Now with bonus crutches

In what is a sure sign from the universe that I have to slow down and stop taking so much on, I have hurt my leg and have been on crutches since Tuesday night. Woe is me. In lieu of flowers, please send chocolate.

But the way in which I have injured myself is so fucking unlikely for me. It might be normal for other people, but having my name and this injury in a sentence will make some people do a double take.

Instead of coming straight out and telling you what I did, I've come up with a list of things MORE LIKELY to see me on crutches than the actual event that caused my hop-a-long status:

1. Getting my big toe caught in my pants leg as I walk. No, really. It is ridiculous how often I do this; I fall, my life flashes before my eyes (kinda boring on reflection), and I somehow unhook the offending piggy and stop myself faceplanting... well I have so far.
   
2. Slipping on a puddle of my own drool as I stare through the glass at the local bakery. I need to carry one of those 'Slippery When Wet' cleaning signs with me whenever I go past.
   
3. Getting run over by my own car. Oh wait I already did that! But it still makes the list, because it happening again is still more likely.
   
4. Sliding down a hill. This was most recently attempted in February and I'll be honest, there were a few close calls. But who doesn't see a grassy slope and a sheet of cardboard and immediately think SLIDE TIME?! The kids had no idea what I was doing at first, but I led by example and hurtled myself down that hill and then gave them a turn. Because safety schmafety. It was disappointing to look up and see everyone else actively discouraging their kids from joining in our fun... keeping a huge part of their culture from them. I mean, skin on knees is important BUT AT WHAT COST? 

No one would blink an eye if I turned up on crutches and said "I got run over in my own driveway again" but when I drop the bombshell that I have a genuine, bone fide, 100% legitimate SPORTS INJURY from doing REAL SPORT it is shocking.

If my highschool had a "Most likely to never ever be injured playing sport" vote, I would have won it right after I won the "Most likely to never ever play a sport or do any physical activity" vote.

But then the whole martial arts things came along and I got bitten by the bug and I'm all sporty and shit now, complete with motherfucking TORN MUSCLES AND TENDONS.

Yep, landing after a switch push kick (a super simple kick that I did properly) my calf decided that the half hour of warm up and activity was not enough and riiiiiiiiip. I looked up at my sparring partner and said "I think I just hurt my leg?". The questioning was because it didn't hurt, but I had felt a ripping sensation that I had never ever felt before (and never ever want to feel again!). I went to walk off the mats and found I couldn't. Ah fuck.

I hobbled off, being held up by two people, and my leg was elevated and iced within a minute or two. It didn't hurt, but it felt really strange. 

My instructor said that if I'd torn it, it would probably start hurting real soon. He went back to the class after making sure I was OK and then the pain started to hit. I came soooo close to crying, partly from pain and partly from how bloody disappointed I felt to be out with an injury when I was really getting in to my training.

At the end of class I tried to stand up to hobble to the car, but it wasn't happening. I couldn't put any weight on my left leg at all and had to be carried, piggy back style, to the car that MG had brought down as close as possible to the door (we train together - nawww). 

I've kept the standard RICE routine going and been for an ultrasound that shows two tears in my gastrocnemius muscle and one tear in my plantaris tendon. They were thinking it was a grade three tear, but now it looks like three grade two tears instead. 

It had stopped hurting on rest and would only hurt if I moved my leg or put my weight down on it, but now, in a somewhat backward step, it has started throbbing all the time. Add sore arms and hands from crutches, my period, and the fact that I cannot unpack the new house or clean the old house, I'm really not a happy chappy right now. 

I start physio in the next week, because if anyone touches me now I will swat them with my crutches. I want to get back to martial arts as quick as I can, because I'm really loving it, and also because I don't want MG to get too many ranks ahead of me.

Priorities, people, priorities. 

Finding my Zen (Do Kai)

I don't look like this. At all.

It may go down as yet another thing I've started and never finished (oh, hello half finished coffee table from my woodworking days), or it may turn out to be that I've finally found something to get me moving, but I've started Zen Do Kai.

I hear you. WTF is Zen Do Kai? 

It's mixed martial arts. Bits of lots of styles thrown in together to suit the environment you're in. It started in Australia in the 70s. 

Twice a week I learn how to kick ass. I've been doing this metaphorically for a while (heh), but now it's literal. 

I've been going for about six weeks now and I've learned a whole bunch of moves and sweated from places I didn't even know had sweat glands. 

MapGuy and I joined up together when the dojo that Tricky trains at had a half price special on. MG was looking for a new activity after growing a little bored with squash and when this 50% off deal came up I flicked it through to him via email saying I'd found his new sport. 

He was very in to it and said I should join too.

Which of course, filled me with absolute dread. Sport and Glow do not mix.

Chronic pain, a fucked up brain that always tell me I suck at everything, and I'm gonna sign up for a six month contract? Pffft you're kidding, right? 

I'd already been to one class with a friend a few months prior to see what it was like, and I went so hard trying to keep up with the others, which was a huuuge mistake. I had to come off the mats, and then puked on my way home. Everyone tells me that spewing when you work out is "weakness leaving the body" and I'm all "no, it's my lunch leaving the body". 

But I joined anyway thinking it's six months and let's give it a whirl.

I was absolutely petrified at my first real class. To the point of tearing up. It was a mixed level class so I was in there with a few other beginners but also some people going for black belts. It was super intimidating at first.

Then I met everyone and those huge guys and gals with their green and brown belts that you would not want to cross turned out to be bloody lovely people who would give me hints and tips whenever the poor bastards happened to be paired with the overweight, middle-aged woman shitting her pants.

So I've learned to take some people down and I gotta say, that feels kinda cool. I'm getting stronger slowly, and, um, I'm actually enjoying going. I come home sometimes with bruises, bloody toes, and grazes... but it's really fun being able to beat people up! 

Tricky thinks it's great that his parents are both learning the sport he is dedicated to... and I'm pretty sure he's well chuffed he's an orange belt while we're still white belts. But we're catching up, Tricks!