ONE: Two weeks ago I sent one of the kids to the ER when I used his face as a putting green. I never liked golf anyway. He cried more when I told him that I was never playing it again than when I nearly decapitated him. I really needed a bottle of Jack after that debacle. I downed a box of oat milk instead.
TWO: Right before I got sick, a friend and I bought vouchers to go white water rafting and were contacted recently telling us they were about to expire. I asked my doctor and nutritionist what they thought about me going and they made it pretty clear they thought it was a horrible idea.
"You can barely walk across the parking lot without getting winded and you want to propel yourself through rapids all day long? Not to mention, you must remember that you're not supposed to overwork your heart, put yourself in situations where you might contract an illness, overtire yourself, or risk bruising or bleeding..." (Sooo...tell me again why I shouldn't go rafting?)
Being as persuasive and persistent as I am, I came to an agreeable solution with my medical team:
-The weather is supposed to be very warm and I will be wearing a wet-suit with neoprene boots and gloves, thus avoiding the potential risk of illness
-We're doing a class II, half day trip, thus minimizing my risk of overexertion/overtiring
-I promise not to bruise or impale myself on anything
-I run a 15-minute mile, without stopping, while keeping my heart-rate under 200 (and some other junk like blood-pressure and not bleeding and whatever)
That last stipulation was the real clencher. Basically, they were thinking "there's no way in Hell she'll be able to do that" and I was thinking "I love a challenge, I totally got this, Bitches!" If you know me then you probably know that I HATE running and the last time I ran a non-stop mile was during A Presidential Fitness Test in Junior High. It is also no secret that should you challenge me, I will accept it, and kill myself showing you how wrong you were to doubt my fortitude.
I'll have you know I didn't run a 15-minute mile. No, I ran a 12-minute mile...with my heart-rate hovering around 190, but never going over 200. Seriously, don't F-ing challenge me.
I'm really looking forward to rafting on Monday. I'm hoping by then my legs won't still feel like Nancy Kerrigan's did in '94.
THREE: Last night I had a major slip-up and fell off the band wagon. Well, more accurately, I didn't so much fall as dive facefirst into a six hour long binge-fest worthy of kings. Ice cream, three kinds of cake, cookies and brownies graced my lips with a hearty homecoming party in my mouth. Oh dear friends, I'd missed you. Interestingly, I didn't go for donuts or candy, my sugar-drugs of choice. Perhaps, somewhere deep in the recesses of my self-will, behind my engorgement, I knew that if I'd gone for those, there's no chance I would have been able to stop once I got going. I also had enough sense to stay away from my Heroin of sweets: PIE(I would have landed myself in the hospital if I'd gone that route). However, I did stay on the sugar-train at full speed until it derailed in Projectile-ville in a fiery display out both ends. I was up all night crying and pissed at myself and disappointed and worried and so very sick. Today I feel like I got hit by a truck.
I'm not looking forward to seeing my test results this week or having to tell my doctor how much I suck. I really hope I didn't set myself back too much. If I have to start back at square one I'm going to have a lot of sucking up to myself to do before I'll be able to forgive me.
At least I get to go rafting before I see my doctor... well, if I'm able to be more than 12 feet from the bathroom by Monday.