The other morning, I was running late for work (what else is new?), and as I made a 50-yard dash across the house, I realized I forgot something, turned quickly…and SPLAT! Rather gracefully, I fell, practically face-planted on the kitchen floor, and managed to bang up a knee as well as my dignity.
My husband helped me up and didn’t even laugh, so gold star to him for that. He even texted me later to see how my knee was feeling.
Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt at all. At first. Later in the afternoon, I stood up from my desk and felt a twinge in my knee. It’s been mildly sore for a few days now. Nothing crazy, nothing making me limp or hunt down crutches, just enough to remind me of my klutzy escapade.
Earlier this week, injured knee and all, I went to the gym and hopped onto the treadmill for the first time since before I got sick, so roughly one million years ago (at least that’s how it feels). Sometime before December, anyway.
I huffed and puffed my way through 2 miles, very slowly, and probably could have just walked faster, but hey, I did it! It’s a start.
This weekend, it should warm up enough to finally kick out my poor potted plants that have been holed up in our workout room, taking refuge from the cold. The room looks like a jungle, and there’s no way I have any room to work out in there right now. So after tomorrow, my workout room should be back to normal, and it’s time to make my workouts a non-negotiable calendar item again!
Sweat & Sparkle 