It was exactly a year yesterday since the
Great Prawn Disaster of 2012, (it hardly seems like a minute, does it? *laughs bitterly*) and the LBTEPA Institute for Truthfulness in Blogging hereby states that yes, our heroine did indulge in a day of sookiness and self-pity. She did not, however, indulge in excessive amounts of adult beverages nor energy-dense foods, which is something, although the lustre of these achievements is possibly somewhat dulled by the facts that she is unable to move about easily nor carry stuff , and that something about the post-hospital medication regime is making her a bit sick most of the time. But there you have it, and credit where credit is due we say. Here's to a new year, free from the curse of the prawn!
I would like to share with you, if I may, a conversation I had with some work colleagues on the day before I went on sick leave. We were speaking of a(n absolutely charming) bloke in our little country tri club who came 29th overall at Ironman Melbourne
(!!!!!!!!!!!), qualifying for
Kona in the process
(!!!!!OMGWEARENOTWORTHY!!!!). One of my colleagues (who
CLEARLY has his own issues) has been camping with this chap and his (equally delightful) wife and was going on about how "every five minutes one of them would be going for a 10k run or a 2k swim or something like that". I made some wistful remark about how I missed being strong and fit and how fun it was to be able to exercise whenever I wanted, and how I would get back there one day. I
would. I was probably being a bit over the top, I do that sometimes - but I didn't expect their responses:.
No you won't
Don't kid yourself
You won't get back there.
????
My first response was not my best, I admit: I showed them my upraised middle finger and told them there'd be one each for them at the finish of my next marathon. My next reaction was to burst into tears and run out of the office crying
I didn't need to hear that today. Well done LBTEPA, I hear you say. You're all class. What can I say? These things happen and it's no use pretending they don't. I did accept the apology offered by one workmate (and have noted the echoing absence of 'sorry' from the other and adjusted my opinion of him accordingly).
Look, I might be a bit of a drama queen and a whinger and a catastrophiser and an unseemly seeker of sympathy from the interwebs, but I'm not stupid.
Of course I've worried the surgery won't work.
Of course I know I've lost five years' worth of fitness and gained a stupid number of bad habits and a stupid amount of weight this year.
Of course I know it's going to be stupidly difficult to rejoin the ranks of the effortlessly active. I. KNOW. And over the last few months I cannot understate the amount of effort I have directed toward
NOT thinking What They Said.
So thanks, boys. You're the best.
However, given that it would be beneath the LBTEPA Centre for Having the Awesome Life You Want to say
f--- off and die, losers, LBTEPA's message to her work colleagues is this: I am not interested in your small and unkind thoughts. Unlike you, I dream big. I take responsibility for my health and my future. If I was happy here on Planet Sad and Unfit (with Bad Shoes) I wouldn't have had the surgery. Life is about pushing limits and I can't do that with a dodgy ankle.
I will be back. I will get fit and strong again, and run and swim and ride in races, and wear heels, and, ....just claw back the part of my life that the prawns stole.
Only ten more sleeps until I'm out of plaster, and then, my five faithful readers, IT. IS. ON.
("ON" being a boot with gradual return to weight-bearing)
More anon, hoppy chicks!
