You're very tight here.

It's official. The woman who just released my back deserves a medal.

Because I've now spent half a week on my butt, and because I can't afford to have that continue into this weekend (due to the fact that it's the most important weekend I've had career-wise in a year, and I have to be able to stand, move around, and otherwise be dynamic and not-injured), I sought out professional help for my back issues.

I have gone to Body Kneads Massage in Boca before--they do chiropractic massage, etc., etc., and I've had them do deep tissue and sports massages for me back when I was still lifting heavy and trying to be a bikini competitor. Everyone I've worked with has done a pretty darn good job, so I decided to use my day off (and their summer massage special) to go and see if they couldn't help me out.

Boy, did they ever.

I ended up working with Estefania, who, in my humble, slightly biased, post-massaged opinion, might just be the greatest human being ever. This massage wasn't just a "hey, let me dig into your various body parts and see how hard I can press," or even a dinky "let me rub your shoulders for an hour." This was a "hey-where-did-that-bruise-come-from, elbow-in-my-glute, thumbs-or-trigger-point-seeking-missiles" kind of massage.

The very first thing she said to me once I was on the table was, "You're very tight here." Probably not a good sign, when she was only talking about my forearms. She moved to my pecs, and remarked, "You're very tight here." Fortunately, that's normal. Years of rounded shoulders, heavy backpacks and purses, computer-desk-hunching, and other symptoms of the typical American lifestyle contribute to that.

Then she moved to my back. She literally gasped. And then she said, "You're very tight here." Understatement of the century.

In order to better work the back, though, she had to release the glute (and in an ironic twist, I was "very tight here.") and the hamstring, and then even the fascia of my back. So much pain; so much necessary, glorious pain. And then the shoulders, which were tight, and then into my neck for some of the most intense myofascial release I've ever had there.

That said, I feel incredible, bruises and all. Obviously I'm not in any condition to go bend myself into any form of padahastasana,* but I feel like I will be able to make it through tomorrow and then the weekend at work.

So no yoga for another couple (several?) days...which is killing me. But soon enough. Soon enough.

And no more gym. Sigh.

Alright...off to study, run errands, and clean the house (carefully).

Kaila

*I promised one of my managers two days ago that I'm going to try going a whole quarter without a major injury. Wish me luck....

What a pain in the...back.

This serves me right.

I'm half-sitting here in my local whole foods while I wait for an appropriate time to go to work. I'm leaning mostly on my right side (getting a small amount of compression going, so I can extend the left side as much as possible without lying down), half-sunk underneath the table with my leg extended in front of me. I keep getting shooting pains down my left arm and into my ring finger (though those might just be sympathy pains for all of my crazy friends who decided that 24 was a good age at which to get married). It hurts to put full pressure on my left leg.

In other words, I'm a mess. Again. And I totally deserve it. I'm not cut out for this resistance training thing, apparently. At least not in the traditional meathead, iron pumping, gym rat sense. I get the message, Universe. I'm gonna stick with yoga for now, okay?

Well, not exactly for now. For now, I'm attempting to stay mobile.

I had the last two days off (one, an actual day off; the other, a no-way-around-it sick day). I spent the first day in bed just resting, and so when I woke up yesterday, I was feeling a lot better.

Now, when I have days off from work, I use them to their fullest. Because, as much as I hate to admit this, being healthy is a chore. My food choices--fresh, unprocessed, often produce-based--require massive amounts of prep work if I want to set myself up for meal-planning success during the week.

Because my schedule is unpredictable and requires me to be away from my personal refrigerator or kitchen tools for long periods of time, I have to make sure that all of my meals and snacks for the week have been made in advance. I'll often prep large batches of vegetables, grains (like quinoa or the amazing skillet full of black japonica rice that I made yesterday), and main dishes (like black bean/brown rice/sweet potato burgers or chickpeas and quinoa with tahini sauce) and freeze them for use throughout the week.

The problem with this is that I have to do all of this work in one day--and then clean up afterward.

I spent all of yesterday on my feet, first at the Boy's Farmer's Market, Publix, and Whole Foods (because prices and availability differ between each, so I try to stretch my dollar as far as it will go), and later in the kitchen cooking and cleaning.

By 6 pm, I thought my back was going to give out. I got in bed for a little while to take the pressure off of my back. By 9 pm, I literally couldn't get out of bed. Ask my roommates, and they'll tell you that the noises they heard as I tried to first hoist (and then roll) myself out of bed and then actually put pressure on my left leg were cause for alarm.

Fortunately, a little bit of sleep helped ease some of the pain, and I started off this morning at a 4. But as I've been out and about, being as productive as possible (from making my breakfast juice and then doing the dishes, taking care of my dog, and then running some errands, well, my situation has started to go downhill. We're at a 6 six right now, and I'm hoping that 9 hours on my feet today won't cause any further worsening of the situation (hey, a girl can dream, right?).

I'm so mad at myself, it's not even funny. But at least I've definitely, definitely learned my lesson. No amount of ab definition or glute strength or whatever is worth another week without exercise. I'm sick of "healing." I'm ready for that word to be past tense!

Alright....off to the races.*

Kaila


*I'll be the girl lying down at the starting line.

(I'm) Back

Hi there.

It's been a while.

Sorry for the absence, but, as per usual, life threw a couple of curveballs at me, and I let them hit me square in the eyes. And do you have any idea how hard it is to blog without eyes?

...


Exactly.*

Anyway.

Without going too much into detail, I earned the promotion I was working for while I started my blog, and now I have lot of responsibilities--which I am still learning how to balance. My schedule changed, and so the 30 Day Bikram challenge was cut short for me at Day 19, but I had been trying to make my practice as regular as possible...

...and then I went back to the gym. Stupid, stupid, stupid me. It's my temple, my house of meditation, my me time...but I think I finally have to concede that my body simply cannot handle traditional resistance training. I know it's not the result of poor form or not knowing what to do--I took my personal trainer certification very seriously, and I have done enough continuing ed. to know how to lift properly.

How's this for an eye opener**: I did almost a month of yoga, often twice a day, and had NO injuries. If anything, I saw a reduction in the inflammation in my knee, and I regained some of the stability in my ankle. But three (THREE!) non-consecutive days in the gym, and my knee is swollen, my ankle aches, I strained my left hamstring, and I threw out my lower back.

I tried to go to work, but just walking from my car to the store was a feat in and of itself--having sat down all morning and again in the car, I guess I put my lower back into spasm. It hurts to sit right now. I've been lying on my stomach for the last 5 hours, hoping that the pain will go away. Can you say IcyHot?

