I’m not sure where to start. Right now I am in so much pain, but I am also happier than I have been for a long time.

I suppose I should start at the beginning, only I am not sure exactly where that is. The Grand Canyon invite? My hatred towards large box gyms? The combination of hell, accomplishment and immense pain that has become my new passion?

Yep. That about sums it up.

OK. OK. The beginning…

The Grand Canyon!

Each year The Grand Canyon only allows a certain number of people to backpack from the North Rim to the South Rim of the canyon. You have to enter a lottery system and be randomly selected to go. Well, one of the members of my hiking group entered the lottery and hit the jackpot (thanks, Roger!).  Since I have NEVER BEEN to the GRAND CANYON (practically a sin greater than drinking coffee or masturbating when you live as close as I do), I was invited along with four of my comrades to accompany him on the grueling hike through the most magnificent canyon ever.

I’ve never backpacked anywhere.

We leave in, um, 1,2,3…7 weeks!

Did I mention my pack will weigh roughly 30-35 pounds?

So I figure I best be hitting the gym a bit more diligently, right? Only I hate, nay, detest my current box gym. It is always packed, the machines I know how to do stuff on are always taken, and no one is there to tell me what I should actually be doing outside of the one good intentioned beefcake who told me I was over-extending on a movement I’ve been apparently doing wrong for years.

One night after leaving said gym all disheartened and secretly praying for a better option, I pass by a building I have passed by hundreds of times and think, hmm, I wonder what this Ute Crossfit place is all about?

I research, I attend the free trial class where I all but puke (the first time skipping breakfast has actually worked out in my favor), I am unable to move for two days, I sign up.

Before beginning Crossfit they have you go through two weeks of “On-Ramp,” their classes designed to teach you the proper form for all of the ridiculously challenging movements you will be doing.

I graduated from On-Ramp last week so as of this week I am now officially a full-fledged Crossfitter person.

Pros?
I feel like I could take on the world I am so high on adrenaline. I am happier and more productive than I have been in years. I love that there is always a trainer present who comes up with the workouts each day, and that they encourage you throughout your workout. They even put challenges together which incorporate healthy eating and getting more sleep too. It has already helped me become more structured with my life (with work and school already taking up so much time I kinda have to be to fit this in).

Cons?
I hurt. I hurt in both the good way AND the bad way. Sore muscles are one thing, I actually love that feeling, but having my recently-released-from-rehab ankle feeling like it is regressing and my Endometriosis stabbing my abdomen relentlessly, well, that just sucks monkey balls.

I realize the cons are kinda big deals, but truthfully I don’t want to give up my new found high. I’m working with the trainers to scale back my workouts and have “make PT appointment” on my to-do list. As for my stupid Endo pain, there is nothing that can be done. I just have to hope my body adjusts and that in the meantime my heating pad doesn’t give out.

So there you have it.

Beginning, middle, and cliffhanger to my Grand Canyon-Crossfit-I’m-in-so-much-pain-I-want-to-cry story.

Who knew beating up your body could be so much fun?

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Anklegate, Crossfit, Hiking

I’ve made it snowshoeing four times this season.

FOUR!

My goal and motivation throughout what has felt like never ending physical therapy to rehabilitate my ankle has always been to be healed enough to 1. snowshoe, 2. ski, and 3. drop it like it’s hot.

Lately my slacker skills combined with a certain gentleman distraction and of course, American Idol,  have taken over my productive writing skills, but I would be very remiss if I didn’t take the time to at least share some pictures from my adventures. They are, after all, huge accomplishments for me.

Snowshoe # 1 – Scott’s Pass

AKA – Snowshoe heaven, ankle hell.

For my first venture out I traveled up Big Cottonwood Canyon. It was sunny and beautiful for most of the hike. My foot hurt like hell – especially on steep inclines and declines, but I couldn’t have been more thrilled to be up in the mountains. I had been bugging my physical therapist for weeks to clear me to go. When he finally did, I almost hugged him I was so happy!

Snowshoe #2 – Donut Falls (in the snow)

AKA – The Blue snow phenomena.

My second hike was also up Big Cottonwood Canyon. It was snowy and magical. Picturesque? Sure. But snowy and magical also increases the difficulty factor exponentially. It was of course totally worth it, but I came home afterward and crashed hard. As in dead to the world to tired to move yet alone shower. During the hike my friends and I kept marveling at pockets in the snow that reflected the most amazing shades of blue. I guess it was some sort of light phenomena caused by the weather, but it was something we had never seen quite so defined.

