So, if you've been wondering (and I can't imagine you have been), here's what my ankle looks like.
The swelling has gone down a lot so I now possess an ankle and calf. Also, the physiotherapist said I no longer require crutches.
Photos courtesty Anna
I hate proving some stereotypes true but...
I saw the doctor today and have learned the following
I am the proud owner of a cankle (where the calf and ankle have merged) on my right leg. I sprained my ankle playing floor hockey and my ankle has swollen in retaliation.
I'm not sure what happened all I know is I could feel or visualize my ankle rolling inwards on me and it was almost a 90 degree ankle angle. Then I'm flat on my back in incredible pain.
A trip to 8th and 8th reveals that they would like to treat me but since there's no X-ray machine there's no way to confirm that it's not broken. I interjected it didn't hurt that much but the nurse said when she broke her ankle, she was walking around on it for a day. And the nurse was very insistent to say that they could treat me and they were not turning me away, but without X-rays to confirm, the clinic would eventually send me to Rockyview Hospital.
To the Rockyview and after three hours, one X-ray, and a pair of crutches we're on our way home at 2:30 a.m.
So I skipped work on Thursday, and since I'd been at training the past three days at Mount Royal College, and Friday was a holiday, I haven't been to work since. And I can't say I've missed it.
Basically, I'm just hobbling around asking Daorcey for help getting stuff and food. Although if you ask Daorcey he'll say nothing's changed, har har.
For the next piece of news, you need to know we're going to PAX, a video game expo in Seattle and Wil Wheaton (yes, that Wil Wheaton) is going to be there! Nerd up and roll out.
There's this picture of me the circulated around the office a couple months back. It was my face pasted on a running Forest Gump. The implicit title: Run, Fatty, Run.
You see, I love food... and eating. And so it didn't take long for me to get a reputation at my office for being the first person to the coffee room should free food be announced. Because of things such as this (along with the source of the problem: my love of eating), I started going to the gym last year.
My gym is a block off of crack alley--where we use to live. It's a part of town that homeless people have told me they steer clear of because it's not safe.
I remember that we were once walking to the gym at 6:45pm on a Tuesday to come upon the aftermath of a drive-by shooting. We'd just missed the action by 5 minutes. It's a very classy street.
Anyway...
A year or so ago, I got it in my head that if I was to continue enjoying food the way I want to I was going to have to do two things: portion control (I'm working on it) and regular exercise (it's coming along).
So, I went down the the gym and bought a month pass, calculating in my head that if I was to get my money's worth (ie: make each visit cost less than a single visit price) I'd have to be at the gym four times a week. No problem.
Day One: Aquasize
Let's start with something easy. Sure, this some may say this is exercise for elderly, overweight women, but I'm at least one of the three, so it shouldn't be weird. I convinced Natalie to also come along (she is also one of the three).
So, suited up and sucking in my gut, we arrive at the pool. We are quickly identified as the newcomers as we join a group of nice older ladies preparing for their workout. I struggle to put on a flotation device. Out comes our instructor/lifeguard and that's when things become surprising.
In retrospect, I think we had our asses handed to us by aquasize. I've never sweat so much in a pool. I was huffing like an asthmatic. I cramped up in the middle of things. I don't think I ever did figure out the proper underwater movements. I swallowed a lot of that sweaty water.
Natalie and I have never been back to aquasize.
Day Two: Weight Room
Ok, I can leave Natalie at home for this one. I can handle wandering around a weight room on my own for a while.
I get to the gym and change into my gym outfit of cargo shorts and heavy t-shirt (I've paid money to be here, I'm not about to buy a whole now wardrobe!). As I arrive in the weight room, I realize that I may have underestimated the my own insecurities. There seem to be so many people here who know what they're doing... I have to appear confident.
So, I confidently avoid the weight machines. There's no way I'm going up to one of those machines, staring at it for a couple minutes as I figure out how it works and then reaching to move the pin from 20 pounds to 3. Plus, there seems to be a scary short man lifting 200 pounds with his forehead in the corner.
Instead, I confidently move toward the cardio equipment. Specifically: the stair machine. Now this is something I can use. I know how stairs work, I have them at home. So I grab both arm rests and hop up onto the "stairs".
SNAP! BANG!
One of the "stairs" loses resistance an my foot plunges to the floor. The "stair" doesn't return to its natural position. I've broken it.
I sheepishly move away, making an effort not to catch the gaze of my fellow gym-goers. I'll have to tell the staff that the machine spontaneously rejected me.
With less confidence, I move to the bike machine. Bikes are cool, I use to ride one. In fact, there's one chained up in my building that belongs to me but that I've never unchained since I moved to Calgary.
