Don't Call It a Comeback

Just kidding, that's exactly what you should call it.  Although I have been here for years, I keep running into these annoying obstacles (aka surgeries).  But every time I get knocked down, I get back up again.  (Did everybody catch my clever LL Cool J references there?)

So, my knees aren't great.  Spending most of my life at an unhealthy weight wasn't great for them.  But I lost the weight- good! yay!  And I started running- good! yay!  Except for my knees weren't as enthusiastic as the rest of me.  Actually, they moved way past unenthusiastic all the way to straight pissed.  So in an effort to calm them down, surgery.  I wrote all about that here.

Recovery was lengthy.  There were a lot of baby steps.  Two baby steps forward, followed by one baby step back.  I spent hour after hour either in PT or doing my assigned PT exercises (or in water aerobics with my oldster pals).  Waiting, waiting, waiting for the "all clear" to get back to my normal activity level (which is obviously code for running).

I finally got the go-ahead around Memorial Day.  More baby steps, but the strides were a little longer and a little quicker.  Running for one minute then walking for two, then running for two minutes followed by three minutes of walking.  Working my way up to a full mile of running, then two, then three.

For the entirety of the summer, I struggled through the oppressive heat and humidity to put miles in.  Slow miles, to be sure.  But I was running.  The summer was filled with these slow, miserable miles.  Every weekend I'd add a quarter of a mile onto my "long run", which had been 10 miles prior to surgery.  Slowly, slowly, slowly, I was trying to make my way back to six (which is the max I'm allowed now).

My pace was similar to a snail's when I started, but I didn't care.  I knew that once the heat and humidity of the summer had passed, my pace would pick up.  A few weeks ago I ran my first 5k of the fall.  When I felt the buzz of my watch at the end of the first mile, I looked down and saw 9:05.  I literally thought that my watch was broken.  When it buzzed after the second mile and the screen read 8:51, I realized that all that of the pep talks I'd been giving myself through the hot and miserable summer miles were true, and that the hard work was indeed paying off.  I was getting my speed back.

A couple of weeks later, I added the final quarter mile onto my long run.  I plotted a course and set off for a run all around my town.   I thanked my lucky stars every time I came to a red light and had to wait for the crossing signal because it meant that I had a moment to catch my breath.  But I finished those six miles.  I felt exhausted, and also like a million bucks.

This past weekend, feeling confident in my comeback, I organized my first group run.  My beloved "Sleep In Saturday", six late morning miles followed by beer, because let's be honest- sleeping in, running, and drinking are three of my most favorite things.  I was positively giddy in the days leading up to the weekend, because organizing my first Sleep In Saturday meant that my comeback was complete, and that for the fist time in almost a year, I was just going out for a normal run, and not working toward getting back to where I used to be.

I used to be a runner.  I am a runner again.  I've come full circle.  Life is good.   

 

Back to the Gym!

Y'all.

Today I made it back to the gym for the first time in eight weeks!  And let me tell you, it was some kinda special.

I have been DYING to get back into the gym.  I NEED some calorie burn in my life, since I've filled it with nothing but food and beer for many weeks now.  But there really isn't much I can do in the way of cardio.  Before now, I've only gotten the ok for a few seated upper body exercises, and although I did this some, it hardly felt worth the effort.

But I was finally given a new option: water aerobics.

I know what you're thinking.  That is a class meant for oldsters.  And you know what?  YOU ARE TOTALLY RIGHT.

I was actually nervous to show up this morning.  It's a new gym, new class, new people.  I didn't know the protocol.  I left the house extra early to make sure I had plenty of time to get Charlotte settled in the childcare center, plenty of time to find a locker, plenty of time to meet the instructor and get the scoop on what to expect.

Side note- as I was getting ready to head out, I told Charlotte to get in the car.  Since my surgery, she has become accustomed to not leaving the house in the mornings.  When I told her to get in the car, she yelled "WE GOING TO THE GYM??"  She was seriously so excited.  She has missed it, too.  Adorbs.

Anywho, I got there with plenty of time and headed to the pool.

There was a literal sea of old ladies, with a few old men sprinkled in here and there.  The pool was packed.  There were at least sixty geezers bobbing up and down, waiting for class to start.