Snowshoe #3 – Pioneer Trail (above Little Dell Reservoir).

AKA – Too hot to handle

Hike number three took us up Parley’s Canyon. You’ll notice in the second picture that one of the members in my hiking group is only in her bra. That member was not me. It was a very sunny day (although the pictures do not seem to show it) and, well, I guess some people run hotter than others.

Snowshoe #4 – Donut Falls in the sun.

AKA – Life doesn’t get better than this.

It’s amazing just how different a trail can be depending on the wheather. Hiking this well worn trail with blue skies and the sun overhead was simply breathtaking. It was the first time my friend Tammy joined me and my snowshoeing friends. We all had a blast and when we finished we rewarded ourselves with a much deserved apres-snowshoeing beer (or three).    

I think it’s safe to say I’ve accomplished my goal of snowshoeing. I’ve even made is skiing a few times this season. I can wear (low) heels and my pain is now very minimal.

I guess all that’s left to master is dropping it like it’s hot.

Adventurously yours,

Summer

Anklegate, Hiking

Over the Labor day holiday weekend (which I realize was about forever ago), I decided that a broken foot was no excuse to stay home feeling sorry for myself. Instead I headed down to Flaming Gorge with my family to feel sorry for myself there.

This was during my depressed, pity party stage.

Seeing as how I couldn’t boat or float down the river, I had a lot of time to myself to just think. It was a very reflective weekend.

The reflecting started on the drive down. I’ve gone down to “The Gorge” most of my life, but never so much as when I was with my ex-husband, Derek.

Yes, I am going to go there.

Over the course of our seven years together, my ex-husband and I made the trip to and from The Gorge I about a million times. While driving down there this time I couldn’t help but be fascinated by how well I knew every turn, every rolling hill, even every diesel truck on the road. I remembered making this drive in the winter through a blizzard, through torrential rain and of course through scorching heat. I remembered driving there in my little brown stick-shift truck that I loved so much, in my green banged up Sentra, the back of a truck bed, with family, with friends, my boyfriend who eventually turned into my husband.

Back before iPods, we would rotate through our favorite CD’s and sing along because we knew them all by heart. We would talk about everything. Dreams. Fears. Sexual positions. Everything.

Most of the memories made me smile. A few made me sad.

I got divorced five years ago. I normally do not think back to that time in my life. It doesn’t even seem like my life. I feels as if it was a movie I watched about someone else. Was that naive girl really me?

Yes, yes it was.

I had a man who adored me, did his best to do everything he could to make me happy, and I ended it.

Don’t get me wrong, I have never regretted my decision, but it was hard not to think back to our young love and how intoxicated we were with each other. Two hopeless romantics without a care in the world, except for each other. It was only when the cares of the world intruded upon our playground that things fell apart. But, I dare say that he loved me more than any man ever has, or at least more than any man has ever been able to show.

When I first arrived at the cabin, the field next to it had been freshly cut and the bales of hay were still sitting there uncollected. Of course that scene took my thoughts back to my recent break-up with ED. Memories of road trips with him to help out on his families farm came flooding back. Not that memories of him are so distant – they are always around every corner.

All of this is to say that I had a  long weekend of comparisons, reflections, and creation of new standards. The most important of which is that I want a love that will fight for me.

My break-up with ED was a mutual decision. A very hard mutual decision, but mutual none the less. Even though I’ve told myself our break-up was for the best, just like every other break-up, a part of me couldn’t help but wish that he had fought for us. Tried… I don’t know, to be there? He knew what was lacking in our relationship, we both did, but our love was not enough to fight for.

This train of thought has stuck with me for over a month now to the point where it has turned sadness into anger and yes, resentment.

Two nights ago ED told me he wanted to fight for us. It was as if he had read my diary. Only he read it entirely too late. Instead of having the movie scene where we ran to each other, embraced and said, “let’s never be apart!”, I turned furious at him. As in, how dare he come into my life three months later and tell me what he should have told me to begin with? How dare he figure this out too late? If he knew what I needed all along, why didn’t he do it back then? What in the world gave him the right to waltz in and set my emotional healing back when I have come so far? Where was he when I needed him? How dare he love me now?

I realize that all might sound harsh, believe me, the words felt harsh as they came out of my mouth.

I don’t regret them.

As hard as it was to say them, I know my worth and I will never again live my life for someone else, putting my needs/wants/desires second. My life is on my terms and I deserve someone who will adore me and fight for me.

