Sometimes when you’re trying to do something right, you end up doing something very wrong instead. I’ve done that. Many times.
In particular today I’m thinking about my knees. In trying to get and stay fit, I’ve been overzealous and done real damage to them. To be fair to myself, I’m also built a little wonky for the activities I like to do. I like high-impact, high-strain, high-pressure. My knees, on a womanly wide angle to my hips, do not. (Neither do my boobs and back, but that’s a whole other bag of fish).
Swimming, yoga, and other soft and snuggly activities are not my go-tos. Hitting stuff, running after stuff, pivoting, twisting, jumping — I’m /on/ it. Probably all part and parcel of the same personality which doesn’t like to practice, write, tidy, or grocery shop in a balanced coordinated everyday sort of fashion — but prefers a Big Stellar Do-It-All-At-Once Blitz. Short, fast and intense.
But I’ve been trying to be good. I am trying to keep my bike in a low gear. I have stayed away from kickboxing of any form. I am stretching the muscles that tug my knees to the bad place. I ice them when they whine. I go more mindfully up the stairs. I am trying to do better.
So I was wondering if I could go on the treadmill today. I’d been skipping and my knees seemed cool with that, just an occasional twinge when I pushed too hard. But the treadmill? Did I trust my knees enough to try it? Not to undo all of my newfound “being-goodness”, but to add something else to my repertoire of “if you do it carefully” activities. The treadmill was the first exercise I got into when I got into exercise, and I’ve been feeling nostalgic for it.
I was also feeling incredibly gunshy. Having part of you become chronically troublesome eats away at your faith in your body. I started to look at my knees as ‘them’. Knobbly barriers to doing what I wanted to do. Traitors. But, like any relationship, seeing them as ‘the obstacle other’ isn’t helping us get on any better. So I’ve been trying to listen, to acknowledge and respect their limitations instead of trying to shove past them.
But I felt like a careful try on the treadmill wouldn’t be disrespectful. And I do have to balance the needs of my knees against the well-being of the rest of me. So we made a deal. “I promise” I said, “I’m listening. If you hurt at all, just tell me, and I’ll turn around and get right back off.”
“Fine. But you don’t turn around on a treadmill, chucklehead. It’s not helping anyone if you fall sideways off the machine and crack open your skull.”
“Do you want an icepack later or not? Because I might just ‘forget’ you backtalking sonofa…”
So on we went. Because nostalgia + gunshy == tentative attempt. And tentative attempt == beautiful 15 minute gentle run. And it. was. heaven.
My knees are not better. And it’ll be a visit to the sports doctor at the end of June that tells me exactly how they are. It might mean a trip to the MRI, it might mean a little surgery to smooth out the rough edges. It might mean recovery time and physio and scars. But it will also mean fixing what’s wrong instead of letting it fester and tear and grow worse. It’ll mean being armed with knowledge and tasks instead of being stuck in a murky clicky achey limbo.
And in the meantime, we’re just going to go for a little run.