measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- stupid little things that change your life It's been a slow-start sort of morning. Not necessarily a bad thing... but it's aggrivating. I've found myself with a lot less energy since starting this new diet. The weight loss is great-- however slow it is, but I'm struggling to keep myself going during the day. I worry that feeling sluggish all the time will make me give it up. I don't want to do that. Maybe I need to go out and eat more sushi. Except I'm going out to lunch with Linda and another manager today for a late celebration of Secretaries Day this past Wednesday. It might be a Thai sort of day instead... I know both of them eat Thai. My mind has been on something else lately-- particuarly since I've begun trying to lose weight again. My ankle. Give or take a few days, it's been ten years since this thing changed my life. It's funny how what seemed like a routine sprain at the time twisted my whole life around, and how I live it. Ten years ago this week, I weighed 160 pounds. I was only about five weeks from graduation from high school, and six weeks from my final of thirteen years of dance recitals. We were doing West Side Story for the big dance troupe-level Jazz number. And I was psyched. The Jazz productions of the troupe class were always pretty complex things, and we worked our asses off to make them good. During dance class, we were running through the routine-- broken up into our two "gangs". Unlike previous years, we were wearing converse high-tops for the number since our costumes were t-shirts and baggy jeans. The high-tops were a lot more difficult to dance in because the rubber soles nearly stuck to the floor. I didn't realize how much I had to alter my I went up into a double-attitude leap (both knees bent-- think Fame and the jumps of joy they do...), and was supposed to come down on one foot-- my right foot, and keep going. Instead of landing on the sole of my foot, I landed right on the outside curve, and I did... keep going... I rolled right over the ankle and fell hard onto the floor. I still remember grabbing at it, curled in a ball on the floor. It was a very intense pain for a brief time, and then ebbed off (which made me think it was okay). Probably one of the most intense I'd ever felt. Since the fridge had failed a few days before, my dance teacher didn't have a frozen gel pack for the ankle... instead we got two soda cans from the vending machine, put them inside my socks, and then elevated it. Now, since I have dermatographia, I figured the swelling was more because of the impact to my ankle-- it was such a massive fall that my hives were swelling very fast and furious. They were, in fact-- but I was attributing too much of the swelling to hives, and too little to the sprain. I told my dance teacher I was sure it was just the hives, and not to worry. By the time class was over, the swelling was about to the size of a goose egg. But by then, I'd changed back into my regular clothes to watch the rest of class. I managed to walk out the door to the car and sat down behind the wheel, gritting off the pain that I didn't want to admit to feeling. Driving a stick-shift car with a severe ankle sprain was NOT fun, lemme tell ya. I got home, told Dad what happened, and like he normally did, he plunked me on the couch, popped an Anaprox in me (double-strength predecessor to Aleve), and iced the ankle. The next morning he wrapped it, and I went to school as I always did. My ankle was the size of a goose egg. I couldn't fit my foot in any of my shoes except my Berkenstock sandles. A week later at work, I slipped and fell on it again. This time I didn't feel a thing. That scared my dad into making a doctor's appointment for me-- we got it checked, and oh boy, had I done some damage. Torn ligament. Severe sprain. No more dance, obviously. Aircast for six to eight weeks. So I graduated high school in an aircast-- wearing the converse high tops I would have worn for my dance recital because other than those shoes, my only other option were my Berks. I went to my dance recital and worked backstage, caring for 45 five and six year olds, making sure they all got the right costumes on... helping them with makeup, braiding hair, etc. I watched the performances from backstage. I hobbled out for my thirteen year award. I did a lot of crying that summer-- this wasn't how I wanted to spend my last dance performances. And then I spent a summer wearing this lace-up boot thing with plastic framing on each side of my foot. I wore it for six more months, since it took forever to heal. In the process, I probably weakened the ankle even more, and getting back on it was a disaster. I've fallen on the stupid thing about six more times since I was 18. Never as bad as the first fall, but it's enough to make me extremely scared about exercising on it again. And as the years of worry have gone by, I've watched myself gain the pounds. Thirty my freshman year, another ten my sophomore, held steady junior year, ten more senior year of college... and then suddenly a huge jump up that summer putting me above 200. I kept it steady for nearly five years. A miracle when you consider that every time I tried to start an exercise program, I'd go well for about a month, and then get injured. It made me too scared to work out. And then I got a car. And spent my weekends gaming. And I gained weight again. But I won't be able to get surgery on the ankle-- which is really where the issue's at now-- until I lose some weight to decrease the strain on it. So I start again, worried, but hopefully this time, I'll eventually get back to that 160. And maybe one of these days I'll stop seeing myself fall every time I hear the overture to West Side Story. ~ Mel. 10:54 a.m. - 25 April 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||