Le sigh.

I came to a conclusion, however. A conclusion that physically and emotionally pains me on a level about the same as that of my back injury: I'm putting an indefinite hold on going back to the gym.

It's been a year since I moved back to Florida, and in that time: I ruined my right shoulder doing lateral raises (it's still weak and needs serious work). I threw out my back doing deadlifts (110 lbs, when I should have stuck to 95). I stress fractured my ankle, and then developed a bursitis in my knee.

I'd been eating nothing but protein--a figure competitor's diet, without the figure competitor's intensity to back it up. I gained almost 40 lbs. I elevated my liver enzymes.

In other words: I messed up again.

Since I started the Bikram thing, I went vegan.*** My body started healing itself. I stopped counting calories (first time in a long time), and I actually lost 10 lbs. I had intended to stop the vegan thing after that first month, but I think I'm going to roll with it, and see where it takes me. Maybe not so strictly, but, it feels right, so why not?

I need a change. So, so badly. I chopped my hair off (again. finally.). I went out and sang karaoke for the first time in months. I'm hoping to maybe get Kay's Cookies back up and running, or to find a good alternative. I need to do something, because just doing the same thing over and over again everyday isn't working out for me.

I have a friend who keeps asking if I'm willing to change. I've been putting a lot of thought into it--I promise. Your words haven't fallen on deaf ears. I'm looking for a solution.

I'll steal a phrase from Bikram, to be set in motion as soon as I can get up off of my stomach and back into the studio:

Start again, start again.

Kaila

PS It's my little dog's birthday. She is my reason for being, and I thank the universe every single day for putting her in my life. Happy 4th Birthday, Frida!

*Sorry for the random. I think my brain melted over the past month, so I can't promise that anything you read on here will make sense.
**Which is how I got my eyes to reopen post curveball impact...
***I already wasn't eating dairy, so cutting out other animal products hasn't been that hard...just keeping an eye out (augh, pun not intended!) for things like using bee pollen in my oatmeal at breakfast has been the hard part.

Getting the blood pumping...

So, I'm going to have to make tonight's post short and sweet, since I'm typing a bit more slowly than usual given the fact that I managed to put my blender's manufacturer's claims about blade sharpness to the test with my finger.

In other words, I'm out a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

Anyway.

I had an interesting yoga class today...I wasn't too excited about going, since I'm sort of hitting the one-week wall. I've been to seven classes in five days, and methinks my body doth protest too much. I remember reading somewhere that the health of your feet is an indicator of the health of the rest of your body, and the fact that my ankle is still hurting & my heel is still swollen is a little worrisome (not to mention the fact that the bursitis on my knee still isn't fully gone).

But I went to yoga regardless. I already set the intention not to push myself too hard, so that I could use today more as a restorative day than anything else.

Interestingly enough, it was hot and humid enough outside today to have done Bikram in the great outdoors. Which is why, when a mini hurricane broke out over our studio and caused a blackout, the room stayed hot enough to continue class without light or heat.

It was a really amazing experience. At first, my concentration was absolutely shot--the lights went out in the middle of Garurasana, and I have enough trouble balancing on one leg with the lights on and my focus in the mirror!

Garurasana (Eagle Pose)

My eyes adjusted through Dandyamana-Janushirasana, and as the class progressed, because I was only seeing outlines, I had to concentrate harder than I've ever concentrated before. Even our teacher commented during the final Savasana, "I think this was the most focused class I've ever taught."

Dandyamana-Janushirasana (Standing Head-to-Knee Pose)

Anyway, I'm off to bed, since I have some yoga-ing to do in the morning before work...My body is actually feeling better than when I went to the studio today, so I guess something worked.

I'll leave you with a thought from one of my teachers yesterday:

"Savasana is like the weekend; it never feels long enough."

Savasana (Dead Body Pose)

Namaste!

Some Like it Hot...

If you know me, then you know I'm the kind of person who goes to extremes when it comes to fitness.

I don't just resistance train; I become a bodybuilder.

I don't just go for a run; I do it barefoot and at 4:30 am.

It stands to reason that when I decide to do yoga, it sure as hell isn't going to be 30 minutes of deep breathing in savasana.

So of course I'd end up sweating my rear end off through 26 postures and two breathing exercises for 90 minutes in a room heated to 105 degrees.

I fell into Bikram yoga almost two years ago, when I was home from Columbia & debating whether or not I wanted to go back (see: this post for a recap). Depressed & looking for a change, I decided to try yoga...and the closest yoga studio to my mom's house happened to be Bikram Yoga Boca Raton. So I grabbed two towels, a yoga mat, and a bottle of water, signed up for my first class, and fell in love.

Back in NY, I made the commitment to go back to grad school, and sweating through my daily practice at Bikram Yoga Harlem helped me keep my cool (bad pun intended). Taking the subway uptown in my winter gear, I would get in my daily practice & then go to the Hungarian Pastry Shop to write. It was the perfect way to bring balance back into my life.

Of course, all fairy tales end the same way in the face of reality: money & time were not on my side. Given the fact that I was living off of what was left of my savings as well as attending 5 classes and 4 shows a week, the expensive 90 minute classes (bookended with 30-45 minutes of prep & travel time in both directions) were just not doable.

On top of that, I (being me) managed to overdo it & overstretch my hamstrings to the point that I couldn't comfortably walk for a few weeks.

I went back to the gym & only dabbled in Bikram when I could get up to the studio. And when summer hit & I started going to the gym hardcore, yoga & stretching became the furthest thing from my mind.

But now that I can't do impact exercise (and I refuse to sit on my butt anymore), Bikram has come back into my life. I started going to Bikram Yoga Delray Beach, which is a really fantastic studio. I enjoy my practice even more now than I did months ago, because I'm more aware of the limitations of my body. My leg is still in pain, but I know how far I can push it and still get the benefits of the postures.

My friend Steve, who also goes to the studio, mentioned that BYDB was doing a 30 day challenge: 30 classes in 30 days. Which is insane.

So of course I'm doing it.

I've made it through the first 6 classes, although I've had to do two doubles (a morning class & an evening class) to catch up after missing classes due to my work schedule.

Today was a double, so, while my body is a pile of jelly, my mind's in a beautiful state.

I'm hoping that this challenge will help me hit the reset button for my brain and for my body. I want to be able to go back to the gym & start strength training again, but this time I'm going to make sure that I leave time to restore.

With that said, I'm off to sleep...I've got some yoga to do tomorrow, & I want to be rested and ready for it!

Namaste!

For those of you playing along at home...

