Apparently Mother Nature had some bad shellfish or just one too many espresso-and-grapefruit breakfasts (don’t know what I’m talking about? Try it sometime!), because as you might have heard, this past week she dropped trou and let loose a massive dooshing of snow, plus a spatter-painting of slush, onto Washington, DC.
But when your knee is clicking and you are going to yoga EVERY DAY out of cabin fever/boredom and the instructors are wondering why this hopeless case with the all-spandex wardrobe is there all the time, especially when she’ll never be able to do full lotus pose or even the half-tiger or double-earthworm, well, then it’s time to get shit taken care of.
So on Monday I traipsed down to Foggy Bottom (2.5 miles away, kids…no buses and spotty Metro service, of course) and saw Dr. Fine. Really. This is his name.
“Lie back, DJ.” <grabs my left leg> “Now, let it go looooose….” <bends it this way and that>
As it turns out, his name is disturbingly apropos:
“Mmmm…yeah, OK. Your leg is fine.”
“Does it hurt?”
He puts his hands on his hips. “It just clicks?”
“…well, just don’t become a CIA agent then!”
<blank stare from me>
“You know…….it’s tough to sneak around…..when you’re clicking.”
So after my appointment with Dr. Comedic Genius, I trudged home over piles of solidified slush and streets (unplowed, natch) coated with 8″ of packed snirt. Aside from the single-lane-traffic sidewalks, fruitless (literally) grocery store run on the way home, angry motorists, angry pedestrians, angry God, and steadily moistening socks, I was also tormented by persistent questions I SHOULD have asked Dr. Genius and that he neglected to even address. I mean, really non-pertinent stuff here — like, oh, I don’t know…”When will this be better?” or “Are you sure I’m OK?” or “CAN’T YOU FEEL THAT? CAN’T YOU? AM I ON CRAZY PILLS?” By the time I got home and put my meager food purchases away, I was sniffling and reaching for the cell phone, ready for “I’m-losing-my-flipping-mind-phone-call-to-Mom” number 8 of the week.
This post has taken me forever to write and I’m not staying on track, so perhaps I should just get to the simple main points:
1) Dr. CG said I should elliptical for 2 weeks (1 of which is about up now), then try running again, a mile at a time.
2) Dr. CG said he would give me a referral to a physical therapist. “<scoff> If you really want one. I mean, if you think that’s NECESSARY.”
3) Dr. CG gave me exercises to do as well — exercises he treated with the same flap-of-the-hand, “Do them as you will, dahling” attitude with which he seemed to treat the rest of my well-being, Goddammit. I have been doing said exercises with a level of commitment I can only wish I brought to studying, religion, or any relationship ever. I do them while watching TV. I do them while studying. I do them on the bus. I do them in the bathroom stall at work. I have even done them during every single time I have had intercourse over the last week.
Ahahaha. A little circumstantial-celibacy humor for you all there. Go ahead and laugh. It chases the sad away, and if you do it hard enough, it almost reminds you of what an orgasm feels like.
Wait. No it doesn’t. Does it? Doesn’t it? Holy freaking jeez, do I remember? OH GOD I’M GOING TO DIE ALONE WITH A LEAN CUISINE SEASONED WITH TEARS SITTING IN MY LAP <sound of “Legends of the Fall” being inserted into DVD drive>
In “keeping-myself-sane” news, yoga continues to at least somewhat fill running’s place, if only in the way that a teaspoon of skim vanilla ice milk can take the place of a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food with a can of Reddi Whip on the side. <sigh>
However, all is not lost, as I had a class today led by The Most Gorgeous Man in The World (TMGMTW). TMGMTW is a tall man with fantastically dark skin and long beautiful dreads and these shoulders. These SHOULDERS. Hohhhhh these shoulders <falls off chair, writhes on ground delighting in the knowledge that there is such beauty in the world>.
Anyway. TMGMTW actually didn’t teach that spectacular of a class, though perhaps it’s not my place to judge. I have all the balance of a drunk Holstein, so naturally TMGMTW incorporated every one-legged pose EVER into today’s class, and also threw in a few that I suspect he made up on the spot, just to mess with my wobbly ass as he strode up and down the rows, giving feedback.
ME: <grunt, moan, wobble>
TMGMTW:<in a tone one would use toward a puppy trying to do organic chemistry> Good job! Keep trying!
I’ma go ice my nose, y’all. Bye.