I know he is out there somewhere… but even if he is not, as my father says, there are worse things than being alone.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Anklegate, Emotions get the best of me, TMI Friday

Today we are studying the human body, or physiology (if you want to get all technical). More specifically, we are studying Muscle Atrophy.

Muscle atrophy is defined as a decrease in the mass of the muscle; it can be a partial or complete wasting away of muscle. When a muscle atrophies, this leads to muscle weakness, since the ability to exert force is related to mass.

For the students in the class who are paying attention and have already guessed why we are studying atrophy, you get TEN GOLD STARS! For the rest of you, let me explain.

About three, maybe four weeks after not using my broken foot, my calf muscles just up and disappeared. As in POOF. Here today, gone tomorrow.  I wasn’t so naive as to think I would keep the muscle tone in my unused leg, but I was completely blindsided by the vanishing act it pulled.

You see, I had never heard of atrophy.

As you can imagine, this was quite upsetting to me.

After Facebook “friends” informed me what had happened to my vanishing calf muscle, I was also informed that, according to some,  my leg would never be the same again and I would always have one leg smaller than the others.

This information? It was not helpful.

I am, however, happy to report that my doctor and my ex-personal trainer both think Facebook is wrong and that with the proper training I will be back to normal in no time. I realize that it won’t spontaneously come back and it will require work, but it WILL come back!

So, what did we learn today?

Muscles will flat out disappear when you don’t use them for extended periods of time and Facebook is filled with dirty lying whores, most of which are my friends.

Class dismissed.

Blogfully yours,

Ms. Summer

Anklegate, Summer School

Three days ago my doctor told me that I was officially cleared to start walking without my soft cast.

The left shoes in my closet rejoiced. Well, all except for the heels who are still on suspension for another six weeks.

The doctor gave me a few exercises to do and cleared me to slowly start back to the gym. He told me which activities to avoid and said to start taking short walks through the neighborhood, down two houses and back, until I gradually worked my way up to longer walks.

Hmm…

This weekend I walked through a mall to meet a friend for a drink, went to Home Depot, mowed the grass using an old fashioned push mower, raked my yard, cut bushes back, swept the patio, blew the patio (get your mind out of the gutter), went to IKEA and walked through the entire mega-furniture store, and went swimming.

Hardly down two houses and back.

In other news, my friends have encouraging me to start dating. You know, nothing serious, just to get my mind off of things and to slowly get back into the action. I agreed to be set up on a double date with a man who I had met previously at a social gathering.

We’ve now been on five dates together – the first two I was still on crutches.

Obviously this word “slowly” just does not seem to compute in my brain.

I didn’t set out to spend so much time on my ankle, it just sort of happened. I didn’t set out to spend so much time with one man, it just sort of happened too. Sure, his excellent taste in wine and restaurants, coupled with his ability to make me laugh, may have had something to do with it.

I don’t know what I am doing.

I know it’s not a race to the finish line. If it was, I am sure I would lose. Frankly, it just feels good to be in the race again. Even if I am only clumsily making my way through the course trying not to get re-injured.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Anklegate, Dating debating

It’s been a while.

I know.

I’m sorry.

I have a half dozen posts that are mostly finished. The problem with mostly finished posts are that they start feeling like a chore to finish. Writing is supposed to my creative outlet, NOT my chore. So every once in a while, when I start feeling like this, I drop off line for a while.

Good news?

I didn’t go far.

So…let’s catch up!

It has now been seven weeks since the fateful night that altered my world completely. It has been ten weeks since my relationship of almost two years ended. I’ve had surgery and I’ve moved (I swear there is a post coming on the move soon!). To say there’s been a lot on my plate would be an understatement. I battle between depression and sobriety. In fact, over the weekend Karina the Russian told me I need an attitude adjustment. To be honest, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it was what I needed to hear because right now even I don’t want to be around me sometimes.

In an effort to adjust my sour attitude, here are three updates of things in my life that I am grateful for:

1. I was cleared to start walking again! I’m still in my soft cast, but I don’t have to use my knee scooter or crutches anymore. The doctor told me to expect it to be painful and that my foot would swell – he was right on both accounts. I’ve been told I look like a zombie when I walk and that turtles move faster than me, but I AM WALKING!!!

2. The support I’ve received. I am stubborn and independent. I am constantly out to prove that I don’t need anyone (especially after a break-up) and that I can handle everything by myself. Well, guess what? When you can’t walk you have to swallow your pride and accept help because people are more than willing to give it to you. For example, my dad helped me get new tires for my car, my mom helped me with my laundry and took me grocery shopping, then they gave me a huge sack full of vegetables from their garden and some home made salsa. All in one day. Seriously. How lucky am I? But it’s not just my family. My friends as well as my work have been nothing but supportive.

