The resurrection of a dead blog...

I'm not sure how, where, or what happened to me along the way. really. But, I do know that I lost my way some time ago. I got hurt. I didn't really try to recover for whatever reason. Lots of reasons. None which I care to divulge here other than dealing with me and my things. And I'M BACK!

I woke up a couple of weeks ago and I said enough. This isn't fair to me or to my kids and I need to get back to me. So, I've gone from hell freezing over due the fact that I was running to me getting my life back and gaining control again.

It was a long journey to get fit, for me!, the first time around. It will be this time around, too. But, well, I will do it. I need to do it for me. I need to do it for my kids that depend on me daily. So, here I go again... (without the backwalkover on the Jaguars.)

Four weeks out...

Tomorrow, I am going to play tennis. Well, attempt to play tennis. I can't stay away anymore with this ankle. I missed so much this winter with my illnesses, the kids' illnesses, travel, randomness, and then the ankle just when I get back to the groove. My coach knows the story and promises he won't abuse me. Thankfully, I trust him and know that he won't.

My mother, in true mother fashion, told me (basically) that I was just plain stupid to get back on it in such a short time frame. Uh, a month Mom! I'm pretty sure Venus or Serena would not have sat out a month. I refrained from saying this, though, for fear of unleashing her "those girls are on steriods", which may or may not be true, diatribe. I really should stick to Billie Jean King or Chrissy Evert Lloyd references in the future! Truth be known, I think she is worried about next weekend when she is coming up to meet the kids and I at Tulip Time in Holland, MI!!! :) I bought an ankle brace which now brings the number of assorted braces contained within this household to about 37! I'm hoping that helps and if nothing else, I guess I will serve for an hour. And will probably end up needing brace #38 for the shoulder if that comes about...

Not broken, but slow healing...and a good dinner!

The ankle is still swollen. Not profusely, but enough to make me feel like I'm sporting a cankle. That and to feel rather lopsided. When I get fat, the few things that don't get fat too are my ankles and feet. Not so for my right one right now. It is finally warming up here and I want to wear capris and I'm sporting the cankle. Would it be wrong for me to stick a post it on it stating "I was recently sprained. Don't judge me."?!?!? On that note, I've long since forgotten how long it takes to recover from a sprained ankle. Pisser.

I made an awesome dinner tonight. Very simple, but very tasty. I had stir fry in mind, but thanks to some brain bombs from a friend, I decided to spice and herb it up. Fab-U-lous! I diced chicken tenderloins and soaked in Trader Joe's Island Soyaki sauce for an hour. Heated up a bit of roasted garlic flavored olive oil and dumped the soaked chicken and soaking juices (?) into the wok. Seared for a quick two minutes and turned down heat and let slowly cook a bit. To that, I tossed in onions and tricolored bells. Then some Sriracha, a twice round the wok dose. Two dime sized squeezes of basil in tube. Don't judge me! It's all my grocery had!!! I taste tested a bit down the road and decided more herby sweet and another quarter sized squeeze from the basil tube. All stirred until the bells were crisp tender. And it was GOOD. Better than take out...and much lower fat, calories. I ate mine sans starch (rice/noodles) and did dinner at around 200 calories. YES!

NOT BROKEN!

Yea! The ankle, not broken. I called the doc and finally got in. Of course, not to my regular doc, but rather to see someone with the personality of a toad. Actually, that is degrading to the toads across the world. Thank heavens, he is not my regular doctor. Seriously, a sense of humor never really killed anyone.

As I suspected, I had to have xrays and then wait for radiology to talk to Dr. Zero Personality and then wait for him to get back to me. All told, about 24 hours after my appointment. Not too shabby in today's world of wait and see, I guess. What I find particularly irksome is that he told me on Thursday that, if it wasn't fractured, it was definitely a grade two sprain. He then said there was no point in wrapping or taping it. No point in icing it, even though it swells up at the end of the day. And, ibuprofen is really pointless, despite the fact that it is still painful. Alrighty, then.

Friday evening, he calls me and tells me that it is not broken and I ask him again, what to do about managing the pain, the swelling, the weakness in the joint and was told nothing. This all sounded off to me so I turned to my trusty friend, Google. And, eventually, I landed on some rather official looking site that had to do with the American association of ortho docs of some sort. That site along with several others said that a grade two sprain should be wrapped, taped, or preferably put in an air cast. Ice for swelling. Anti-inflammatory as necessary. Dude. Seriously? And one of sister in laws, a RN, was not happy either. I really don't know what was wrong with this guy, but I do know when my opinion form comes in the mail, it won't be returned favorably.

