth it.  Wait, let’s remove the tortilla.  Everything piled into the burrito bowl.

But, then I crashed.  When I crashed I hurt myself.  Then I found out I needed surgery if I ever wanted to use my left hamstring again.  Because when all three tendons are completely torn from the ischial tuberosity, they don’t just heal and re-attach.

So then I’m here.  Wherever this is.  This weird sort of recovery-rehabilitation purgatory where I can do some activities, but it’s not like I can get into an exercise routine and start burning calories and working out.  The lights above me are flickering, sometimes going strong and seeming to come back, only to darken once again.  It’s still rehab.  I have parameters.  My leg aches, and it gets tired.  I walk with a limp, and it takes both legs to do a prone hamstring curl with one plate on the machine at the gym.

And at the gym I look at myself and I am not happy with what I see.  There’s plenty in life right now that I can’t change, and that I can’t make better, and there are problems that I can’t solve.  But, one thing I can control is myself.  I tell myself that, and then I go home and something breaks down.  This time it’s going to be different.  Because I know I can do it, but I will struggle.  Every day.  Sometimes more than once.  Maybe I’ll even slip and have to find a way to catch myself and re-balance.

But, and this is going to sound weird, you can help me.  Every day.  Any day.  When or if you remember… email me, Tweet me, Facebook me, text message me… tell me, “YOU CAN’T DO IT!”  ”YOU’RE PROBABLY GOING TO FAIL TODAY.”  ”STILL A FEW MORE HOURS TO GET BAD FOOD!”  Something.  Anything.  I like to have to prove myself, for whatever reason (arm chair psychologists can have a go at that one some other time).

Until then… I’ll be scowling at the elliptical machine wanting to be outside riding, or running, or shooting hoops, or doing anything, but then taking a deep breath and realizing that it’s part of the road in front of me; it’s where I am at RIGHT NOW, and to embrace it.  Soak it in, deal with it.  Keep rebuilding the muscles that are atrophied and weak from disuse.

I’ll be there, wanting to slap my reflection in the mirror.  I know the road I strolled in on, now I just have to find my way back out.

So, yeah, sometimes it’s a struggle.  But, I’m a work in progress.