Sunday, January 25, 2009

Me, and my, faaaaat ass, limping down the avenue - week two.

It's been a very up-and-down kind of week. On Monday, a work holiday for yours truly, I took advantage of the freedom despite the chill and snow and walked from 34th st and 1st avenue to the Met - 5th avenue at 81st. It was a good jaunt, a nice way to start off the week. Starting off on the right foot, as it were, ha ha. Then I hung out in the Temple of Dendur, looking at the snow in Central Park from the warmth of an Egyptian temple. Great light in there.

And why was I on 34th st? Because I finally got around to seeing my doc, whom I hadn't had a visit with in over a year. A bad idea, my friends, when you're a girl like me, to miss your checkups. But I couldn't afford it when I was sans insurance - I like him a lot, and since he specializes in fibromyalgia he gets it. He doesn't ask stupid questions or tell me "that doesn't hurt" or want to check my thyroid repeatedly like some other doctors I've been to. But, also because he specializes, he's very expensive. So it goes.

So I got in to the doc finally, got a B12 shot for good measure, and we're running some standard bloodwork. I don't particularly think anything is wrong, but isn't it nice to know? He didn't seem terribly concerned about my weight gain; just looking at me in street clothes it's not that noticeable. I'm wearing it better than the last time I put on almost this much, in my mid twenties. So at least I have that to cling to, even if I still can't button my pants.

So that was Monday. Tuesday it was back to work, with an unexpected and pleasant respite to watch the inauguration of our new president. A few people cried. It was interesting to see that, even in a conservative-type environment like a law firm, people are seriously ready to see a change of administration. At the end of the day I took the Q101 across the bridge to avoid the harsh winds off the water (it was well below freezing), and then walked from Queens Plaza to home, about a 25 minute jaunt. So the week was going quite well in terms of the whole exercise thing.

Wednesday, I went out to dinner with my bestest friend who I haven't gotten to hang out with in a while. Going out to dinner while on a diet is a dicey proposition, but I think I did alright: had a small bowl of broth-based soup and an appetizer. Cheaper to dine out that way anyway.

And then, Thursday, tragedy. It all began on Tuesday, really, as a whisper. Wednesday it had grown to a murmur, but one that I was still ignoring. But in my sleep from Wednesday night into Thursday morning, the murmur worked itself all the way up into a roar. The irritation that had been growing in my right foot reached up into my calf and gave a little tug, sending it into full spasm. When I tried to get up for work, I realized that we'd achieved a full blown protest. I made Jonathan get out of bed early to go to the store for an ace bandage, and spent the rest of the day hobbling around at a third of my normal pace.

New York is not a pleasant place to be when even slightly disabled; I honestly have no idea how people in wheelchairs ever leave the house. Getting to work was hellish. Being at work was hellish. All day fuzzy, frustrated, in pain; limping around without a proper explanation for why. I was making up stories about getting in fights with ninja gangs; it's easier than trying to explain fibro to someone who's never heard of it. By four p.m. I was beyond tired, and still had to last at work till 6:15 and then make it to my Thursday evening appointment.

I hate days like that one, but no matter how well I take care of myself they will happen. That, actually, is precisely why I hate them. Uncontrollable, unpredictable, unexplainable, unstoppable. So yes, the control freak's actual definition of hell.

Well I got through Thursday, and by Friday I could mostly walk again. It still hurt, but I could move much more normally and closer to a comfortable speed. Friday night Jon and I went out to eat with a bunch of kiddies that I now work with at a vastly overpriced Indian place in midtown; I'm sure I ate too much, but it didn't get too crazy.

By Saturday, to my enormous relief, the pain in my appendage was down to a moderate soreness. I had been afraid that it was beyond a localized flare-up; that something was actually structurally damaged somehow. Despite the fact that there'd been no injury, no accident. But anyway. It seems now that I'll be able to get back to my walking next week; I really hope so. I want to go walking today; the sky is blue despite the freezing temperatures. But I don't think it would be wise.

With the pain and frustration and the eating out, I definitely blew my calories several times in these seven days. But unless I'm hugely underestimating my out-to-dinner calories (and I'm guessing pretty damn high), I don't think I got too out of range. Definitely past my allotted 1600, but not past what would be a normal non-diet healthy amount of 2000 or so.

So yeah, it's been a tough week, but it seems that I'm at least still heading in the right direction:

1/11/9: 185
1/18/9: 183.2
1/25/9: 181.8

And, as always, we carry on.

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