Today for several hours, I was able to walk with no limp! Of course, to me, this means I'm ready to get right back on the tennis court. But, I won't. As I sit and type now, it is throbbing and aching and feels like someone has a vice grip on my ankle bone. So, I guess I'll be taking it easy. And, there goes another Race to Wrigley 5k out the door for me. I now own more t-shirts for the Races I didn't run than those that I did. :( I'll get 'em next year. I hope. As for tennis, I'll take this week and possibly next off. See how I feel. Watching Roddick win the Sony Ericsson this weekend was brutal. I want to be back on court! With that, back to the marathon spring cleaning. I figure if we aren't going anywhere, I might as well make the slave labor, uh, I mean kids, useful this week!

I love my family.

Today, I loaded up the BoilerBrats post school and we headed downtown to visit my aunt, cousin, and kids and swim in a pool that we weren't actually supposed to use since we weren't actually paying for a room at that hotel. But, they were. And, I'm bitchy, so just go ahead and challenge me! 'cause I'll sic my 7 year old yellow belt on your ass. BOOYAH! I love being all cocky about her. *snort*

The Youngest went drama queen on me and he incessantly complained about being cold and was clamped onto my side. And hungry. He's always hungry. He eats every 20 minutes, but yet, has a mini 6 pack going on. Clearly, I have doubts that he is mine. WAIT. Back it up. No doubts he is mine over the eating habits. Doubts over the mini six pack abs. Yeah, that ain't my spawn! The Oldest was loving being in the water. It's been awhile since she's been in the pool. And, she was appropriately adorned in an itty bitty, teeny weenie, yellow polka dot bikini. Okay, not so teeny weenie as I refuse to pimp out my 7 year old ala that disturbing show about the mini beauty pageants. She just loves it 'cause it has ruffles. She was impressing her great aunt with handstands and underwater somersaults. And, oh no, she didn't LOVE the attention.

After Youngest decided to perch himself on a lounge chair and have his great aunt and cousins dote on him by swathing him in towels for warmth and feeding him food for sustenance, my aunt and I got to chitchat as I can leave Oldest in the pool just under watchful eye. Damn, I love that woman. She's like the great bits of my mom with some objectivity since I'm not her kid and a dash of my beloved grandma all rolled into one. And it makes me want to be around the bulk of them (not the LOONY ones!) all the more. I've made promises to myself before to make it back home more often. I need to deliver on that this summer. I do.

The ankle update. Yeah, well, I think I'm going to have to cave and get xrays. The swelling is going down. The pain is lessening but I'm finding some very, very tender spots and it is a bit warm to the touch in spots. In breaking news, since it will be pushing 80 at week's end...I have unpedicured toenails perched on the edge purplish black toes! WOOT! Oh, and a cankle and a club foot. I miss my dainty feet. That's about the only thing on me that doesn't get bigger when I fluctuate weight. And, I'm still distraught that I couldn't try on my brand new, just arrived within minutes of my sprain, Burberry wedges!

Someone, somewhere hates me

No, actually, they do. I know. However, I really mean this is the most of sarcastic tones. With a side of woe is me, thrown in for good measure. Per my last post, I owned up to the fact that any seismic activity in the greater Chicagoland area was due to me getting my rather copious backside out on the tennis court for the first time in FOREVER. I was feeling so grand about that and loving that heady rush from the fact that I did not die while exercising that I got all brash and sassy and scheduled round two of tennis for Tuesday. Yeah, tomorrow. And, I blogged about not canceling said appointment with TH. whelp...I canceled.

BUT BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME...there is a story behind this cancellation...I swear. And, any seismic activity in the greater Chicagoland area on Friday afternoon can also be attributed to me.

Friday was one of those days where you look back and go "dumbass" to yourself. If only I had slowed down then, I'd be better off today. Those that know me well no that I am not known for my patience, my gentle manner, my gracefulness, or a general good mood. Honestly, Friday was moving along rather swimmingly. Yeah, I was sore and tired, but only one of those things is unusual. The soreness. But, it was a good soreness. I like to tell myself this in hopes that one day I really will embrace that thought process. Alas, I digress. Anyway...swimmingly. Until I went to the post office.

The post office in Chicago is a real treat. Real treat. I don't know that I could ever, effectively explain a Chicago post office. It is really something you can't comprehend until you experience it. For instance, after several Netflix DVDs going missing when I returned them, I called Netflix fearful they would ban me. They asked my zip code and I gave it. The customer service rep starts laughing and promptly tells me that my zip code is on their top ten list of worst zip codes. However after visits to many different post offices, I had felt fairly confident that I had found one of the less sucky of Chicago post offices, and NOT my local one. What a triumph that day was for me!

