Sometimes life’s curve balls force a temporary timeout but don’t let a slowdown in momentum mean a loss of determination.
Who would have ever thought that playing Ultimate Frisbee would result in a cracked rib? I mean it’s only frisbee, gosh darn it! But that’s exactly what happened to me last week after a giant Thor-like opponent tackled me to the ground as I catapulted into the air to reach for the flying frisbee.
Ok, perhaps I’m being a tad dramatic here. Thor wasn’t so Thor-like (in fact he was shorter than me, but solid!); there wasn’t really a tackle as much as a charge – or in fact maybe we could have just run into each other; BUT with my arm up reaching for the frisbee, the side of ribcage was exposed to his oncoming assault and when we connected he left me winded for a good three minutes.
One week later it still really hurts particularly when I breathe too deeply. Shallow breathing (to avoid the pain) has left me out of breath for the simplest activities, while my body has pretty much shut down and slept a large part of this past week.
A cracked rib? A hairline fracture? It’s hard to tell, although oddly enough there was no external bruising. Of course I of the stubborn-male-mindedness, have yet to get an X-Ray to confirm my self-prognosis, insisting to friends & family that all a doctor is going to tell me is to rest and not stress the area – which I’ve been doing … to the point of lethargy.
I feel like an old man. I am an airplane grounded.
The worst part of this past week has been my inability. A forced rest, JUST when I had been gaining momentum in my routine, developing a rhythm of jogging, and gym-ing, not too mention a regular schedule of working and Spanish class (I had to cancel a couple classes because it hurt too much to concentrate, talking only exacerbating the discomfort.)
Afternoon naps that demanded to be taken, because of sleepless nights trying to find a comfortable position, have resulted in a vicious circle of sleep patterns that are all over the place.
My patience has been tested; my limits discovered. In my male-stubbornness, I’m embarrassed to admit that I did hazard a trip to the gym, but when I couldn’t even bend over to pick up a weight I thought better of it … and left, frustrated, without doing anything. I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid, I realise the danger of further exacerbating an injury and extending my bedrest.
The good news is that I’ve turned my frustration into drive and determination. I’ve already lost a week to this tackle, and realistically will lose another week before I’m up and running at full steam – likely longer! Even so, I’ve promised myself a return to form, a return to rhythm. And while common sense dictates that I’ll be taking it slow at first, I am determined to not let this break in momentum divert me from my goals. My plan is simple: I won’t cry any further over the weeks lost – there will be no ‘catching up’ – but rather an acceptance of life’s curve ball and a goal to simply get back on track.