Now I have this: 

Which might be this: 

     or

Which was (probably?) caused by this: 

 Which I'm wearing because of this: 

Which I bought because of this: 

Wellness Cardio Challenge (May-July)

But at least I got a cool shirt out of it. 

Oh...hey there, blogosphere. Long time no see.

Aaaaaaand I'm back.

Hi there. 

Did you miss me? 

 I missed you. 

I'm sorry for the writerly hiatus, but all of my creative faculties were consumed by the determination to acquire more functional technical knowledge. 

In other words, I've been studying a lot of tech stuff.

That, and since this is a fitness blog, and my fitness has been placed on hold, it's been hard to come up with anything interesting or relevant to write about.*

But now I'm back. And I'm going to do my best to stay back. 

So a quick update for now:

--The knee is healing up nicely. All that's left is a slightly pressure-sensitive bump on the top of my kneecap, which isn't noticeable to you unless you're looking, and isn't noticeable to me unless I kneel down or try to put on a pair of jeans.

--The ankle is just pretty much the same. It's not excruciating; it's simply annoying. I fatigue after standing on it for too long, and the air cast is pretty much useless. I'm over it.

--It has been a month since I have been in the gym, and I'm not okay with that.

--I've been eating more, better, and I've actually started introducing more variety into my diet. Quinoa for breakfast? I think so.

--Eating more and not exercising is messing with my head.

--My life has been reduced to waking up, going to work, playing with my amazing new operating system, cuddling with my dog, and looking at food porn.

--I need a change.

That's all for now. I'll be back soon--I promise.

Kaila

*i.e. the fact that I can't work out is depressing, and it makes me not want to write. 

Restoration

I'm tired of feeling weak and injured. I have started to work on range of motion for the ankle. The knee is starting to look (and feel!) a little better (although I've noticed a suspicious new area of inflammation creeping down onto the shin, though I'm sure it's nothing...). I have been trying to weight-bear as long as is comfortable, and I even tried to do a little yoga this morning, being mindful of my knees while doing floor poses.

It hurts now, of course, but I don't care. I'm sick and tired of this, and I'm ready to move on. Healthily. Safely. Slowly. But ready to move on nonetheless. 

Anyway, I've stalled long enough. Here's more of the Gainesville saga: 

To recap: I left Columbia as a 1st semester sophomore & entered the University of Florida as a senior. I was 150 lbs, and forced into becoming an English major but for the two math & science credits I still had to make up. I had a by-default friend, since we had been close in high school, but other than that, I was pretty much on my own. 

On the second day of classes, I was walking back from my "Math for Idiots Liberal Arts Majors" lecture when I ran into my friend Bradley, who had been in drama with me in high school. Though I was done with classes for the day, he hooked his arm into mine and literally dragged me with him to his Theatre-Majors-Only class, Dramaturgy, on the assertion that I absolutely had to be taking this class, and that, if any class had ever been meant for me, it was this one.

Turns out, he was right. The professor, Dr. Ralf, might be one of the coolest profs I've ever had (alongside the incomparable Prof Mass at Columbia!), and it turns out that Dramaturgy was not only right up my alley, it was exactly what I wanted to do with theatre.

For the uninitiated, and depending on who you ask, dramaturgy is something like curation for the stage. Whether you're working on a historical piece as a consultant for the director or on a new play as a guide for the playwright, a dramaturg's job is to, essentially, be an advocate for the text. Dramaturgs have a radar when it comes to plot, and they are on hand to keep the delicate threads of the story from unraveling, tangling, or fraying.

I loved that class with all of my heart--and when I found out that our final projects would be comprised of a casebook based on actual dramaturgy for an actual play actually occurring on campus, I was ecstatic. Even more exciting was the opportunity that Dr. Ralf presented to our class to work on the Spring season's Mainstage production, The Man of Mode. Dr. Ralf made sure to position it as an incredibly work-intensive commitment, since the play was written in the 1660s and the director was going to be doing some major script surgery as well as resetting the play in 1700 (which doesn't sound like much of a move, but the time change actually leapt the gap between two entirely different generations). So I, being the work-loving masochist that I am, volunteered.

The Man of Mode...and Dr. Pinkney

Working on The Man of Mode gave me a sense of purpose. After waking up early to go for my run, going to math or one of my English classes, and then coming home to my hellish apartment, I would spend hours reading and rereading the script, highlighting changes, making a historical reference guide for the actors, and chuckling to myself at jokes that haven't been funny since before the Revolutionary War.

And then I would go to rehearsal.

I loved the UF School of Theatre and Dance. Even though I wasn't a BA or BFA in Theatre, everyone accepted me. And even better, they became my friends.

A director who threw himself into the job...and the wig.

I can still remember the very first read-through, when I had to stand up in front of a group of actors, designers, and the director, Dr. Pinkney, and give a brief introduction to the dramaturgy of Restoration theatre and offer myself as a resource. I was scared to death & nervous as hell, because my focus has always been Tudor-Stuart drama ( & my experience with the Restoration was limited to a Shakespeare class I took during my second semester at Columbia in which we read Restoration rewrites of Shakespeare).

It went so well.

And then the next night, during the very first rehearsal, I was seated next to a tall, skinny kid who spent the entire rehearsal laughing at jokes that haven't been funny since the Revolutionary War.

And this is why rehearsal was my favorite time of day.

I felt like I was home.

To be continued.

Oil can?

I'm sorry to have disappeared for so long, but I've been too paralyzed to write.

Not paralyzed physically, although my mobility is certainly limited by the various afflictions of lower leg and knee that have lately befallen me, but mentally. The kind of paralysis that strikes when there are too many options, too many possibilities, too many roads-less-traveled and not enough maps. The kind of paralysis that strikes at a fancy buffet when you're standing at the center of the room, plate in hand, and unable to decide where to start or what to have, because everything looks good but you know you can't have it all.

I know why I am paralyzed. This used to happen to me during winter and spring breaks when I was a student. This is why I used to work multiple jobs over the summer.

I am the kind of person who needs routine.  I need routine and I need a map. I need a plan and a goal. And when that routine gets shot to shit, as mine has as of late, I become paralyzed.

Part of the reason why I struggled so much in grad school was because the social aspects of the program--ie the unpredictable late night adventures, the post-theatre "why-don't-we's", the late night rehearsals that dragged on past dark--all impinged on the strictures of my daily up-at-5am-gym-shower-class-study routine. Part of why I have gained my "freshman 15" in the 10 months that I've been working retail is the lack of routine that my random schedule affords.