The instructor saw me hobble in, leaning on my cane, and immediately came over to chat with me about modifications and fill me in on what to expect.  She then helped me into the pool and lined my cane up with about 20 others against the walls.

She lined my cane up with the others.  How is this my life right now?!?

The people watching was amazing.  Half of the ladies are there for the exercise, but the other half are clearly there for social hour.  They waded from one end of the pool to the other, greeting each other, kissing cheeks, and catching up on oldster life.  Several of the ladies introduced themselves to me, as I obviously stuck out like a sore thumb and everyone knew I was a newbie.  I heard about Pat's knee replacement, Jeannie's husband's hip replacement, and how loud the music was today (it was all Beatles tunes, pumped up with some aerobics beat).  One lady mentioned that I must feel like I was in my mother's class.  I didn't have the heart to say what I was really thinking- "More like my grandmother's!"- so I just smiled and agreed.

The workout was ok- not as pain free as I was hoping, and definitely not as intense as I'd like.  But at the end of the day, I GOT A WORKOUT.

Also, I think I have a gaggle of new old lady friends.  They can't wait to see me back on Wednesday.

Just imagine me plopped right in the middle of these grandmas, trying desperately to fit in.

All the Feels

Thanks to a friend's request, I'm getting my shit together and sitting down at the computer.

Quite honestly, I have no decent excuse for not writing sooner (unless "avoiding your feelings" is a decent excuse?).  After all, I've been doing a whole lotta sitting for the past five weeks...

Let me back it up a minute.  On November 29th, knee surgery happened.  Arthritis has been bothering me for years.  I was a young 29 years old the first time I saw a doctor for knee pain, and x-rays showed osteoarthritis then.  My mom's joints have also suffered for years, so it's definitely in the genes.   

At the time of the initial diagnosis, I used knee pain as an excuse to pretty much sit on my ass and do nothing (and we all know how that worked out).  Even though I added a bunch more weight to my already heavy body, hey, at least my knees didn't hurt!  We also all know that one day I got fed up with the way I looked, and worked really hard to get into shape.  That meant a lot of crazy workouts, and eventually a lot of running.  And then a lot of knee pain.

SO...after an amazing finish at my second half marathon this year, I headed into surgery the following week.  The doctor expected to be able to just clean up some damaged cartilage and send me walking on my way, but unfortunately, the damage was worse than expected, resulting in a microfracture procedure.  This means that I am now five weeks into six weeks of post-op crutches while my knee heals...and about a month into the 6-9 months before I'll be allowed to run again.

So now you're caught up.        

I've been working through a whole lot of emotions since the procedure.  I knew there was a slight chance that the surgery could go down this way.  (I remember coming out of anesthesia and immediately mumbling "microfracture?," and then bawling when they told me yes.)  However, the doctor made it seem like a pretty remote chance.  And I knew that running would be a far way off if the microfracture were required, but I had no idea that I wouldn't be able to walk without crutches for six weeks post-op.  So yes, I've shed more than I few tears lately.

I cried first of all for running.  Running has most definitely become more than just a form of exercise that lets me eat dessert and drink beer and still maintain my weight loss.  Running has become a passion, a part of my life, a part of who I am.  It took months of regular running and even finishing a half marathon before I could refer to myself as a runner, but I got there.  I earned it.  And I loved it.  I improved so much over the past year.  I got stronger and faster.  And I loved it.  So to have that taken away for such a long time, when I was expecting to only be sidelined for 4-6 weeks, was very hard.

But I'm working through that.  I am learning to look to the long-term.  You know, the whole "short term loss, long term gain" state of mind.  I want to run for years and years.  And in order to ensure that can happen, this surgery was necessary.  It will also be necessary for me to back my mileage way down, which means this past half marathon was quite likely my last.  That fact required a mourning of its own, but I'd rather be able to run a few miles at a time than none at all.

After I cried many tears for running, I started to cry tears of helplessness.  I am a mom of young children.  I am the keeper of our household.  I am the one who handles things when things need handled.  Crutches pretty much brought that to a screeching halt.

