Trust me to break my leg mid-season. I should be training and competing but I was stuck at home with my leg in a cast and hobbling around on crutches.
At least the cast was coming off next week. I’ve had to endure five weeks without any excerise. I felt like a caged animal and I was itching to escape at the first opportunity. I was grumpy, agitated and generally unpleasant to everyone at this point. I can’t deny it, the lack of physical activity was really hitting me hard.
When I was first told to expect a three month recovery period I was distraught about missing the end of the season. The rest had been fairly enjoyable for the first week. I was able to just chill and spend a bit of time with my family. Now I was bored and grumpy and miserable. Did I mention that I was grumpy?
I sat on the couch, flicking through the channels while I looked for something to watch on TV. I sighed and tossed the remote to the other side of the couch. I could feel an tingling sensation beginning to form at the bottom of my calf.
“Oh no, please, not there,” I groaned. I reached for my itching stick, (a knitting needle) even though I knew it was not quite long enough. Try to ignore it, try to ignore it, I chanted to myself.
The reality was I was itching all over to get moving. I wanted to use my muscles again, give them a good work out and enjoy feeling my blood pumping through my body.
I’d already developed some bad habits during my forced convalescence. I’d started sleeping during the day but then I was wide awake at night. I was sluggish and irritable and my recovery felt like a long uphill struggle.
As I suspected, I couldn’t reach the itch with the needle so I threw it across the room. I flopped back onto the couch. Just five more days then I can start physio and get moving again. I should also be able to scratch an itch anywhere I damn need to.
Nice bit of writing. I could actually feel the frustration.