The guilt is probably worse that the physical pain.

I’ve said a few times that I frucked up my knee trying to start the Couch to 5K running/walking program, and now I’ve found out I have to have an MRI done on it to see if I need surgery.

Yeah.

Exercise is stupid. And painful. And I miss it. I miss the 4 times I got to walk/exercise in the morning where I felt confident in myself and my ability to actually accomplish a goal that I set out to achieve. After the 4 times of getting up and sweaty, I actually felt a difference in myself. After being pretty much inactive for the last 15 years, starting this was my time to get back into my fighting weight and bust some fat ass.

What I’m learning now as I sit on the recliner for the 12th hour of the day as Patrick finishes the dishes from the last 2 days, is that I should have started even easier into the program. Even with it starting as easy as it could have started (90 sec walk, 60 sec run, repeat for 20 min), I should have taken it even easier by just walking for the first week. You know, cause people who get to be my size and my lack of movement need even more limitations.

*le sigh*

So that’s what has put me where I am now: on the recliner, knee propped, icing 20 min an hour unable to be the wife, mother, and housekeeper I need to be.

The official instructions from the doc: “Act like you’re lazy” which, hello? is something I’ve wished to hear for the last 33 years of my life. But when it comes down to the actuality of the situation and all that it means, it completely blows.

It sucks that I can’t push a vacuum to clean my floors.

It sucks that I can’t stand at my kitchen sink and load or unload the dishwasher.

It sucks that I can’t carry loads of laundry, move them, then fold them.

It sucks that I can’t make it to the grocery store to buy food then fix it for my family.

I never ever NEVER thought I’d think these things would suck. Ever. Never.

The absolute worst thing about injuring my knee: I won’t be able to travel to Anissa’s house next week to help her and her family.

It KILLS me. I am wrecked, gutted, flat out sad that I can’t follow through on my promise to help my friend.

I know there’s nothing more I could have done.

Except for take care of my self for the last 15 years. If I had done that, I’d be driving to Atlanta on Sunday.

Instead, I’m waiting to hear from the MRI scheduler to find out when I’ll go in to be photographed from the inside out.

It will cost my family hundreds of dollars.

If I have to have surgery (which, if I have to have the MRI, it’s pretty much a given that I’ll have to have surgery), it will cost my family even more money, and time, and frustrations, and canceled plans.

I can’t compare my injury to anything anyone else has had to go through, but I still have guilt over my part in what is happening to everyone around me.

Anissa and Peter are amazing. Forgiving. Understanding. Loving.

Patrick is beyond loving. Beyond caring. Beyond understanding. He’s been a single parent and housewife when he gets home after work. He’s amazing.

Thank you.

And now, while I sit on the internet 12+ hours a day as rest my bum knee, I need to learn how to make latkes, blintzes, and knishes.

shit … the tears again …

Running is stupid.

This is not a “Lookit me! I’m exercising! I’m super happy! I’m gonna be super skinny in 2.4 weeks! ZOH MAH GAH I’m so encouraged to change my life!” post.

Nope. Running is stupid.

Exercising is stupid.

But I did it for serious this morning. Not 1/2-assed. Like, for serious, serious sweating.

If I had checked my pulse at the height of my near-death exercise routine at minute 14, it would have been somewhere between 150 and 300 or something.

I mentioned last week that I bought the Couch to 5K app for my iPhone. Today, I used it.

I woke up early. *gasp*
I put on tennis shoes WITH socks. *double gasp*
I started the app. *triple gasp*
I stretched. *NAILED IT*
I.
WAS
RUN-NING.

*THUD*

The first two cycles of running were pretty easy. Having not truly exercised or run for the last 15 years of my life, I was pretty durn proud of myself for not falling over and dying a slow heart-attack death on my neighbor’s sidewalk. (“That poor fat girl was just trying to lose some of that Taco Bell 4-year-old baby weight. Such a pretty face wasted on the sidewalk.“)

Then came the start of the 3rd cycle of running NON-STOP for SIXTY WHOLE SECONDS. And dudes. It was hard.

Like, super duper hard.

I had no idea my size 7-1/2 feet weighed so much. Like running with boulders at then end of my chubby legs. Heavy.

Stupid.

Hard.

Then my panties started falling down. Not my shorts. My undieroos inside my shorts.

Do you know what a fat girl looks like jogging/walking briskly while pulling her skivvies up from the outside of her shorts with one ear bud falling out of her ear and glasses sliding down her nose?

If you’d been in my neighborhood at 7:45 this morning, you could have videoed it for YouPorn.

And who knew my ARMS would hurt after this “Run, Fat Girl, Run Experiment”?

And my foot is dead. I’m pretty sure I have plantar fascitis or that Voodoo Priestess’ spell on me from 1995 is finally working and I’ll never be able to walk the streets of New Orleans again. Either way, it hurts like yeah.

And I’m sore.

And tomorrow’s soreness will be worse.

And I DESERVED THE MARGARITA I DRANK FOR DINNER TONIGHT.

But I’ll do it again.

I get a rest tomorrow to slap on at least 9 Ben-Gay* patches all over my body.
Related: Do you think they stick on hair? There are places down there I’m pretty sure will be hurty and will need the sweet cool relief of Mr. Gay and I’m not into acting like a Brazilian ifyouknowwhatimean.

This deal of 30 minutes of work for ever 48 hours is pretty sweet.

To summarize:
* Running is dumb, but being fat is dumber.
* I’m gonna get me a preggo belly band to keep my big ole belly up and strapped down and unjiggly.
* I promise NOT to bore you with my efforts to be svelt and a MILF by the end of the summer.
* You WILL want to feel me up.

Or I’ll fail miserably after week 2 and you’ll be non the wiser.

______________________________

*Is there a better name for a product than “Ben-Gay”?

I think not.

I broke down and shelled out $3 for the Couch to 5 K app for my phone.

It takes me less than 1/2 a second to decide on buying a dozen mini cupcakes, but it took me about 6 months to finally justify spending 3 dollars on an exercise app.

I’ll succeed in finishing off the cupcakes, but I may fail at actually using the exercise app.

I know. Crazy town.

I quit soda in December thinking I’d instantly drop a few hundred pounds. Didn’t happen.

Apparently I have to actually get up and do more than walk to the toilet to equal actual exercise.

That’s just stupid.

Exercise is hard. And it’s hot outside. And I don’t like the hot. It makes sweat. And sweat is stupid.

It takes too many steps to turn on the Wii Fit Plus.

THAT is a sign of fucking lazy.

I’ve told you before that I take lazy to a whole other level. Now do you believe me?

But now I guess being fat is stupid. And that’s just dumb.

________________________________________

Pee Pee Ess: I lied.