I’ve only been injured a handful of times in my life, and only thrice have I missed any training, games, or whatever because of it. I’m hyper competitive and freak out when I can’t compete, so I tend to rush back.
Once, I sprained my ankle so badly I had a bruise that ran from my toes to my knee. I was playing basketball two weeks later.
My sophomore year of high school, I either tore or severely sprained my hamstring and missed two months of basketball season, which was pretty much the whole season. It was torture.
Another time, I was T-boned by a drunk driver. I missed a tennis meet the next day with a minor concussion and a really sore back. Two days later I was back at practice.
The other time is now, and I am not happy. Ever since my marathon, my knees haven’t been the same. Running 26.2 takes its toll, but sprinting downhill like Gumby with no regard for your own well being takes the misery to threat-level midnight. I ice my knees three times a day, and take Ibuprofen like M&M’s. My right knee is 100 percent, but this damn left knee… it’s the bane of my existence.
Last week, I thought I was doing well. I trained on my knee twice, and only felt a little tinge. I was recovering. With another week or two of mostly crossfit training that let my knee rest, I should have been golden. But here’s the thing: I’m a sucker for bachelorette parties.
Besides being a fitness nut, I’m also a fun enthusiast. I enjoy a regrettable night out with my friends. Many times on those nights out, a bachelorette party will swing through my location. Bachelorette parties like to dupe men into buying them drinks, and my friends and I are easily convinced.
Let’s rewind to Thursday night. I’m out with something like 80 people (it was an event, I tell ya). I’m at the bar, telling stories rich in fabrication, explaining how I get into pushup competitions for no good reason, basically working the crowd like Sinatra (or so it felt like), when all of the sudden a bachelorette party is right behind me, tapping my shoulder.
The bachelorette wants me to buy her a shot. My protocol: 1) I obviously let her know she’s making a huge mistake getting married. 2) I buy her a shot.
Sometimes bachelorette parties have checklists, or scavenger hunts. This bachelorette party did. They shove the list in my face and say something about a piggy-back ride. “Give her a ride around the bar!”
Fast forward five minutes: I’m still giving this girl a piggy-back ride. I didn’t think someone could be bad at receiving a piggy-back ride, but what the “Boom goes the dynamite!” guy was to sports broadcasting, this girl was to being carried around a crowded bar. It was like carrying a dead marlin in stilettos who couldn’t stop burping. I think she was passing out or something, because I had to support all her weight with no assistance from her. She just went limp and giggled. What a jerk.
I sat her down and wished her good luck, and like clockwork, my left knee let out a little cry.
Here I am three days later, and my knee is in pain. It’s better than yesterday, but not healed. The pounding my knee took from the bachelorette party piggy-back ride will probably haunt me the next two weeks as I reduce my running once again, and focus on lifting and swimming.
This is frustrating. Not just because I got injured, but because I’m a hall-of-fame idiot.
C’est la vie.
I will continue to train. I will not use my knees and idiocy as reason to take a break. I know my lungs will be burning when I run in a few weeks, but I can at least build up my strength before I get back out on the roads and trails. In the mean time, though, bachelorette parties can find another sucker to buy their drinks.