98%: Feeling Crappy with a side of Suckishness

Here is the problem with being 98% healed from any injury or ailment:  2% of the time you feel like shit.  The slightest discomfort reminds you that you cannot return to life as normal and must continue to caudle the weak link in the chain.  It is, to be completely honest, infuriating.  It is why children and dogs make such poor patients.  The moment they feel the slightest bit better, they overexert themselves and inevitably aggravate their injuries.  While most would argue that I act like a child and have the emotional depth of a canine, I still have enough wisdom to take it easy when on the mend.  That doesn’t mean I have to like it, does it?  My increasingly doughy physique is starting to piss me off.  I have training to do, miles to run and weights that need lifting.  The wife is rather insistent that I go to the doctor to have the injury in my lower back examined.  Right now I don’t love the idea, but I am warming to it the longer this condition persists.  The foot is now back to it’s pre-injury status and my amateur diagnosis is a case of tendonitis though it is probably worth a checkup as well if I am forced to the doctor’s office over my back.  I have a rather long transcontinental flight ahead of me and the thought of sitting there for that long with this unpleasant twinge in my lower back has me sweating bullets.  I refuse to believe at the age of 37 that this is a sign of aging.  I am too young for inexplicable injury.  The only thing that I can pinpoint that might be the cause was an impromptu round of football in the yard with my eldest during which I spent some time punting the ball for him to run down.  The pain was not immediate, so perhaps this is simply a slight strain that is taking its sweet ass time to heal.

I think the wife secretly hopes it is a problem with a disk.  Not that she wishes me ill, but rather that I would then be able to share in her misery.  She in fact has an injury that is all but inoperable from our viewpoint.  It causes her a reasonable amount of discomfort and I can imagine now that it borders on unbearable now that I have had a taste of that medicine.  In order to fix her ailment surgically, it would require cracking her chest and shuffling her organs around to gain access.  Given the invasiveness of such a procedure we are none too keen on crossing that bridge just yet.  As for me, I wouldn’t say that this is the worst pain I have ever experienced, but it is certainly inconvenient and a sign that I am not as spry as I once was.  An injury like this 10 years ago would have been right as rain in a day or two.  Now two weeks in, I am beginning to doubt whether I will ever have a pain free day for the remainder of my life.  I know that is not likely to be the case, but it is a reminder that the battle has begun against the sands of time.  It is time to start taking my level of fitness a little more seriously if I plan on lasting for the long haul.  I stopped aging emotionally and mentally somewhere in my twenties and believe in my heart of hearts that I am still that guy.  My eldest son’s reaction to my time on the disabled list has been the most difficult to stomach.  He sees me physically as the guy I believe myself to be.  No reason to doubt this at his age because my physical feats of strength are still far beyond his ability level.  You can see he doubts my complaints.  He is naturally willing me to be back in action.  Just yesterday I begged off on a round of catch in the yard stating that it would likely aggravate my injury.  His shoulders dropped and I apologized for getting old.  Very kindly he reminded me that I am not OLD and my physique is still in good form.  We have been active together, he and I.  He has seen me fight and scrap with guys 10 years my junior and has seen me compete in the martial arts with award winning flourish for my age group.  He knows even with an injured back I can throw him and his brother up over my head with relative ease and doesn’t think twice about using me as a jungle gym.

His optimism is inspiring even on days when I feel more like Clark Kent than Superman.  Somewhere in his enthusiasm I think I have found the answer.  Grit my teeth and endure.  Strengthen those areas that are healthy to pick up the slack for those that are faltering.  I need to workout.  Fortunately the sun has returned to the forecast and its warmth has renewed my enthusiasm.  So much so that the family decided to take a long bike tour yesterday.  We packed a picnic lunch and headed out.  Having my youngest aboard my chariot meant that I had a little more weight to pack around and even the slightest incline required additional exertion.  By the time we returned home, I was tired, but my back felt better than it had in days.  My son is a genius and perhaps the best personal trainer one could hope for.  He expects me to be fit and active and anything less will not meet with resigned approval.  No, Superman I shall be.  So, today I will throw away my black rimmed glasses and dawn my cape.  Being more of a Marvel family perhaps the better analogy is this:  Neither of my boys have ever seen Ironman fall in battle, so they will be damned if their war machine doesn’t rally when duty calls.  So I ask myself . . . where the fuck do I get one of those suits?  Until next time.  R.