Leg, Shmeg

I am back after a little time away and I wish I could say I am all happy and shiny and new with a complete attitude adjustment, but I am only kinda, sorta a few of those things. Some are better than none, right? Let's not get greedy.

Remember when I told you about my diet and my nutritional counseling and all that torturous jazz? Well as part of that plan my trainer / food nazi had me running a minimum of twice a week. One pace run and one sprint run. I hated running and was not a runner but the more I did it the farther and faster I could go and it didn't make me love it, per se, but I did feel good when I was done. I felt like I had accomplished something really good for me. I was exhausted and sweaty and felt fit. I started dreading the runs less and less and learned to love them since I knew by doing them I had a direct life line to additional calories I could consume - or more pounds lost. So I ran..and ran some more.

Two weeks ago, I was doing just that, running, when I felt a little off. It was my usual day for my sprint run (which is a 1 mile warm-up followed by a 30 second sprint at a super-human speed then 30 seconds off, rinse and repeat) when I hopped on and started my run I noticed my left leg felt funny - and not funny in a ha, ha kind of way. It was tight and felt sore almost like it didn't want to go. Since I am no quitter and my legs have tried convincing me they didn't want to go in the past I did what any person who needed the 450 calorie burn would do. I kept on running.

There I am running along and it is time to start the sprint portion of the run so I set the incline at 2% and jack up the speed so the treadmill belt is humming along below me. When I hop on for my first round of 30 seconds I knew my left leg was not happy. During my 30 second rest I stretched it out and got ready for round two.

The pain has been slowly increasing with each set but I am still thinking I can just keep pushing through and make it through the workout - which is anywhere from 4 to 5 miles. Fast forward to round five of these sprints (I generally do 10 -15 sets) and I am now literally begging my leg (in my head, of course, I am not the crazy lady who talks to her appendages while exercising) to keep moving - we're half way there! Only my leg has decided it wants no part of this party and then BAM! Just like that my leg whips back and the stabbing pain that shot down my leg and straight into my lady parts was paralyzing. I simultaneously grab my crotch and the treadmill so I don't literally fly right off the back while trying to hit the big red emergency STOP button (the one no one ever things they will need to use) with my elbow so I can stop the track of death from turning.

While all of this is going on I am actually kind of quietly yelping, still holding my crotch and bent over the treadmill actually leaning on the display. The guy running next to me is eye cornering me in a way as if to say what in the fuck is wrong with you lady while also pretending like he is minding his own business and that there is no a girl holding her vagina on the treadmill next to him. Nope, nothing to see here!

One of my trainers walks in, sees me doubled over, hand on my crotch and it only takes me a second to explain I was stabbed in the vagina and OMG my leg won't move on its own. The treadmill killed my leg and lady parts! He was kind enough to try and calm me while asking me to please stop yelling crotch and vagina and asking how about we call it a groin, okay? He was clearly not getting it. I gave birth to two children and it never felt like I was being knifed in the hooha. Kicked in the crotch with a steel toed boot, yes, that I was familiar with. Stabbing, um, NO THANK YOU.

So it has been two-weeks and since that horrible night I have not been able to run, at all. No jogging, no trotting, hell I am hardly able to walk briskly. I kept attempting to do my other workouts (TRX, kick-boxing, spinning, etc) and all of them were causing me pain. The general consensus was a pulled groin. Jason said I needed to rest it completely and see a doctor, I ignored him and tried to workout. My husband always has to be right and I was totally thinking I could just work through this. I am no sissy, dammit.

Still, no luck. It wasn't getting better so last week I gave in and went to the doctor. It was bad news and he promptly sent me to a physical therapist. It turns out I have a 2nd degree partial tear / sprain of my groin and hamstring where they attach to my pelvic bone (aka my crotch)....I know all you heard was blah, blah, blah, right? Me too. Out of all of it all I heard was you can't do any leg workouts for the next two weeks, if not longer. My therapist kept talking and I zoned out and envisioned all my hard work from the past 3 months piling back on to my belly. Without exercise I would, without a doubt, gain back every pound I'd lost and lose every mile I had worked myself up to running.

I would have to start over. When my leg healed, I would have to start over. I went home and cried. Jason thought I was crazy for being so upset and reminded me it was an injury and I wasn't dying. He was also quick to offer me up a big dose of I told you so with a side of I'm always right. Sweet, I know. Since it was Halloween week I was lucky (or unlucky, in the long run) enough to have a shit load of candy to sit and eat while wallowing in my own pity party - with ice on my crotch.

Life lessons I have taken away from this so far (two therapy sessions in and still walking with a slight limp)? Exercise is over-rated, treadmills ruin lives and there is very little in life a Butterfinger can't make you feel better about.

I will be rocking some winter weight in no time.