Once upon a time, I was the sort of person who loved and participated in all different sorts of exercise. Even in the stupidly hot south Texas summers, I managed to exercise. Even when I had a stress fracture in my leg and couldn’t do any lower-body exercise for three months, I found creative ways to exercise.
Then we moved to Boston, and I quit. I didn’t feel comfortable exercising in our tiny living room, because a) it was tiny and b) my neighbors lived beneath me and could hear every pounding footstep. I didn’t feel comfortable running anymore because 1) I didn’t know the area well, 2) Boston drivers are absolutely insane, and 3) half the time we lived there, every outdoor surface was covered in ice and snow. Lastly, my extreme depression and anxiety took every ounce of my energy, so that I had absolutely nothing left in me to give to exercise (or anything else, for that matter).
Toward the end of our time there, after the weather improved and I was on the right medications, I began walking again. That was it, but at least it was something. Then we were moving again, back to San Antonio, and I had a Plan. Once the boys started school, I could implement my Plan. I was going to exercise again. I was going to find that person inside me I’d once lost. I was excited – until I sprained/fractured my ankle/foot on the second day of my Plan, not even while exercising. That was in August 2015. And my frickin’ foot is still broken. Almost four months ago, they found the fracture that they didn’t find the first 16 months after that injury. I’m currently halfway through my six-month ban of any and all high-impact exercise.
I do yoga. I love yoga. I’m careful not to do any pose that would put pressure on my injury, and the stretchiness of the yoga actually helps. But other than yoga, I’m extremely limited. Doc said elliptical (no), biking (no), and swimming (NO!!). The first I dislike, the second I don’t have access to, the third I’ve avoided since I quit swimming competitively in high school – I don’t even get in the water for fun! Other than those three, I’m allowed to slowly walk on level surfaces if-and-only-if my foot doesn’t hurt at all. A couple times a week, I go to the community center to walk around their tiny track. Even with music or an audiobook, that’s kinda dull. I probably go around that track 40 times in an hour (it’s really tiny) which makes me start dreading the whole experience.
I miss walking outside. I miss trails, especially my old trails at Comanche Lookout Park in San Antonio. I miss being able to run when I’m feeling good. I miss dancing with my boys, and my favorite aerobics video, and learning how to belly dance, and using the Wii Fit games, and Zumba, and badminton, and spontaneous races with the kids, and kettlebells, and doing cartwheels, and skipping, and jumprope games, and 5Ks, and…all sorts of things. Sometimes I simply miss being able to walk around the house or go up and down the stairs without hobbling. Stupid injured foot. Grr.