Names I wanted for my tumblr.com but were already in use:
Enter “Tumbag,” I’m a GENIUS!
After getting “the rollover” from the guy I’ve been schtooping due to a discussion about my “unattractive” addiction to vigorous exercise, I decided to take the day off from my usual workout regimen. No 10 mile run at 8 mi/hr, no back-to-back Bikram Yoga classes, no Stairmaster, just a leisurely bike ride throughout Manhattan followed by some bevies in the park, and if I’m lucky, Shake Shack!
We (meaning, said schtooper and I) cruised the Westside Bike Path, down into Chelsea, the West Village, east to Alphabet city, then back up to the Upper East Side without a hitch. As we approached the 65th street traverse, I made the what-I-thought was wise decision to ride on the sidewalk as opposed to the street. I figured contending with pedestrians was far safer than moving vehicles (even in New York City). Unfortunately, I made this decision in a nanosecond only to violently collide with the curb. (Note to self: hop a curb head-on, not at an angle.) I fell directly on my right knee (the good, I-can-finally-lockout-in-standing-bow knee) with the bicycle on top of me. Sure, there was blood, scratches, bruising, but more concerning was the feeling of pressure building in that fragile joint.
Naturally, I ignored the pain, put on a “happy-smiling face,” and continued riding. Who wants to ruin a lovely day? Who wants to deny anyone time with friends? Who wants to be the “wah-wah” on a Friday night. Furthermore, I wanted Shake Shack for fuck sake!
After a quality hang on the great lawn, we began our journey back to the apartment to clean up. During this 9 block excursion battling horrendous traffic, tourists from “go-back-to-where-you-came-from” USA and drunken queens on 9th Ave, I not only felt, but heard a snap in my knee that nearly knocked me to the ground. (I’m exaggerating a bit, but it DID suck). Still, my body has yet to fail me. I run countless miles with ease. I perform advanced yoga postures with grace and agility. I am strong, flexible, resilient. I am bull!
However, I succumbed to the possibility of a watered down workout the following day. I mean, I took a nasty tumble; I’m a sensible person. Maybe a mere 5 miles or just a single Bikram class. But when I woke up at 5am that morning in excruciating pain, reality slowly started to loom.
Fast Forward to 3 days later. No physical activity whatsoever. I just returned from the Orthopedic surgeon who seems confident I tore my ACL without even seeing an MRI. For me, this is the worst news possible. Call me vain, insensitive, dramatic, I will be the first to agree, but for someone who is defined by her activeness; this is a catastrofuck!
I am not talking solely in terms of the physical realm when I say I’m an active (i.e. nut-so) person. This also extends into the work and social spheres. I schedule meetings, dinners, drinks, shows, parties, etc with little-to-no time in between. I create errands and tasks I must accomplish even when there’s no need. If I have a free moment, I run to class or annihilate a treadmill. My backpack is filled with an amalgam of various sports bras, shorts, socks, sneakers and hair ties in case I free up. When I wake, I’m out the door in less than 30 minutes only to arrive in the AM the next day (usually its still dark). This is when I begin replying to emails, make calls and catch up on the day’s events. Subsequently, I will reach for a play or book I’m thinking about adapting into a musical, stress and ultimately pass out.
I don’t know how to relax. I RARELY sit alone and veg in front of the tube. I’ve never seen an episode Lost (gasp); I have no idea how to work the DVR; I can barely figure out the remote. But why? Why am I denying myself any downtime? Am I hiding from myself? My thoughts? The ironic thing is that I take great pride on this need for “me time.” In fact, many relationships have suffered as a result. But am I ever really alone? Or just avoiding an argument? It’s easier to say “I need Charly time,” than reveal my plans to take a second yoga class, right? Am I protecting his/her feelings or afraid of what others will think? And while this awful paragraph seems to be one of inquisition and truth. I’ve even wondered if the excessive exercise cause me to be more prone to injury.
So, here I am. Sitting on the couch, eating popcorn and watching some shit-show on Bravo TV. I am entering new territory. I am scared. I am vunerable. I am starting a blog. Welcome, bitches! Welcome to what I perceive as hell, but will soon turn into a positive experience of self-discovery and personal growth.