I thought I knew "where I was at" with my body. I thought I was feeling alright, and would bounce back after a day or so, at home. I will tell you, it's been quite the opposite.
Fatigue. It has it's grip on me. I don't think I've ever had this type of issue. The first few days after I stopped moving miles and miles each day (Virginia Beach!), I felt content, satisfied, and calm. Yet, looking back, I was still going on adrenaline. I had family with me, I was enjoying a regular schedule during the day, eating like crazy, and enjoying those moments - as well as reminiscing about the last 78 days. We picked Williamsburg, VA, to stay in, and visit, while we awaited our flight back home on Friday. I look back, and realize I was masking my fatigue with food. And I was not doing anything that required any physical, strenuous movement.
After flying back to the Dallas area on Friday evening, I was excited about being home, seeing more family and friends, seeing my dogs, and "being home". All this again, overshadowed the true physical effects on my body. Then, we had the weekend, and kept fairly busy. I immediately begin cleaning the house, shaving the dogs, and just getting things back to my comfort levels. Meaning, how I like them to be. I wanted to have my usual food in the fridge, and just "nesting" types of activities, as I like to call it.
Then, Monday came. David went to work. I immediately took the dogs out on a long walk. That is one of my favorite things to do - and theirs, as well. I've missed doing that. After a long walk in the morning heat, I dropped the Weimaraner (Bridgette), and the King Charles (Maybe) off at home. Daisy, my Ultra Running Catahoula, would go for my first run with me. We ran for, no more than, 45 minutes. My hips ached - both of them the same. My body had trouble with the foreword movement at any decent pace. After awhile, it found it's groove, but I knew this would take time. My feet did well, all but my baby toe on my right foot. It's been unhappy for a long time, as it's the one that pushed it's way through my Altra's, as if trying to escape. It's just sore, that's all. The realization of what I had done to my body, during those 78 days, was a bit deflating. My body is now telling me that it needs time. Time to heal inside. My mind does not want to give it time. The conflict begins. I have been at these crossroads before. Around two years ago, I found out my right inferior pubic ramus was fractured, with edema in the anterior right acetabulum. This situation gave me two options:1) wheelchair (I had to get off it completely), or 2) inpatient rehab to be on bed rest. I chose option 1, where I would promise to go home and get off it, and give it a change to start the healing process. I would have to take a leave from work. I obeyed all the rules, as I knew in order to get better, I would need to let it heal. I went from wheelchair (3 weeks), to crutches, to walking (swimming allowed, only with a bouy between my legs). I was committed to the healing back then, and will do so again. It only makes me stronger when I do so. And I will do so.
No one likes starting from the "ground up" again, in any type of physical activity they participate in. I try to look at it from a stand point of, 'This will be fun!', and make the best of it. If I can go from that wheelchair, to running across America, I know I will be fine. I will give my body the time it needs, and I'll know when I'm back on the up-swing of things. I look forward to that.
How long will it take before I feel back to normal again? I'm not sure, but I'll let you know. For now, I will enjoy my time off, before I go back to work in July. Speaking of, it's time to go walk the dogs again. It's my favorite morning activity!
Cyndi
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