Even so, I've tried my best combat my unpredictable hours by sticking to my 5 am gym check-ins (hooray for Facebook keeping me honest...), to my eat-every-2.5/3-hours schedule, to my 9:30 pm bedtime (except on the nights I close). But now...

Now? I can't go to the gym. I'm afraid to eat as many calories as I usually do. I have nowhere to be and nothing to do. And I'm paralyzed.

I'm paralyzed by my life in general too. While my friends are out working amazing jobs, getting engaged and getting married, having children, traveling the world, or partying so hard every night that they can only remember the fun they've had by reading their friends' instagram hashtags the next morning, I am stuck standing in the same spot in my kitchen for half an hour because I can't decide whether I should have an omelet or oatmeal for breakfast.

I want to start working out again, but I can't. My ankle is still messed up, so it starts to ache after weight-bearing for more than a few minutes, which means I can't even do something as simple as the elliptical at the gym. My knee is still swollen (although much less so than it was) and I have to take flexion or extension slow or else it hurts--so that means no cycling. The swelling is right over my patella, and kneeling is excruciating, so I can't even do yoga.

At work, I'm stuck answering phones, because I can't be out on the floor, standing and walking around for hours at a time. And that's when I'm at work. My paycheck was pitiful last week because I had to miss several shifts. I am already freaking out about finances, and this certainly isn't helping.

I am so beyond frustrated at this point, I can't even begin to explain it. I want so badly to be doing something, but I don't even know what I'm capable of doing. And while, in the short term, I mean this about my fitness and nutrition, I've had enough time to sit on the couch staring into space during the last few weeks to realize that the preceding sentence applies to my life. I've started over so many damn times, and I always do something to paralyze myself, just when things seem to be going well and I seem to be making progress.

At this point, I don't just need a map, I need a damn road to begin with.

Someone move me, please?

aaaaaand update....GO:

Gonna make this short, since the migraine is coming back. I can feel it lurking behind my eyes, not quite there, but threatening to make this evening as hellacious as it did this morning. 

Basically, I went back to the doctor yesterday & was not only put on stronger antibiotics (in addition to, not in the place of, the other strong antibiotics I was already on). I was also told I can't go back to work until July 11. (That's bullshit, because if I want to pay my bills this month, I'm going back to work as soon as I can walk without pain.) 

I woke up at 7 this morning after defiantly sleeping through all of my alarms. I'd had a horrible night full of restless sleep and nightmares about work. I limped out into the kitchen in the half-light of the early morning, and I felt like my eyes were going to burn out of my head. I figured, "I've been crying a lot [yes, I admit it, shut up], maybe my eyes are just tired." That's happened to me before. I ate a small breakfast, took my antibiotics & vitamins, and let Frida out...and then went back to bed. 

When I woke up at 10, the burning in my eyes had extended itself into my entire body. I was dehydrated, and I had a migraine for the first time in years. The problem with running a fever is that I'm on antibiotics, so even though fevers are a side effect of cellulitis, they aren't if the antibiotics are working. So that's a problem. 

I went back to "sleep" (if you can call fitful tossing and turning "sleep"), and finally got out of bed around 11:30 and choked down some ibuprofen (because even drinking water was making me nauseous) & took a lukewarm shower. Oh my god. I can't tell you how much I needed that shower. I felt like I could almost exist again. 

I took a trip to Publix to buy some Gatorade (which I only ever drink when I'm running a fever, which hasn't happened since I was teaching at OH). And then I read (or, rather re-read) a portion of Gary Shteyngart's Super Sad True Love Story, which is one of my current favorites (despite being really eerily close to predicting the post-PC, social-network-overloaded future...)...and then passed out again until 4 pm. 

Now I'm sitting here with my little dog & watching stand up comedy with the volume way down. I want to be better already. I miss work. I miss the gym. 

The only one who's happy about my being home all weekend...

How Gainesville Made Me Crazy

I don't know what to do. The pain this morning is horrible. It hurts to sit, it hurts to stand....I know it sounds dramatic, but I can assure you that I'm actually not exaggerating. My knee looks slightly purple and the pain is now traveling below the kneecap to the shin.

So I'm going to try to not think about that for now and just write some more.

We left off with my move to Gainesville. We pick up in my horrible apartment by the Beef Teaching Unit. It was horrible mainly because my roommates hated me. They belonged to a racially defined sorority, and I was the odd man out. It was so strange to me, since I lived at Columbia with roommates of every race, creed, and color, and nobody gave it a second thought.

My bedroom was also the bedroom closest to the front door.  In fact, the way the room was designed, my bedroom window was actually next to the front door, since the bedroom jutted into the hallway of the apartment complex. That meant that I could hear all of the noise in the hallway AND in the apartment any time of the day or night. And, with my roommates, that noise was ALL DAY & ALL NIGHT.

From abusive boyfriends breaking into our apartment to loud parties thrown until 6 or 7 am on a Tuesday morning (about the time I would be waking up for my Math for Idiots Liberal Arts Majors class), my apartment was anything but a sanctuary.

On top of all of that, I felt friendless and abandoned. I was fortunate to have Stephanie, one of my very best friends from high school, but she had developed friendships with other people (not to mention developed a relationship with the man who she actually just married this past month), so I felt like the third wheel most of the time. She introduced me to a guy who expressed his interest in hooking up with me until he could find a real girl friend, but I found it difficult to develop any meaningful friendships outside of the one I already had with Steph.

And so I started running. I felt fat and ugly, watching all of the pretty sorostitutes flaunt their perfect, tan bodies as they jogged around the campus, and so I started making changes to my lifestyle & diet.

I started eating oatmeal for breakfast, an apple for a snack, and a black bean salad for lunch. I had another apple and sometimes a rice cake around midday, and then one of the protein shakes that I was still taking from the cleanse for dinner.

I would run up and down 23rd st. every morning, logging first one, then two, then three miles a day. As we headed into March, I started to drop weight.

...to be continued.

Sorry for the grossness, but here's an update on my leg:

Just a quick update before I go to bed--and yes, I realize that it's not even 9 pm as I write this. But my leg hurts and sleeping is a much better alternative to being awake right now. I'll return to story time as soon as I  feel less depressed and more like putting the effort into writing something of substance.

I went to a new orthopedist today. Same diagnosis with the ankle, although at least this guy actually took the time to look at it.

The real shocker came when he took a look at my knee: it's not just bursitis. That sucker is infected. Cellulitis. Woo.

The question is: HOW? I don't have any cuts or anything on or around my knee.