I can use neither my feet, nor my hands.  I can hobble from one place to another, but I cannot carry anything other than my crutches.  I can shift laundry from the washer to the dryer, but I can't get it to the laundry room when it needs to be washed or to the kids' bedrooms after it's been dried and folded.  I can probably put something into the microwave, but I can't stand on my feet long enough to bake all of the Christmas cookies that Margot and I usually bake together at Christmastime.  I can give hugs, but I can't pick Charlotte up.

Feeling helpless has been extremely difficult.  But I know this is temporary, and I have gotten to see how amazing my husband is on a whole new level.  He has stepped up and taken care of EV-ER-Y-THING.  He puts the kids to bed every night so I don't always have to navigate the stairs.  He picks up the house after they get to sleep so that the mess won't make me crazy (or trip me while I'm trying to crutch around).  He cooks meals (with direction).  He drops Margot off at preschool on his way into the office and runs my errands on his way home.  He pushes me around Target in a wheelchair when I need a minute to get out of the house.  I didn't know it was possible to love him more than I already did, but I sure do now. 

I have also cried tears of anxiety.  Anxiety over what is happening to my weight while I'm doing all of this sitting.  And while I know it's not healthy, I eat my feelings.  I'm feeling sad and sorry for myself, so I eat something crappy.  And then I'm sad because I ate something crappy and can't run it off.  And then I'm sad that I can't run, so I eat something crappy.  See where I'm going here?  It's a downward spiral.

But I've lost weight before, and I'll lose it again.  I am DYING to get into the gym.  Thankfully, although I won't be allowed to run for several months, I will be able to bike and swim ahead of that.  I bought a new swimsuit and some goggles, and I'm excited to make swimming a part of my workout routine that is easy on my joints.

So there you have it.  The whole sea of emotions that I've been wallowing in over here.  Thank God that Christmas was thrown in as the ultimate, weeks-long distraction, otherwise I'd be drowning by now!

Now count it down with me...SEVEN more days until I can toss these crutches outta my life and try to regain a little bit of the normalcy that I've lost!  Until then, there will probably be some more crying over here.

The Most Vulnerable Post Ever

Post-weight loss plastic surgery.  I had it.  I wrote about it here and here, and a bunch of other times.  And today you get to hear about it one more time.

Today I had my 3/5 month follow-up visit with the surgeon (we combined follow-ups so that I didn't have to live at the office).  This is the visit where they took the 'after' photos to accompany the 'before' shots that were taken at my pre-op visits.  These are always a good time- I get to wear tiny disposable thong underwear and stand in awkward positions while a nurse takes my picture.

These pictures, guys.  They threw me for a loop.

Recovery from these operations was hard.  Some days, really really hard.  There were days when I wondered if I'd done the right thing.  I hated the forced laying around, I felt depressed because of all of the pain every minute of every day for weeks on end, I missed picking up my babies, I wanted to get up and run but couldn't.  These were some rough days.  

Now that I've made it to the other side, I have worries of a different kind.  I worry about gaining the weight back.  I get concerned about eating too much or not working out enough.  And because I am a woman, I still sit in judgement of my body every day. 

Sometimes, if I let myself, I can get caught up in all of that.

Today, these photos brought me back to reality.

Reality is that my body is amazing.  It is strong.  It is healthy.  And I put a helluva lot of work into getting it to that point.  The reason I had these surgeries in the fist place is because it sucked to work so hard to lose so much weight, and still hate the way I looked in the mirror.  My body was strong and healthy then, too, you just couldn't see it beneath the extra skin and loose fat deposits that no amount of exercise would get rid of.

You can see it now.

When the doctor showed me these photos in his office today, I broke down and cried.  I can't even put my finger on why.  Pride for accomplishing a goal, relief that this chapter of my life is behind me, joy that my outward appearance finally matches my inner strength.  The photos put things into perspective somehow, and I'm an emotional hot mess over here.

I can't believe I'm putting this out there for the world to see, but here you have it- my 'before' and 'after.'  I think J probably put it best when he said "worth every penny."  If you need me, I'll just be here staring at these pictures and crying all day.

    

Help Me Understand

Can we please talk about Lululemon?

