I'm sure that everybody knows how much my body hates me
It lets me down most every time and makes me rash and hasty.
Those are lyrics from a Billy Bragg song that's been stuck in my head since the end of May. The context and the rest of the song don't fit, but the sensation that my body hates me? That does.
May was a whirlwind of wonderful events and great times -- two fabulous weddings in which I got to play integral roles, a play-off hockey game (even if my boys lost), a brief hit of summertime visiting family around one of the weddings. Catching up with friends, hiking, running, biking.
Then June rolled around. Also full of fun plans.
Three days before I was supposed to line up for Muddy Buddy, I got hit by a nasty upper-respiratory virus. Laryngitis, cough, fever -- I could hardly haul myself from one end of the apartment to the other, and I had to send the dreaded "I can't do this" email. I'd been looking forward to Muddy Buddy for almost 3 years. It was one of the markers for really moving on after the shoulder surgery of October 2007, and it also just plain sounded *fun*. I was incredibly disappointed even though I knew it was the right decision.
That virus affected my breathing for more than a month, triggering some ambiguous form of asthma. So at the beginning of July I ended up on inhaled steroids. They're helping.
Although it's hard to tell just how much they're helping since I can't do much to test my aerobic capacity right now. Just under a week ago, I missed a stair or somehow tripped going down the stairs (I'm still not sure exactly what happened) and sprained my ankle. It's not a bad sprain, although the bruising is spectacular, but it's worst with flexion.
Which means I can't run. I can hardly walk. I can't bike.
and worst of all? I can't do ankle catches. There are three of them in my trapeze act. My act which is in rough shape prior to auditons for the Circus Center showcase. The audition is July 25, so I have *no* idea at this point if I'm going to be ready. Those ankle catches are important transition points in the act, too, so I can't just skip them and I don't have the time to learn new choreography to elide them.
I'm frustrated and cranky. I *almost* wish the injury were worse, so that I had to come to terms with it and there wasn't a remote possibility.
It just seems like ... every time I plan something physical that can't be rescheduled? That I'm really looking forward to? My body sabotages it.
Which is nonsense -- I've taken a month of rock-climbing classes, done fabulous 10+ mile hikes and had terrific bike rides. I'm not over-trained. It's just a dose of bad timing.
and to quote another Billy Bragg song from my college years, also out of context, it's bad timing and me, we find a lot of things out that way.
I guess it's time that bad timing teaches me more patience.
But as I'm fond of saying, Patience is a Virtue, just not one of mine.