I'm slightly worried, because it MAY be related to the cellulitis I had in my hand earlier this month. I have chronically, painfully, excessively dry skin on my hands, and it cracks when the dryness gets bad. Couple that with a job that requires me to shake hundreds of hands daily & touch ipads and track pads that have been soiled with the bacteria of the mall-going hordes, and you have a recipe for disaster.

I'm scared that if these things are related, then the antibiotics might not work (again). Or that it could mean something more serious.

All I know is that, right now, my knee is killing me. It's swollen to the point where it's two times larger than the other knee.

How the hell did the ER doctor not catch this???

Sigh. I hate everything.

Bed.

Kaila

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programming...

...to bring you this important newsflash:

My body is fucked.

I'm sorry to have disappeared from the blogosphere for a few days, but things have been rather bad in injury-ville.

My ankle has been giving me trouble, and, while I've been attempting to partially weight-bear at home, I've been using crutches as much as possible. And while I've been going to the gym, I've been doing seated upper body work & light stationary bicycling.

I even took yesterday off. So when my knee started to randomly feel like it was bruising while I was standing (on one leg & supported by crutches) & helping my customers at the Personal Setup table yesterday, I had little cause for concern.

That is, until I sat down to talk with one of the Experts & rolled up my pant leg & saw THIS:

ow.

The pain got progressively worse as the day wore on. And when I stood up after elevating the leg through lunch, I nearly screamed from the pain. It got to the point where the process of stabilizing my leg while crutching my way through the mall was enough to start tears streaming down my face. 

Needless to say, I left work early--and, by "left work early," I mean "the business team wheeled me out of the store in a wheelchair." And while I'm infinitely grateful to them, I was embarrassed as hell. 

I drove myself, with my left leg, to the hospital. I sat in the waiting room for two hours, and spent another half hour waiting for a doctor once in the examination room. The diagnosis? Bursitis. The explanation for how I got it while not-weight-bearing at the Personal Setup table, "Um, I don't know." 

The nurse who put the ace bandage & leg immobilizer on me said, "It almost looks like gout. But that's an old man's disease." 

Why is it that all of the healthcare professionals I've interacted with this month sound like a bunch of idiots who don't know what they're talking about? What did I do to deserve shitty health care? 

Anyway. 

I'm getting an MRI tomorrow. I didn't work out today. People have been making that "I pity you" face at me all day. I currently hate my life. 

Also, the inflammation has actually gotten worse: 

fuck. me. 

I'm currently icing my leg and contemplating easy home remedies, such as using a steak knife for amputation. 

I give up; I really do. I know I deserve all of these injuries, after the way I treated my body for the last 10 years. But paying the piper sucks, no matter when or how the payment comes up due. 

I miss the gym. 

Kaila

Go Go Gadget Exposition:

Before we continue the story:
1. Ankle update: a) work is incredibly hard on crutches b) the stationary bike, despite being a non-weightbearing exercise, hurts me like a motherfucker.

2. I apologize in advance for the length of Part 2 of this story. It's the longest leg of my journey through ED. Bear with me.

Go go Gadget Exposition:

Sophomore year at Columbia was rough. I was fortunate enough to have the BEST ROOMMATE in the world, the amazing company of Shannon & Mark, who kept me (in)sane through Creative Writing, and a lead role in one of my favorite plays in the universe, Tom Stoppard's The Real Thing.

Greatest roommate in the entire universe. I am so lucky that I got to spend even a semester sharing a space--and a nest--with Ana. 

Once The Real Thing ended, however, and the semester wound down, I found myself sinking even deeper into a food-fueled depression. I was in a situation codenamed SOL (shit out of luck):

In high school, I had taken about 8 grillion college credits through the AP program & passed all of the tests with flying colors (with the exception of statistics, which was a hilarious waste of my high school's resources & credit hours). I had also taken the maximum number of credits at Columbia every semester (21), and even petitioned to take more one semester.

Because I had gained so many credits, transferring to a Florida school to take advantage of my Bright Futures scholarship was impossible: I had not only already earned my Associate's degree--with the exception of one math & one science class--, I had already completed nearly all of the requirements for an English major. Not only wouldn't the schools accept me as a senior, but I was also hindered by the fact that I hadn't technically completed my AA.

The University of Central Florida accepted me after hearing my sob story, but when I went down over Thanksgiving/my birthday of 2006, I was so depressed by the campus & the school that I considered dropping out of college altogether instead of transferring.

Somehow, however, the English department of the University of Florida decided to make an exception. The accepted me as a senior on the condition that I finish my AA in the next year. I took them up on it &, come January, I packed up my grandmother's car & moved to Gainesville, Florida.

I should have known that things were going to go awry when my tire exploded on the Turnpike on my way up to school. Murphy & his damn law have never been particularly nice to me...



To put it nicely, I was miserable in Gainesville. I was leaving the center of the apathetic intelligentsia & entering the center of all things sports & athletics related. Here, we celebrated football victories (like the National Championship, which we won on my first day of school); at Columbia we asked, "We have a football team?!"  At UF sorority girls in itty bitty tank tops ran around campus all day; at Columbia, we layered in scarves & sweaters so we could get milkshakes from Tom's or giant slices of pizza from Koronet's at 4 am.

Believe it or not, non-Columbia Seinfeld fans, Tom's Restaurant was just around the corner from my dorm. (& later, in grad school, on the same street as my apartment!)

I was fortunate enough to have one of my closest high school friends find me an apartment in the same complex in which she lived (3 miles from the school, around the corner from I-75, and right across the street from the "Beef Teaching Unit," which was just a glorified way of saying "cow pasture"). Nevertheless, I started the new year & the new semester with nothing but trepidation & sadness.

More soon...

I Can Has Moar Story Time?

I'm sitting here in my dark house with the rain pounding on the window, and I felt the urge to write. I don't have any fitness updates for you, since I haven't worked out in three days now**, and the only food worth talking about are the black bean & avocado brownies that I just made for one of my friends who is going gluten-free.

What better time, then, to start telling you Part 1 of Part 2 of the Story I Haven't Finished Telling You Yet. (The title changed, since we're on the prequel now.)

This story begins in New York City. The summer of 2006 is just beginning, and I have just received a letter from North Broward Preparatory School--the high school from which I graduated, and from which I received what was supposed to be a $50,000 scholarship to be paid out in $25,000 after the first year of college (assuming a 3.5 GPA or higher) and $25,000 after graduating (again, with a 3.5 or above). The letter informs me that I'm receiving $14,000, even though I have a 3.9 after my first year at Columbia University because now, somehow, the scholarship takes into account whether or not we're receiving student aid. Which I am, only it's so nominal that the scholarship wouldn't even begin to help cover the total costs even at its full promised amount.

