Are you prepared to take a dive into the deep end of my head?
Are you listening to a single word I’ve said?
i had the most glorious day. my thesis was officially accepted; the department chair got myself and the other graduating masters student each a dozen roses; i gave my students their final exam, which was sad but we had a lot of fun, and they all did really well; my yoga students gave me a card as a thank you and good luck for my surgery; i came home to lovely facebook posts from some of my students.
it was a day to feel loved.
and you know what i’ve been doing? fucking panicking about this surgery. but not the fact that i’m going under anesthesia and having my leg opened up and a crucial part of my knee replaced. no, i’m spazzing because i’m going to be unable to walk, let alone run or spin or freaking MOVE, for the next god knows how long.
i’m melting down because i don’t know how to handle not being able to work out. because no matter how ‘strongly recovered’ i might be, the fact is that throwing my world into a tailspin like this is terrifying.
if i don’t move – work out, run, lift, whatever – i don’t know how to handle my body. i don’t know how to feed it. i don’t know what to do with it. and i certainly don’t know how to like it.
i’ve built a large part of my identity around being a fitness girl – being a runner, a group fitness instructor, a yogi, somebody who can squat her own body weight thankyouverymuch. what the hell am i going to be these next few weeks?
an injured runner/group fitness instructor/yogi who seems awfully bitchy all the goddamn time.
recovery didn’t become significantly more difficult at all of the times one would have expected: when my mom died, when my relationship crumbled, when my dad got a new girlfriend. at each of those junctures, it would have been admissible – almost guardedly expected – for me to falter. but instead of turning to the familiarity of old habits…i ate like a champ and ran like one.
i don’t know what’s going to happen, and that scares the shit out of me. i want to rise from this victorious and proud, but behind that wish is always the whisper of that broken girl i thought i had finally left behind. again and again.