Ugh...

So...this is a whining post because I am feeling whiny and I want to get it out of my head so I can stop feeling whiny and move on. Feel free to skip it. It's okay, I'm tired of listening to myself whine as well.

Our last day in Hawaii I hurt my hand. It was a really windy day and that made the waves a little stronger than they had been. We went kayaking in the morning and the cove where we launch from that used to be smooth sand is now slick rocks due to storm activity. Which is actually really cool. The entire landscape changed from how intense the waves had been. Brought up all of these black rocks and lined the beach with them. Really pretty, but a little harder to maneuver.

Anyway...

As I was getting into the kayak a sneak wave lifted me and the boat up then dropped us down. The boat being a boat was fine, me being a klutz hit the slick rocks and lost my footing a bit. So instead of plopping into the kayak as I normally would, my hand caught the edge of the seat and I landed really awkwardly. I sucked in my breath in that hissy sort of way and thought, "well that's gonna leave a mark." And then proceeded to row against the wind for two hours.

And honestly, it was mostly fine while I was rowing. I couldn't wrap my thumb around the paddle, had to grip it with just fingers mostly, but it was fine. Enough that Brent had no idea I was hurt. Cause I'm a beast.

So after rowing and then sitting still it got more and more sore. I thought for a little bit that I might have actually broken it. But since it was our last day in Hawaii I didn't want to spend it getting x-rays and decided just to wait and see.

I waited a week. It was a little better but not as better as I thought it should be. There were still moments where I thought I might cuss when the thumb got pushed back. So I went to the doctor who didn't think it was broken, just slow to heal because of the nerve damage from the bee sting and the 50 year old body not healing as fast as it used to.

So I waited a little longer. And it got better. But still not all better. Couldn't really lift weights because I had no grip with my thumb and worse, pain if I moved it wrong and you don't want to be holding something heavy over you head and have a sharp pain happen, that tends to make you drop things so no bueno.

I finally ordered a brace to stabilize the thumb and give it a little bit of protection to finish healing. Which was great! Now I could lift weights again. Lighter weights than normal for sure, but still. So Monday back in the gym! Yay! I do my first set of exercises and yes, they are lighter weights, and yes it took a bit of figuring out on the hold, but still I did it and can do it and this is great. On to the next exercise. Bent over rows.

So I bend over, lift the barbell, lower the barbell, lift the barbell, lower the barbell, lift the barbell...oh holy fuck what was that?

ZING POP in my right lower back. Just a spot and then the feeling like a rock thrown in to a pond of rippling out pain. Oh shit...

Put the barbell back, sit on the bench and try to stretch, or move, or relax or...okay, maybe this will be fine. Not going to try the bent over rows again but maybe I can still do other things. Pick up a set of dumbells that are significantly lower than I would normally use and start to do a shoulder press and my right side says, "Bitch, did you listen? I said, No!"

So that was it.

Brent drove me home and I spent a very slow day sitting, stretching, slow walking, sitting and stewing in my own FUCK THIS juices.

I've been on the edge of manic (big manic) for awhile, and it's been fine. But working out helps me regulate my mood. A lot. It keeps me from getting to be too much in either direction. I really miss my workouts. I can notice when I'm not working out, especially when I go back a read status updates or blogs. No workouts, no mood regulation. I know part of the bad mood is pain. Pain makes us all cranky. But I also know part of the bad mood is a little bit of fear. I don't want to lose my hard earned gains. I don't want to get in the habit of NOT working out. That's an easy habit to get in to. Especially when that alarm goes off and you just want to stay in your warm snuggly bed. But I especially don't want to tip away from manic to the other side. It's not nearly as fun to live there.

Realistically I'm probably completely out a week. Then a week of slow cardio. Then easing back into lifting. So three weeks added to the 3 weeks I've been out due to vacation, snow, and injury. I'm frustrated.  And in pain. And I want a pan of brownies because of that. Which, of course, is a terrible idea because I can't work them back off. But I self medicate, and I just lost one of my medications so I want my old one back.

Ugh.

Basically, bottom line, keep Brent in your thoughts as I try and fail not to be snappish as I recover. He's already been great, taking care of me and of everything else. But I imagine that will take it's toll on him pretty quickly, especially since I am so frustrated and just want to bitch about it all and get over it quickly and he just wants me to sit down and rest and heal and stop being so stubborn.

So yeah, ugh.