So basically I'm fucked, is what they're telling me.

I make a decision: I'm going to work all summer, and maybe I will have enough money to stay.

At the same time, I'm also shooting past the "Freshman 15" and into the "Freshman 25" with amazing speed. Even though I'm not drinking like my friends are, I'm no longer running cross country, and my schedule is so crazy, between 20 page theses on the death of feminism as heralded by the "third wave" and rehearsals for 5 different theatre pieces (some full length, some not), that I'm eating whatever I can whenever I can--which does not make for healthy eating at all.

Doing German abstract theatre  on the steps of Low Library for my friend's final project.

Compound that with the fact that the boy who I've convinced myself I'm in love with has just made out with me &--literally--the next day gotten himself a girlfriend, and you have one very depressed, confused Kaila. (Or Kay, since that's the name I was going by throughout college.)

I spent the summer getting steadily bigger as I worked for Watson Adventures, an amazing scavenger hunt company down in NoHo; Jazz Improv Magazine, where my aunt was the advertising manager at the time; and Testtakers SAT Prep, which was my first experience teaching high school.

When I went home to visit my mother about halfway through the summer, I was wearing a size 8-10 in jeans (when I was previously a 2-4), and feeling terrible about myself. I decided to start working out at the gym when I got back up to NY, although I had no idea what I was doing. At the time, my mother & my aunt were doing a cleanse called "Isagenix." My mom ordered some for me, and I spent the next two weeks utterly miserable.

With friends in Central Park

The cleanse: drink a smoothie in the morning, drink 4 oz of this vile cleanse liquid for a snack, eat a salad for lunch, drink more cleanse liquid, and then drink a smoothie for dinner. If you get hungry enough to pass out, 6 almonds or 1/2 an apple are acceptable.

Needless to say, I didn't lose any weight, and all that happened was I felt tired and irritable for two weeks. I did it again two weeks later. Still no change.

I started the next semester angry and fat, and I was still poor. Which meant that this was going to be my last semester at Columbia. I would be leaving my dream school--and the Ivy League--for a Florida school, which my prep school had conditioned me to believe was far inferior. I was just starting my sophomore year of college, and I felt like I had already failed at life.

(To be continued...)



**PS the aircast was an epic fail. The doctor suggested crutches for when I'm at work or on my feet for extended periods of time. So...FML.

Reasons Not to Develop an Eating Disorder

I definitely just wasted $90 & 2 hours.

I limped into the orthopedist's office, wrote out a very detailed medical history, as well as a fairly well-substantiated hypothesis as to why my stupid ankle's been hurting, and, after taking a couple of x-rays & playing too many games of "Hanging with Friends" on my iPhone, the doctor walked in, pressed my ankle with his thumb (which hurt), and then said, "You're probably right."

So....stress fracture. Woo. Anyone ever had one of those? They're tiny little sub-hairline fractures that are often un-diagnosable because they often don't even show up on x-rays. They usually only hurt when you're doing whatever activity it is that you injured yourself doing, but if you let them get bad enough (like I did), then you'll feel the pain all the time and/or more intensely.

If I'm right, then this is my third stress fracture. Why do I think I'm right? Well, besides all of the symptoms aligning with the diagnosis, stress fractures numbers 1 & 2 occurred during the aftermath of Part 1 of The Story I Haven't Told You Yet. Let's just put it this way: Stress fracture #1 occurred about a year after I had reached my low weight of 97 lbs at 5'5". I was running cross country, and I landed funny while hopping up onto the sidewalk from the road at the end of a run. That's all it took to make me spend my very first District competition on crutches & cheering my teammates on from the sidelines. The following year, I tripped on a sprinkler head & had to sit out of Regionals.

Why would such seemingly trivial incidents result in such ridiculous injuries?

Osteopenia.

Basically, by being an anorexic (or whatever the eff I am) and not only under-eating, but denying my body of the nutrients that it needs to maintain things like bone density, I have given myself pre-osteoperosis. The good news is that osteopenia can be reversed. And I guess I did that when I started eating better through the first half of the decade. But relapse number 1 in 2007 (which is Part 2 of the Story) and Relapse number 2 (which you now all know about) must have re-reversed that trend...and while I'm up 25.5 lbs, and I've been eating much better AND taking all sorts of necessary supplements to aid in my recovery, I'm apparently still at risk.

So let my stupid, stupid, useless injury be a PSA for the rest of you. Don't fuck your body up: eat food.


Speaking of which...I've been contemplating making a life change, but I don't know if my digestive system will be able to handle it. I stopped eating red meat in the spring of 2001...but I don't know if it's worth trying to reincorporate it into my diet. I don't really want to eat it, per se, but I feel like I'm missing some of the vital nutrients that I could be getting from having red meat every few days.

I don't know...it's worth considering, I suppose.

Anyway. Now I'm just pissed at myself, I can't work out today, AND I have to work until 10 tonight. Le sigh. Off I go...

Kaila

Whining and Dining, or, Why I Can't Eat in Restaurants

Hello friends.
It appears that my close acquaintance ED is trying to creep back into my life.
And, just like the ex-boyfriend you didn't want to see in public on a day when your hair was frizzy & your sweatpants were on, ED showed up and caught me by surprise--naked and wiping the sleep out of my eyes.

You see, I had to go out and buy a new pair of pants. My old ones no longer fit over my thighs or my ass. This is not a good thing.

So I stepped on my scale on Friday morning, and apparently I now have 20 pounds to lose if I want to get back to my happy weight. I haven't been this heavy since I left Columbia University in December of 2006. 

At almost 150 & a size 10 in jeans

Me, crushing Patrick with the freshman fif--uh, twenty-five.

So what does this have to do with eating in restaurants? 

Well, let's start with a show of hands: how many of you are familiar with the principles of or actually practice Clean Eating? 

I got onto the Clean Eating bandwagon almost two years ago now, when I was doing some research on Jamie Eason. I ended up picking up a copy of Oxygen Magazine, which sounds like it has something to do with that obnoxious women's television channel, but is actually a fitness & muscle magazine for hardcore gym rat women. (It's not as hardcore as Muscle & Fitness Hers, which is another of my favorites, but I like it because it does have a ton of really great nutritional articles on top of being unapologetic about pushing resistance training and muscular bodies for women.) 

Can you believe this woman is over 50??? Tosca is a huge, huge inspiration.

Oxygen is published by Robert Kennedy, and his wife, Tosca Reno, is an over-50 fitness model AND the author of the Eat-Clean Diet series. Now, while the English major and former magazine copy editor in me wishes that her editors would be a little less forgiving in publishing her articles & books as written, I think the principles & science behind eating clean are too important not to talk about. 