In my search for the perfect post-surgery compression wear, I've been researching leggings.  They seem like the most sensible option for me- and let's be honest, I wear leggings almost every day, anyway.

I came across a review that mentioned how extra snug the Lululemon leggings are.  This sounded dreamy to me, because right now, extra tight feels extra good.

I decided to hop over to the Lululemon website to check out my options.

Tight Stuff Tight from lululemon.com

HOLY. SHIT.

Guys, I've reached the point in my life, financially, where I'm willing to pay a little bit more for a higher quality product.  And by this, I mean I buy Bounty paper towels instead of the Target brand.  I do not mean that I'm willing to spend $148 on a pair of leggings!

What type of voodoo magic do these leggings contain?  Are there diamonds sewn into the fancy pocket somewhere?  Are they hemmed with the golden thread that Rumplestiltskin spun from straw?  I can't fathom paying that much for a pair of pants otherwise.

Who out there owns these pants, and what makes them so superior to my Old Navy leggings that are about a quarter of the cost?  I NEED TO KNOW!    

Things I'm Not Good At

You know, there are plenty of things I'm good at in life.  I can cook a delicious meal and bake a scrumptious dessert to go with it.  I've got a nice voice and have thus been the wedding singer at many a wedding.  I have a head full of lots of useless trivia.  I once gave birth with only a tiny half of a push.  But there are plenty of things that I suck at.  Here are a few things that are not my strong points:

1. Baby gates.  It seriously took 35 years and the birth of three children to figure out how to use this basic one.  I'm a smart person, but this somehow defeated me for many years.  

2. Dumplings.  There really isn't a recipe for these, and I just can't make them like my mom.

3. Taking it easy.  So yeah, I may have had a pretty decent surgery two weeks ago.  I've got some enormous incisions to heal.  And yes, I should definitely be using my spare time to relax.  But as it turns out, I suck at that.  I have all of this free time that I'm not used to.  We had someone come out to clean the house, since my activity level is restricted, so that's taken care of (and we might as well add housekeeping to the list of things I suck at, anyway).  I most definitely can't work out.  What's a girl to do??

Apparently, tackle a painting project that I've been putting off.

Months ago, I bought a gallon of paint for the girls bathroom during a good Sherwin Williams sale.  I figured that when the urge to paint hit me (as it does every few months), I'd be ready.

The urge hit a few days ago.  I told myself that this was probably an okay activity.  It's not like I'm trying to sneak in any cardio, right?  How much work is it to brush and roll?  It's fine, right??  I'll do it slowly, a little bit over several days.

I started out strong.  The first day, I just did a little bit of cutting in around one side of the bathroom.  The next day, I did a little more.  Then the third day hit, and I could no longer stand the project as a "work in progress."  Full steam ahead.

In hindsight, this was not my best decision.  Up and down on and off the ladder turned out to be less than comfortable.  I'm thankful for a husband who understands my particular brand of crazy, and helped me finish up the parts that required climbing.  By day three, I wisely stuck to painting only those areas that I could reach while standing upright, on the ground.

In any case, their sweet little bathroom is now a pretty purple, and I have two happy little girls.  And one less thing on my silly to-do list.

This week, I promise there will be lots less home improvement and lots more Netflix.

Hell Is...

Trying so hard to take it easy, and rest in bed during afternoon nap time, even though this is typically when I'd be busy getting things done.  And while I'm forcing myself to rest, I catch some movement out of the corner of my eye.  And that movement is a spider.  IN MY BED.  And then I freak out (naturally) and try to jump out of bed as quickly as I can.  But of course, I'm recovering from surgery, so jumping or moving quickly in any way is next to impossible, and wildly painful.  But I move as quickly as I can (ohmygodithurts) and try to find a shoe.  Charlotte wears my shoes everywhere, all the time, and I'm usually irritated that my shoes are left here, there, and everywhere.  But of course at this moment, there are no shoes to be found.  NONE.  WHERE ARE ALL OF MY SHOES??  But I finally find one and run back to my bed (agony!).

The spider is gone.  Lost somewhere in by bedroom.  So now I'm forced to wonder where he is for the rest of my days.  Did he crawl back into my bed?  Will I swallow him in my sleep?  Will he creep into my ear and lay eggs in my brain?