Friday, though, the nonsucky post office was sucking. Usually dead around 2ish in the afternoon, it was not that day. I HAD to mail something for the Husband and there was no getting out of it. I also HAD to pick up the oldest of the rugrats at 3pm. An hour. To go to the post office just 2-3 minutes from the school. No problem. Right? Not when 3 people are getting passports and every shipping challenged person in the city showed to ship 327 different random little packages with nothing filled out. GAH. I couldn't even really bitch because two of the people getting passports were children of a friend. Damn.

We escaped, mail properly posted, with about 10 minutes to get to the school. Parking was INSANE. Normally, that would be plenty of time to find parking, though not prime spaces. Friday, no go! I circle the block. I get the green light and kindergarten dad comes moseying across the street, in front of me. Me with the green light and he gives me the flippant hand wave, oh you can wait gesture. It was all I had not to run him over. *grr* Finally get back to our side of the school to pick up and park illegally in someone else's parking pad (along with several others from school) and sprint over to get the oldest. We get back in the car and after what seemed like an eternity to get out of this nonprime parking spot...huge telephone pole, narrow spot, narrow alley, big car...I get half a block away and Oldest announces, oh, I forgot my lunch box again. And, it has food in it. ICK.

Circle the school AGAIN. I swear I am NOT a Catholic School vulture. Cut through alley in hopes of being able to slide out of alley and backup just a smidge to park in front of school and sprint in before they shut the doors for the day. I do NOT want a festering lunchbox. Other mom cuts off my plan by parking right at alley edge. I contemplate backing down the one way. Though, given my current run of luck, I figured this would be the one time CPD heads down that street, catches me, and then bludgeons me, nearly to death, in front of my children. Or, maybe just give me a ticket. You never quite know with them. Either way, it's not a happy ending for me.

I find a parking spot and time is quickly running out to get back to the school to retrieve the lunchbox. Youngest has a smoothie without lid that Oldest bought him in a rare nice move towards her brother! Imagine the following series of events in rapid fire succession. Literally, seconds.

Try to get kids out of car quickly.
I grab smoothie as it is precious cargo.
Get them out.
Close car door.
Usher children.
Carry smoothie.
Try not to bitch about someone being irresponsible and leaving their possessions scattered about Chicago.
Start sprint back to schoolyard.
Trip, fumble, roll off of curb,no more than 2" tall.
Right ankle caves, makes popping noise.
I go down, full out collapse.
Scream out in pain.
Terrify children.
Try not to vomit.
Try not to cry.
Try not to let loose the litany of vulgarities surging through my head.
Limped to schoolyard.
Got a friend to retrieve the lunchbox.

The most important thing...not one single drop of spilled smoothie. As several friends pointed out, it is good to know that I did learn something in college. How not to spill my drink when falling down. HAIL PURDUE!

So, this time around, a sprained ankle shoots down my plans.

It's not fun being fat in Chicago in March

Why? Because when you recommit yourself to exercise, it is virtually impossible to find anything in the stores that will accommodate the wild and erratic temperature swings that accompany March in Chicago. And, well, I threw away all my fat clothes because I just knew I would NEVER go back to fat clothes. Hahaha...joke's on me.

So, I'm digging through old clothes trying to find things that will allow me to run outside without the fear of someone worried that a Beluga got lost from the Shedd or calling animal control reporting a rare, two legged, albino cow chugging along Southport. And, then when it turns the odd warm thing, there is the fish belly whiteness to deal with. I must remember to try to use that gradual and faint faux tan stuff that is mixed in with lotion. I learn to live with the boiled potato smell to keep from scaring or scarring :) the masses.

Today, though, I did get back on the tennis court. I am happy to report that it really is like riding a bike. Only without the awkward weaving, deer in headlights look, and the momentary lapse of remembering which hand brakes which wheel and the sense of doom that you might, very well, fling yourself headfirst over the handlebars. Or perhaps, that only happens to me. Hm.

Was I on my A game? Nope. Hell no. Then again, even my best game would not be described as an "A game." But, it was good to be back. And I'm very happy about that. It was fabulous to see my coach, that I refer to as Tennis Hottie, aka TH. Not just because he was hot, but because he is a friend and a good guy. Okay, okay, it is partially because he is hot. *shrugs* I had some great points, some almost legit winners, and I've scheduled for next week. Now, not to cancel. I must get out of the anti-exercise funk I've been in!