So do me a favor: either leave this blog for a second & go to your pantry or, if you're reading this at a red light on your mobile device (for shame! pay attention to the road, silly!), pull up at your local Publix & go to any aisle not in the periphery of the grocery store. Then I want you to pull out any packaged food & read through the list of ingredients. Check to see if there are a) more than three ingredients listed, b) any ingredients whose names you cannot pronounce or c) simple sugars or starches in any incarnation. If you could answer "yes" to at least one of those things, then the food you're holding is not clean. 

80% of fitness is eating clean. That's not to say that you can sit on your ass all day, but as long as you eat nothing but egg whites, you'll get thin. You have to combine a super-tight diet with resistance training and high intensity cardio in order to gain muscle, lose fat, or just get truly fit.

I cook all of my own food. I sometimes spend up to 7 hours on my days off preparing chicken breasts and ground turkey and tilapia and sweet potatoes and oatmeal and quinoa and egg white omelets for the week. I eat tons of vegetables and low GI fruits.  But because I've completely damaged my metabolism (more on that another day), I'm still packing on pounds. 

I also eat 6 meals a day, each at 2.5-3 hour intervals. So going out to eat is really difficult for me. Not only don't I have control over how the meals are prepared or what meals are even offered, my timing gets thrown off, and I usually end up having to wait long past my mealtimes and then getting so ravenous that I'll eat anything and everything in front of me. 

In the last four days, my grandma left for Chicago, one of my sisters came home from college for the weekend, one of my sisters left for a trip to Poland, and my family celebrated father's day. All of those events heralded the communal partaking of food...which was difficult beyond belief for me. 

Now, there's NOTHING wrong with eating clean. In fact, that's how we all SHOULD be eating, all of the time. But in today's culture, those of us who DO eat clean are considered abnormal. I don't even enjoy eating out anymore anyway...there is too much salt and fat & sugar in prepared foods, and I can even taste the difference between a salty restaurant dish and one I prepare myself. But either way...

Eating out means a loss of control--and eating disorders are all about maintaining as much control as possible. Eating disorders can arise (or at least mine partly did) out of a feeling that the rest of the world was nothing but chaos. If we can control the way our bodies look & feel or the way our food is prepared or when or how....then maybe we can avoid spinning totally out of control. 

So this is why I don't eat in restaurants. This is why I have trouble spending time with my family. This is why I don't go on dates. 

It's not a fun place to be. But when I try to go out of my comfort zone, the old panic sets in...and now that the scale AND my pants are telling me some ugly truths, it's even harder to let go and just try to be normal for once. 

So there's that. 

Anyway...more later. I'm off to work. 

Kaila

DEFCON 3

Alright....ankle fail is at DEFCON 3*.
Even though I iced before I went to bed, the fact that I had to be on my feet all day (and wearing shoes--no barefooting for me at work...) basically put me back at the "advil-isn't-cutting-it" stage.

I somehow pushed myself to go to the gym after a 7 am workday. I will NEVER understand people who like working out in the afternoon. I was so pre-exhausted from an intense workday PLUS I had to deal with the fact that my ankle was throbbing the whole time that I found it nearly impossible to push myself the way I normally do.

I did have the forethought to run to CVS & buy a wrap for my ankle, so that I could at least have a little stability while I lifted, squatted, and otherwise attempted to make up for the ridiculous number of calories I consumed this afternoon after I realized that my packed lunch** was inedible and that I had to resort to a prepackaged meal from Starbucks (since the food court doesn't actually sell food***).

I had tried to purchase said wrap before work, but I apparently do not live within a 10 mile radius of a 24 hour Walgreens. I had to be at work at 7 am, so I left the house at 6 so I would have time to find a Walgreens & indulge my caffeine addiction before clocking in. I stopped at not one but THREE drugstores (two Walgreens & a CVS), and not one of them was open. Seriously? You couldn't get to my old house without passing two 24 hour Walgreens. I'm terribly disappointed. And in pain because I couldn't wrap my ankle until 4:30 pm.

Anyway.

My workout was "meh" at best. I had to cut all of the jumping movements out of my dynamic warm up. I tried jumping jacks at the outset and my leg said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I didn't push it.

I'm feeling weak, and I don't like it. I'm still gaining body fat (as evidenced by the fact that yet another pair of pants is now in the "I can't fit my rear end into this anymore" drawer), and I'm frustrated as hell. So instead of going out tonight, I'm icing my ankle, going to sleep, and hoping that I can run tomorrow, because I somehow have to make it through a family dinner at an Italian restaurant without having a panic attack over the pasta course tomorrow night.

I honestly don't know what to do.

To top it all off, I'm facing a really huge "win-lose" decision at work, and as much as I'd like to just make the selfish decision because it's technically the easy one, I'm having a hard time determining if it's actually a decision that's going to help my career growth or my team in the end.

I'll leave you on a positive note, though:
At the gym today, I ended up training near where an overweight girl was working with one of the trainers. We started talking while resting between sets (after I complimented her on holding her planks for a minute, which, trust me, is NOT easy). At one point, I was doing my offset squat/shoulder press superset, and, as I grunted my way through the last rep on the shoulders (a rep, by the way, that I don't know how I pulled off,  because my shoulders were DONE and I felt terrible about since it was one rep less than I wanted to do), she turned to me and said, "You are really amazing."
So even though I feel terrible about my workout, or not lifting enough, or whatever, there is someone out there who looks at what I do and is inspired to push herself. I guess I can live with that. And try to stop hating on myself. Yeah, that's a work in progress.

Kaila

WORKOUT:
Dynamic Warmup (amended to remove all jumping movements) 
Super Set 1: Woodchops (8x3x2) & Planks (90 s)
Super Set 2: Offset Dumbbell Squats (8x3x2) & Standing Alternating Dumbbell Shoulder Press (6x3x2)-->raised the weight on the shoulder press
Super Set 3: Single-Leg Dumbbell Deadlifts (8x3x2) & Machine Assisted Chin Ups (6x3)-->raised the weight on the Deadlifts & lowered the assist on the chin ups
Super Set 4: Alternating Lateral Lunges with Dumbbells (8x3x2) & Two Point Single-Arm Dumbbell Rows (8x3x2)-->raised the weight on the lateral lunges


*Which, in my strange, little brain, means serious, serious preemptive RICE. 
**Remind me NEVER to ruin a good meal of green beans, bell peppers, and sweet potatoes with canned salmon again. It was all I could do not to vomit.
***And if that DAMN FALAFEL GUY tries to convince you that the shit he's peddling is healthy because it's vegetarian, vegan, gluten & lactose free, then feel free to remind him that he's holding a tray of fried food and that he's an idiot. 

