Welcome to Melodrama 101

Warning: this post is pouty, noticeably devoid of perspective, and downright melodramatic. Aside from the first paragraph, it really lacks any meaningful content. In fact, just skip it and have a cup of coffee instead.

Thanks, guys. Everyone -- for being so supportive in the comments to my last post. I'm rooting for me, too. I'm keeping that goal in my sights. Bannish the WhatIfs! Onward to positive thoughts.

Okay, so the back. Only modest improvement since Wednesday. Last night found me up at 3 to take aspirin to help with the discomfort -- I'm hesitant to take anything more powerful. Can you imagine me on narcotics? Um, I'm already all over the place. I had high hopes for yesterday, since Wednesday was noticeably better than Tuesday, but it's was still aching away like a disgruntled aunt left alone on a bench at Target. Just. Not. Happy.

I totally agree with your suggestions -- I've been keeping the massage idea in my back pocket for financial reasons. It's taken a lot of wrangling to just save the money for gas and hotel for the trip, so an additional expense like that is hard. I made a deal with myself that I would make an appointment for a massage therapist for a sports massage (but clearly focusing on my upper back rather than a standard deep tissue) if things weren't improving by this afternoon. Ah, Stronger...yet another reason to live in Colorado! I would so be on your doorstep with zucchini bread and vouchers for years of babysitting if I were only on that side of the Mississippi!

Mighty M has helped when he can, but yesterday I took to moping around and eating horrendous food. Cake at 10:00 at night. I gave up gratuitous cake months ago, so it was a fiiiine example of emotional eating. I had mac and cheese at lunch. Me -- mac and cheese. I usually have a green salad with tuna and red peppers, and I found myself all pouty at the hot bar at our local Giant. Good grief, girlfriend.

All the time on my hands? Not a clue what to do with it. Except worry. I intellectually know that this is the smart way to heal, but my spirit is chomping at the bit to be let out to play. I see the calendar and know that I have such a short period of time to really make the most of fine tuning my legs and lungs before taper. I know that you can't gain any fitness during this time, but that's not what I want. I just don't want to LOSE any of the stuff I've got. And each day that goes by that I wake with continued pain, I feel like my body is a sieve and I'm dripping away my chances at finishing under cutoff.

How's that for dramatic.

I'll spare you the weight I lay on Mighty M at night. All about how I've worked so hard to prove I can do this and to have my own body betray me. And how I have so many people relying on me showing up and trying and feeling like my chances of finishing are getting smaller and smaller by day. And childlike rejection of the thesis that the journey is the destination and I've made the journey.

I'll spare you. Cause it goes on and on.

So I've become a pouty drama queen, too, throughout all of this. Sigh. I feel so Lifetime Special, all internal dialog and long stares out windows. Dra. Ma. It's getting old.

Tonight I'm going to try to jog for a little to see how it feels. Tomorrow I had a 100 mile bike scheduled that clearly won't be a good idea. But I am hoping that I can spin a little on the bike around town. If it starts hurting, I promise to stop right away. But I've gotta try something soon, right?

Ugh.

I'm such a crappy patient.