We Don't Swim In Your Bathroom

Stupid legs.

It will come as a surprise to exactly no one that I have sustained yet another running-related injury. My pelvic support muscles are apparently weak, so I've been forcing my hip flexors and quadriceps to pull double duty to compensate. On Thursday evening when I got to running class, my left rectus femoris decided it had enough of working extra and cried mercy. Walking is painful – forget about running. Brace yourselves, dear readers: it’s going to be a bumpy journey along my mental sanity for the next few weeks. NO RUNNING. Ugh.

I’ve been relegated to the pool. Thank goodness for MomOh dragging us to swim team practice every day in the summer when we were kids - I guess some of that training stuck with me, and it turns out I'm still a pretty good swimmer. Also, I'm still wearing my swim team suit from...1998. Might be time to invest in a new bathing suit. Okay, so while I'd rather be outside in Central Park (especially now that the weather is getting warmer), at least I can get a solid, pain-free workout. Except I stink like chlorine no matter how many times I shower and there is this tiny little issue with me and pools. And peeing. The second I get in the pool, I have to go. Seeing as I'm not four years old anymore, I'm relatively sure this is not socially acceptable behavior for an indoor gym pool. Of course there aren't any toilets on the pool level, so I have to drip up the stairs in the locker room and then wrestle myself out of a wet bathing suit. It's a real problem.

Anyway, I’m going to physical therapy three days a week, which has so far just been a lot of ultrasound treatment and ice to ease the inflammation. My physical therapist seems to be experimenting with taping up my hip, though I don’t feel like it makes an ounce of difference. On Friday she ran a strip of hot pink tape from my navel to my knee; today it’s a bright blue asterisk centered on the most painful area of the upper leg. It's a sexy look, let me assure you.

I’m currently nursing my wounds with a cocktail of ibooze around the clock and a big bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup. Ah, the joys of going to the grocery store hungry.