I think this is the real torture.

I'm Not Dead

I promise, I didn't bring the blog back just to disappear for another three years!

Surgery, part deux, happened, and well...my legs have looked better.

Bruising and swelling and oozing, oh my!  I will spare you the gory details, but the short version is this: the extra elephanty skin that was hanging around my thighs is outta here.  Yes, this summer I will resemble Frankenstein, but this monster will be running in shorts!

I will fill you in on a few things I've learned this go 'round:

1. When given the opportunity to trash my healthy eating habits, I will take it and run.  (Haha...run!)  My brain has pretty much shut down the corner that puts thought into the food going into my mouth.  Dessert after every meal?  Yes, please!  And before you say that there's no such thing as breakfast dessert, a good friend once taught me that ordering a chocolate chip pancake after you've finished your omelet is the perfect way to accomplish breakfast dessert.  I'm blaming the pain for my lack of self-control.  Which brings me to my next point-

2. Grilled cheese and crinkle cut fries are my ultimate comfort food.  Two surgeries in two months, and both times, when I've finally come out of the post-surgical stupor enough to want sustenance, grilled cheese and crinkle fries have been my meal request.  My poor, sweet husband has gone on the hunt twice now.  He's narrowed down the best sandwich, the best fries, and these may or may not be located at the same restaurant.  He's even learned to keep the takeout container open during the car ride home, lest the extra-crispy fries get soggy.  Which brings me to the NEXT point-

3. My husband is the best husband.  He bankrolls my procedures and then takes care of my unreasonable specific requests afterward.  I love him so.

4. And finally, the most important lesson I've learned.  DO NOT, under any circumstances, shop online while under the effects of anesthesia.  Anesthesia amnesia is a real thing, and I know because I experienced it just two short months ago.  I remember very little from either surgery day.  I do remember that it occured to me once I got home last week that my fancy compression garment, which I am forced to wear for every day for the next six weeks, covers about 80% of the skin on my body.  What is a girl to wear over such a garment?  Especially when summer is coming, and it ain't getting any cooler outside!  I thought maybe I should order a few things, so that I could safely leave the house.

And order I did.

I keep getting notification after notification about items that have shipped from here, there, and everywhere.  UPS started delivering today.  It's like Christmas!  I don't remember what I ordered or from where.  Who knows how long the deliveries will continue?  I'll live it up until I have to start returning.

          

Post/Pre

Yesterday I had my 6 week post-op appointment with the plastic surgeon- combined with the pre-op appointment for my next surgery, which will happen in a few weeks.

Talk about mixed emotions.

I have officially been released to resume any and all types of exercise that I'd like.  Yay!

After the next surgery, there will be no exercise of any kind for at least four weeks, and I will not be able to lift anything heavier than 10 pounds (including my Charlotte) for at least as long.  Boo.

The worst of the pain is over, my healing is going as expected, and my incision looks as it should at this point.  Yay!

The incisions for part 2 are much more precarious, prone to reject stitches, "gnarly" looking (as the nurse put it), and with my fair skin, will probably take two full years to not look so red and angry.  Boo.

The next procedure is so much easier than the first!  Yay!

By this, I'm pretty sure that they mean the initial pain won't be as bad, and I won't have so much trouble getting around.  But the pain is nagging and lingering.  Perhaps for months.  Boo.

Guys, I am so anxious to have this behind me.  And I know in the end it will all be totally worth it.  But this part is hard.  Maybe even as hard as it was to pass up all those french fries and ice cream that helped get me to this point.

I hate that I'm not going to be able to pick up my daughter.  I hate that just as soon as I'm closing in on a pain-free normal that I'm heading right back into the daily pain.  I hate that I won't be able to run for so long, because as it turns out, I'm kind of a crabby bitch some days when you take running away from me.  I hate that my scars are probably going to frighten my children (and innocent bystanders!) this summer.  I try not to complain about this, since it is fully elective and I brought this on myself.  But day after day after day of pain is hard.  Boo.

But my stomach is FLAT, and my legs will have lost all of the wrinkly elephant skin that is clinging to my thighs.  Yay!

I'm in full steam ahead mode.  Let's get this over with.