You know one of the life skills that I don’t ever seem to get any better at is having the patience to persevere with a plan when it doesn’t run to the schedule I’ve got in my head. And before you start chiding me, I promise I’m not about to fall off the wagon but seriously, I deserved more than the Shitbird Scale awarded me this week. Not even a full pound, despite throwing everything I’ve got at this, including my heart and soul.
How can that be right? I could accept a nought point fuck-all more easily if I was fannying around like I did towards the back end of last year, taking two steps forward and one step back. That would deserve a measly three quarters of a pound, but seriously, I’m busting my balls here to get a good number. I did four classes last week plus almost ten miles hiking on Saturday and I even stood firm in the face of torture from a cheese sandwich…that on its own deserves more than a nought point seven five on the screen, surely?
If I was able to stamp my foot, I would, but just to add to my list of woes I managed to bust my dodgy knee up pretty good during our hike at the weekend. I have no idea what happened, but somehow it went rogue on me and I couldn’t manage the last half a mile…one of my friends had to walk ahead and bring his car back to collect me. I’m struggling to put any weight through it at all now and the red hot poker that was part of the wallpaper of my life when I lived in Mooseville has all of a sudden moved back in with a vengeance.
I spent yesterday afternoon at the hospital. The doctor reckons my cartilage is inflamed…they X-rayed my knee and all the moving parts look fine, so I just have to rest it, keep it elevated and use ice packs for a few days until the inflammation goes down. Which is fucking marvellous timing. I’ve got a busy week lined up with limited opportunity to work from home, at least for the next couple of days.
I guess the one saving grace going on here is that despite hitting a bit of a pothole, my Asshole voice hasn’t made a grab for the wheel. That would’ve put the cherry on top, right? I was fed up all day yesterday after my conversation with the Shitbird Scale and hobbling around in agony all day didn’t sweeten my mood, in fact I had a full blown pity party going on, which isn’t like me, you know? I guess we’re all allowed a strop once in a while, and I’m just grateful that this one came without a kamikaze desire to face plant into a bucket of Haagen Dazs. Today marks twelve weeks since I brought my A-game. Eighty four days food sober, and there’s not a damn thing the Shitbird Scale can do to pop that balloon.
I’ve woken up with a better attitude today, and I’m forcing myself to focus on the positives. It might only be three quarters of a pound, but it’s the twelfth consecutive loss since New Year and I’m twenty one pounds lighter than I was then. I’m a good dress size smaller now than I was at Christmas. I can still do two classes this week because Muffin Top and Bingo Wings works my core and my arms and demands nothing whatsoever of my knees. And it occurred to me as I laid in bed last night reflecting on the day, that I’d barely got in from the hospital yesterday afternoon before I was in touch with God of Pain asking what I could do this week instead of telling him what I couldn’t.
That’s rather a seismic shift isn’t it?
