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(c) 2010 Christiana Lambert

Patience may be a virtue, but not a natural one for me. But, hey, Life often just gives you opportunities to learn about the virtues you lack, right?

Although I am approaching three months since my injury, there are those in my family who might suggest I haven’t quite earned high marks in my patience tests. Still, I don’t think any of them would wish that I need to take more lessons in the subject—for their sakes as well as for mine.

Yet, I have been somewhat patient. After all, I didn’t stop moving. For every day I felt like giving up and becoming someone different, there were several more where I kept working through my exercise routines.

In the past week I have gotten a lot closer to forgetting the injury while in both ZUMBA and yoga classes. In fact, I left the trochanter belt behind for those activities. I surprised myself when I realized I wasn’t modifying my workouts any more than I ever did. In other words, I got sore from working out, not from being injured!

Who knows? Maybe it was the infrared treatment the chiropractor tried this week—if so, too bad we didn’t try that earlier! (Please forgive the multiple exclamation points. Trite though they may be, they are sincere reflections of my excitement.)

Now, I’m not exactly up to running a 5K, but I have added a few more minutes to my jog/run. I suspect my running will be the last activity to recover to former levels, but on the other hand, I do harbor hope that some of this rebalancing will eventually allow me to surpass my most recent running form, if not the running level.

At the same time, I have made it through sorting enough of my mother’s music that our household has been able to reclaim the family room floor space. Which means that, in addition to my feeling better, I also have the space again for practicing ZUMBA routines.

Perhaps this feeling of optimism led to my purchasing a docking/speaker system for my iPod yesterday. You see, I’m starting to dream again, both of maintaining my regular fitness schedule, as well as of becoming a ZUMBA instructor.

Actually, I’m really dreaming of not having to think so much about my body when I contemplate any of my dreams—whether or not they involve fitness.

And that, my friends, is that real fruit of working through the injury—that I didn’t give up on my life vision just because I ran into a very unexpected roadblock. I am wiser about what I can and cannot control and just a wee bit more patient than when I set out to get my puppy and returned with him—and the sore hips/back that gave me a chance to learn just a little bit more from Life’s lesson books.


(c) 2009 Christiana Lambert

Be glad I kept my laptop shut—or at least chose not to approach it last Friday. In general, my blogging policy is if I can’t say anything nice at all—or at least head toward a slightly positive ending—that maybe I should just leave my private thoughts, well, private. After all, I do know how to write by hand in a journal if I want to spew.

But I didn’t do that either.

No, I sat in my reading chair with the dogs (don’t worry, not until after I invited them, Mr. Behaviorist) and finished a book. As I reflected on facing the weekend with limited mobility and limited funds, I realized a trip to my local library could rescue me from a truly mopey fate. Thankfully, our taxes still support a superb facility that can provide entertainment to the poor and downtrodden or those just temporarily broke and grumpy, such as myself.

Unfortunately I ran into a longtime acquaintance when I was really not up for chit-chat. I was too busy wallowing in my supposed restricted future, thank you very much, to socialize.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

Ms. Grumpy replied, “My hips don’t work.”

Now, she’s known me long enough to know that I wasn’t talking about pain. Still, I wish if I were going to be so brutally honest, that I would have added something like, “And you know how I get when I don’t move.” She and I are both, after all, women of a certain age, who have experienced our share of physical downtimes due to injuries. We may have met on school committees, but we also run into each other at the local recreation center (another public-supported facility that has saved both my body and soul!)

Then I took myself, as well as a few books and a DVD, home to my chair where I lost myself inside someone else’s world—OK, not a world I want to inhabit. But hey, I wasn’t reading about my own murder.

The next day I woke up, hips aching, not ready to give up my grudge against Life’s newest twist. A few hours later, though, I’d kind of forgotten about the hips because they had started working better with little more than a B-Complex capsule.

Which meant my previous day’s conclusion—that life as I had known it was over—might have been a little melodramatic.

At the chiropractor visit the week before, I’d finally had success—my hips had not moved at all thanks to work with wearing my oh-so-stylish trochanter belt. That meant I graduated to wearing it less, as well as increasing my level of activity when I did wear it. I have to admit, I worked hard in my yoga classes with that belt. However, I did have to exercise in Deep Water class without it.

By last Thursday night, I could not even walk close to a normal pace as we worked with our dogs and the behaviorist.

On Friday, when the chiropractor asked how I was doing, I told him much better except for that walking thing—which was really not improving.

So he attacked the painful spots and then followed-up by having me lie down on the roller table where I also received more of the electro-stimulation treatment. Then he suggested I follow the session with a slow walk.

My fifteen minutes on the trail were excruciating while my stride mirrored the length of my foot. I just assumed that my hips had not even held half an hour.

“Gloom, despair, and misery on me . . .”

I’d forgotten the chiropractor had stated that in a perfect world I’d go straight to a deep tissue massage, not a walk. What I think I was really experiencing was a reaction to having the scar tissue manipulated—I know from doing restorative yoga that focused release of longtime toxins can initially cause intense pain.

Not only was I not sentenced to my chair for the whole weekend, but I also continue to notice improvements.

I think I am getting better.

Thank goodness I didn’t receive the new DVD/CD for ZUMBA instructors on Friday. I might have thrown it at the wall, but instead, yesterday, I got out the music, popped it in the CD player, and started figuring out which songs I plan to learn in order to teach.

My beat goes on . . .

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