So, I didn't go to the gym today. My bolts were bothering me (broken leg, if you haven't been following) and my ankle was swollen because of that. Gay Boyfriend's sister is a nurse that works in my building and when she came to have lunch with me today, she walked in on me pondering my ankles and said, "Left one? Yep. Swollen." She minces no words. That's why Gay Boyfriend and I get along so well. I'm just like his sister when it comes to dealing with drama.
So, I decided to take the day off from the gym. I mean, I love going to the gym. But I don't want to ruin it by getting an injury I can't undo. And since I know nothing about fitness or working out or anything like that - I figure - if it hurts - don't do it. Right?
I did my regular routine when I got home. Wash dishes, surf the internet, read a little bit of my book, and I got stir crazy. CRAZY. I'm serious. The crazy is like - insane to me. If you've never had The Crazy, you don't get it, but the voices and the self doubt and the "Oh my God, the world is ending" closes in on you and makes the world seem impossible, so I went out to my car where my shoes and my iPod are and I walked. Like a crazy person. Up and down the block. Around the hospital, running on occasion (without a bra - I mean seriously - when I'm home for the night, I'm done with the bra) and I just walked and ran and walked and ran and what? I still feel a slight bit nuts. But it's better. I want to keep going, but I know my broken leg doesn't want me to. Sigh.
I had no idea that The Crazy could be tamed by running. If I thought it would do any good, I'd walk and run all night long.