I was pretty lucky throughout my athletic “career.” Aside from a few sprained ankles, I suffered very little in the way of injuries. I mean, I had a lot of owies, and I probably made a big deal about some of them at the time, but I didn’t break or tear anything important.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve stayed active (actually, I’d never run more than two miles at a time until I was 23 years old), and I’ve experienced a few new boo-boos, and each one brings with it a wave of panic — Oh my god, will I ever be able to run again? Will I be able to play basketball and volleyball? Will my fitness level go down and my weight go up? I’ve got a crunchy, gross knee, which, if I ice it occasionally, still lets me do whatever I like, and I had a bout of plantar fasciitis — and that was BAD, but I got over it. But now I’ve got something fun and new. My shoulder. My goddamn shoulder.
I’m thinking that my shoulder saw Kerri Walsh playing in the Olympics with her crazy black tape and decided, hey, that’s cool, I want in on that, because all of a sudden my right should has just decided that it’s not going to work for me anymore. It was a little sore last night, a little more sore this morning, and became HELLA sore later (you know, after I did push-ups and went swimming — the Olympics always motivate me!). It actually hurt so much that I only went halfway through my swim before I gave up, and trust me — I don’t do that.
Anyway, I have an appointment with my friend and chiropractor, Kristin on Friday, so I think I can suck it up until then, but good golly, molly, I am HURTING. And, to rub salt into my wounded, throbbing shoulder (there’s not really a wound — Mom, don’t worry), I’ve been trying not to drink (much) until we go to NYC so I can try to be, you know, maybe a couple pounds lighter, so I’m in pain and I CAN’T EVEN DRINK IT AWAY. Sucks to be me, man …
(Oh, and also? NO FREAKING CLUE what I did to bring this on, just in case that wasn’t clear. No clue AT ALL.)