I’ve never been very patient when it comes to recovering from a running injury.
As of late, Nate has been reminding me — over and over again — that the doctor told me not to run for 6-8 weeks.
“But he just picked a number out of his hat,” I said quite confidently, as I tied the shoelaces of my running shoes the other day. “And it’s week 5 now. So what difference does one week make?”
Apparently, a week can make all the difference in the world, according to my husband. He doesn’t seem to think that doctors generally pick numbers out of hats, when they’re telling you not to do something for a specific amount of time. Also, my driving a standard and having to use my leg to push down the clutch apparently doesn’t count as knee exercises.
You can’t blame a girl for trying.
In my defense, I went an entire week without knee pain, which was where the temptation started. I mean, maybe I had imagined the knee pain. Or maybe it somehow fixed itself overnight, and I was suddenly capable of running again.
False, false and false.
(Here’s a little peak at the work-out corner of our nearly-finished basement).
I ran just one mile on Sunday night and then one mile on Monday night before the familiar knee pain came back. Although it’s not as intense as before, it’s still there. And it’s a reminder that no matter how much I love running, and miss running, and want to be running, I physically can’t rush this.
So I found myself, for the first time in a long time, lying on the floor with weights around my ankles as I did leg-lifts to strengthen the muscles above and below my knee-cap. I kept telling myself that I was still building muscle and that this was every-bit-as-athletic as my normal routine, because this would get me back to where I wanted to be.
So even if it was not what I wanted to be doing, there was nothing to be ashamed of.
This is about the time that both of my cats decided that it would be fun to roll around on the floor with me… and on top of me. I won’t lie, it’s a little frustrating when you’re trying to look all confident and strong while working out, and then suddenly you have a cat writhing around between your legs and trying to grab at your shoes.
Great… Now I’m a cat lady with ankle-weights.
Oh, well, we all have to start somewhere, I suppose. 😉