A quickie...

And now for a super-fast post, since I needed to be asleep 30 minutes ago, given my ridiculously early projected wake-up time for tomorrow: 

Bed time? 

Today's workout sucked. With a capital SUCKED. The reason? My stupid ankle. I don't know what I did to it, but it's swollen and it hurts to put pressure on it. So of course I ran a mile and then did a plyometric workout that involved lots of jumping. 


I actually made it through the run thanks only to the fact that I didn't wear my New Balances...I think they're part of the problem. I actually wore the Vibrams, and they definitely made running easier. What I like about the barefooting is that I can have somewhat of a conversation with the ground, and make adjustments to my footing with every step. That, and not dealing with heel strike does wonders for my ankle pain. 


So anyway. 


I did my plyometric workout (see: below), and felt myself getting progressively weaker. It was also getting progressively hotter, so part of my inability to not suck might have to do with the fact that the humidity level was at suffocation and the heat was steadily creeping toward fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk. 


To "cool down" after the workout, I took my little dog on an "explore." I'd call it a "walk," but it's more of an exploratory pulling session. (She pulls me for the first half, tires herself out trying to absorb all of the new smells, and then I have to pull her home.)  You see, I've started walking her whenever I'm home from work before sun down or I have a day off. It's super-necessary, since she spends all day sleeping on my bed, and I don't want her to become a "hamburger" again. (My little dog is part dachschund--aka a wiener dog--but when she gets chubby, my sister makes fun of her and calls her a hamburger.) 

Becoming a hamburger...

Anyway...No real news here, other than the fact that I had a completely useless day off in which I accomplished very little of my to do list. Publix, my favorite grocery store on the face of the planet (more about that some other time), had a *MAJOR* fail, and so after visiting not one but TWO different stores I returned home without my extra lean turkey breast & ground chicken breast, both of which I needed in order to get my meals prepped for the upcoming week. 


At least I did get to spend a few moments with my grandparents, who are off to Chicago for a few months....


Okay, off to bed. More substance to come. 


Kaila


1 mile warm up run ("barefoot.")
Plyo Set 1 (repeat 3x w/ 1 min break):
    Lateral Ski Jumps (1 min)
    Cross Behind Step Up & Over on Bench (1 min)
    Sit up & Squat on Bosu (1 min)
    In & Out Squat Jumps (1 min)
90 s Break
Plyo Set 2 (repeat 3x w/ 1 min break):
    Walking Lunges (1 min, 15 lb dumbbells)
    Single-Leg Squat Thrusts (45 s)
    Spiderman Push Ups (15 s)
    Box Jumps on Step (1 min)

But My Kinetic Chain is Hurting...

Before we start today's post, I'd just like to share two observations:
1. I've never walked through soup before, but I'm pretty sure that it's the same feeling one would get if he or she took a walk outside right now.
2. A little bit of positivity goes a long way.

Moving on to the actual post:

It's amazing how a knee injury can come back and ruin a morning of single leg squats ten years after the fact.

When I was 12 or so (in the seventh grade), I spent the afternoon with my soon-to-be (at the time) step-brother Chris. This was the era of Blink-182 and JNCO jeans, so that means that he owned all of the necessary punk equipment--including a skateboard and a trick bike.

We decided it would be cool to go explore SW 18th st and take a trip over the turnpike passover. Chris took his skateboard, and I took the trick bike. The next morning, I woke up, and my knee was incredibly swollen. There seemed to be a huge knot just below the kneecap. Neither Advil nor RICE took the pain or the swelling away, and the lump continued to grow for the next week.

By the time I saw a doctor, things were bad. It hurt to walk, it ached when it rained, and the lump just wouldn't get any smaller. It wasn't a minor injury or a simple bursitis--it was a bone tumor called an "osteochondroma," which apparently run in my family. The only way to remove it was to actually shave the piece of bone off of my leg--but the doctor couldn't do it until after I'd finished growing because the tumor was sitting right next to my growth plate.

I spent the rest of middle school & the first half of 9th grade in and out of a leg immobilizer and even crutches by the end. Not being a particularly athletic kid to begin with, I rejoiced at the opportunity to spend phys. ed. on the sidelines reading a book. Unfortunately, though, I was in a lot of pain (like the "4-Advil-every-4-hours-was-completely-ineffective" kind of pain) and I was embarrassed by the ugly deformity that seemed a permanent part of my body.

Fortunately, I was able to have the surgery in January of 2002. The biopsy revealed that the tumor was benign (as expected), and I was all better, but for the ugly scar that to this day stands out on the front of my leg. And the whole nerve damage thing. Oh, and the damage to my kinetic chain.

So, in the fitness world, the kinetic chain is just a fancy way of referencing this song. So many injuries that occur in the gym occur because we have imbalances in our bodies, and when we compensate for those imbalances, we end up damaging the connected bones, muscles, ligaments, tendons, etc. (I'll elaborate on this in another post, 'cause I think it deserves some attention.)

In my case, I never properly rehabbed my knee. The muscles were all disrupted by the tumor and then the surgery, and because I never went about strengthening them properly after the surgery, I'm still feeling the after effects. I started running Cross Country in the 10th grade, but even though I was getting stronger, faster, and fitter, my leg was still weak, and my balance & stability were, in technical terms, "piss poor." As a result, I stress fractured my ankle twice--once in 10th and once in 11th, both times during the intensive training periods before District and Regional competition.

To this day, I have little balance or stability in my right leg...and lately, since I've gained a lot of weight and started running again, I've felt that familiar tweak in my ankle. Which made my morning at the gym hell. I could barely hold myself up while I tried to squat on just my right leg...and I had to deal with a throbbing pain in my ankle for the rest of the day.

I'm going to have to take it easy, and I'm NOT happy about it.
However...I'm going to try to keep it positive. I have a lot to look forward to in the coming weeks, not least getting to spend time with my family & some long lost friends :).
Buenas noches (and more tomorrow!)

Kaila

PS My workout for the day:

Dynamic warm up

Super Set 1: Reverse Woodchop (8x3) & Stability Ball Jackknife (16x3)

Super Set 2: Step Ups on Bench (8x3) & T-Pushup (4x3) 

Super Set 3: Single Leg Squat (8x3) & Alternating Lateral Raise (8x3)

Super Set 4: Supinated Hip Extension with Leg Curl on Stability Ball (16x3) & Inverted Row (8x3)