According to my super-de-duper nice yet non-confidence-inspiring physical therapist (he was the only guy I could get an appointment with this month—apparently there’s an insane need for physical therapists in NYC) I should be up and running in four weeks.
Gah, I was sort of hoping he’d be like, “You regenerate muscle and bone mass quicker than all other humans!”
But he wasn’t.
So yeah, I’m just gonna go ahead and keep doing what I’m doing which is hobble slowly around town. He did, however, say that I can start using the spin bike conveniently located in my living room again. Which is nice, because I’m pretty sure I grew another butt and today someone asked me if I was pregnant.
Let me be clear about something Internet and all people who read said Internet, asking a woman if she is pregnant is never a good thing. If you have to ask, you run the risk of mortally embarrassing everyone in the immediate vicinity.
I’m a little bloated, and by bloated I mean probably not bloated but I’m going with “bloated” to make myself feel better. Let’s just say healthy meals have been hard to come by for the last few weeks (Passover coupled with an impromptu visit from some of The Fella’s friends from Israel and all the eating out that entailed) has not left me anywhere near bathing suit ready.
As of right now I don’t plan on wearing a bathing suit ever again until August, when I head to Tel Aviv for some beach reading and visiting with The Fella’s family and friends. But, I would like to once again fit into my pants, because pants are nice and so is self-esteem.
I believe in loving oneself regardless of weight, but I’m broke and can’t afford a new wardrobe.
So, no running, but I can spin. And spin I shall. I think I’ll go do that right now. If you need me I’ll be sitting in the middle of my apartment peddling my beloved bike to nowhere for the next four months…and taking many, many birth control pills.
Whole wheat English muffin with peanut butter
Grilled cheese and salad
Veggie burger and salad