I sit on the bike with my feet in the little pedal booties. I push the buttons on the display... it doesn't turn on. I look around the body of the bike... no button to turn things on. I start looking for anything that might resemble a switch... nothing!
I'm starting to panic. People are looking a me. Already fatty has broken the stairmaster and now we can't even turn on the bike machine. I'm flushed. Oh, god, I hate the gym. What do I do now? Help me! Help me!
So, as cool as I can be, I step off the bike and walk over to the treadmill. That has an on/start button and it won't fool me.
I did get some sort of workout that day... I just wish I'd realized that the bike machine "turns on" when you pedal it. Same with the elliptical... I like that one... it's fun.
Day Three: Beginner's Boot Camp
I have this weird romantic idea about enforced physical activity. Military boot camp, hard labour, working the rigs, gardening...
There's something about being required to do use your body that seems appealing. I think of it as "I wouldn't get a workout any other way" and "I bet my body could handle being pushed like that".
So, when I saw that my gym pass could get me into Beginner's Boot Camp at the gym on Sundays, I jumped at it. Bring it on!
I jumped out of bed at 7am, told Natalie I'll see her in time for breakfast, dressed in my khaki shorts and skip down crack alley to the gym.
I arrived in the gymnasium to find myself the youngest person there by 20 years or so. Furthermore, I was the only person who didn't know everyone else. No problem. I was pumped and ready to show these old folks how a young punk can endure Beginner's Boot Camp!
Our instructor/drill sergeant for the morning was the game girl who was our lifeguard at aquasize. I hoped she didn't remember me.
"Alright everyone. I hope you're stretched. Let's warm up with a 1 km run outside."
Pardon? I stifled my surprise. I mean, it was boot camp and I should expect a bit of running, even if I've never done a 1km run before. To be honest, I was a little more worried about getting my new indoor runners dirty. But, it's not like I could change into my outdoor loafers for a run.
I soon found myself at the back to the pack trying to pace myself and thinking about the consequences of just running home. Before I could make a decision on skipping boot camp, a nice man about my father's age slowed down in the pack to run beside me.
"First time at boot camp?"
Oh god, you're kidding me?! I can't talk. Once I start talking, I'll start choking as I try to figure out how to take heaving breaths while forming coherent phrases.
"Yeah..."
"Well, it's a lot of fun. Most of us have been coming to this for a few years. We always notice a new face. My name's Jerry." I picked that name since I recently watched some Seinfeld... like I'm going to remember this guy's name... I'm trying to run here.
"uh huh"
And he continued on and I continued grunting responses. I may have even said something about working an office job and not wanting to be called Fatty by my coworkers. Either way, I made it to the end of the run and to the gym with the emotional support of Jerry. In fact, I was feeling pretty good about myself at this time. I was surviving Beginner's Boot Camp (at least, the warmup anyway). I was the man!
Upon our return to the gymnasium, we found that the instructor had set up stations around the floor. We needed to break off into pairs and start making our way from station to station to in timed intervals. Fortunately, Jerry took pity on me and left his friends to be my partner.
Each station involved something like jump rope or medicine ball tossing or stairs or sit ups. There was a fair amount of variety and with dance music playing, I was feeling pretty optimistic. I wasn't about to let these senior citizens show me up. I was going to survive Beginner's Boot Camp, dang it! And I was going to benefit from it!
So, I matched Jerry's (and everyone else's) pace and began Beginner's Boot Camp proper.
And one round in, I started to feel a little weird. But, I can handle a little weird so I push through it. I start to feel a little tired, but I push through it. My legs aren't responding as well as they should, but I push through it.
I am a machine! I have used my mind to best my body! I have become one with Beginner's Boot Camp!
"Hey kid, are you ok?" Jerry's looking at me funny. I go to answer, but my lips feel kinda tired.
"Imau mah... sit down."
And just like that, Jerry and the instructor are on either side of me, propping me up as they move me to sit against the gym wall. The colour in my face has drained and my legs are jelly. The instructor seems a little worried.
"Did you have something to eat before you came?" No... don't be silly.
"How about to drink?" I'm not about to give myself a cramp, now. Jeeze.
And then the whole class stopped as my eyes rolled up into my head and I passed out.
I wasn't out for long... maybe just a couple of seconds, but it was enough to get my body back on track. Jerry suggested I go and drink a Gatorade or something. I said it might just be best if I went home and rested. The instructor agreed. Jerry said I should really come back and try it again.
"It's a good group. You'd have fun."
I think I lied to him as I left and never returned to Beginner's Boot Camp again.
---
I don't think I got my money's worth out of that month pass to the gym. But I still do go... I've just learned how to work the machines and I've dulled my romantic notion of enforced physical activity.
And I'm still working on not being called Fatty at work.