3. Getting up into the mountains! As many of you know, I’m an avid hiker. I gain so much joy and clarity in my life from spending time in nature. Being without it has been rough on me. But Sunday I met my hiking group for breakfast up at Silver Fork Lodge at Snowbird Mountain Resort, then rode the tram up the mountain with them.

Even though I wasn’t able to hike down with them, just being able to hobble my way around at the top and smell the high-altitude clean mountain air gave me a fresh outlook on life and put the missing smile back on my face.

Which is awesome. I like being happy sooooo much more than feeling sorry for myself.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Anklegate

Well, I went to the doctor and guess what? I no longer have fishing twine holding my ankle together.

Whoopie!

The bad news is that my leg hairs are now about two inches long. It’s like I am now part wolverine or something. Who knew having an ace bandage on your leg for a month would be the equivalent of leg Rogaine?

The doctor says I am healing nicely. I asked him if “nicely” meant that I will be able to use my left leg soon. He did the backwards math from when the surgery was and informed me I still had another two or three weeks to go.  I asked Mr. Killjoy if I was at least allowed to get my ankle wet now that the stitches were out. He studied at my ankle then looked back at me and asked how long my baths usually are. Apparently 15 – 20 minutes is the wrong answer because he informed me I had to wait another week. Which? Come on now, who takes a bath in less than 15 minutes? Certainly not people with broken appendages!

Grrr!

So I guess I need to wait another week. At my next appointment they are going to do an ultrasound to see how the healing of my ligaments is progressing. Please keep your fingers crossed because, who knows. By then I could have another inch of leg hair and be that much closer to turning into a shewolf. 

I suppose I just need to remind myself to be patient. I mean I dowant it to heal right after all. Plus, god invented razors for a reason, right?

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Anklegate

So I got a new ride.

Wanna see it?

Big Pimpin'

I started back to work this week and to be honest, crutches are exhausting. So I found a harmless old man who rented me his knee scooter.

I don’t have a picture of me on it yet, but this is pretty much what I look like… only without the beard.

Mac Daddy-O

I figure now that I’m a little more mobile, that means I can do just about anything, right?

I’m sure you can feel the direction this is headed already.

I decided to go to the grocery store to pick up a few items. On my own. Because I can totally handle shit all by myself.

MAKE WAY! Independent bitch coming through.

I pull up to the grocery store, parked in a handicap parking stall (because I totally scored a temporary handicap parking pass!), and decided crutching my way in to the store would be easier than using the knee scooter – that way I could use the motorized shopping cart.

Did I mention I am totally doing this at the busiest time of day too?

I’ve found the trick to using a motorized shopping cart is to act like you don’t feel like a complete asshole and are not embarrassed what-so-ever. I may have been kicked out of high school drama club, but this is one role I was totally born to play.

Yep. I got my milk, q-tips, three gallon jug of water, and rotisserie chicken with my head held high! And I only ran into two other shopping carts and one small child. Which? Totally not my fault! They don’t exactly make those carts to stop on a dime, you know? Brat should have watched where I was going.

So I managed to successfully get four bags of groceries and a three gallon jug of water into my car, return the motorized cart, grab my crutches and hobble my ass back to the car. I’m a little sweaty, but overall feeling good about this little shopping accomplishment. Until it dawns on me, I have no way to get the groceries from the car into my house.

So I cried. Then I cussed. Then I cussed while crying. Then I called Karina the Russian and my sister Staci to see if either of them were available, which of course they weren’t. Something about having lives and children to take care of.

I decided I needed to make a decision. I could either continue to call everyone in my phone book for help, or I could grow a pair and figure out how to take care of it on my own.

Guess which one I chose.

I got home and through a combination of one legged wheeling and carrying grocery bags with my pinkie fingers so the others fingers could grasp the crutches, I was able to get them all inside.

Even though it took forever and I dropped things, I felt a little victorious. That is, until it dawned on me that I still needed to take the garbage cans to the curb.

By the time I got all of the food put away, cans to the curb, and made myself dinner, I was spent. Finished. Stick a fork in me cause I was done.

Looking back I’m not sure if I consider the whole experience a victory or not. Sure, I proved to myself that I am still an independent person and even though it’s harder and takes forever and my foot was totally throbbing by the time I finished, I was still able to take care of myself.

But at what cost? I didn’t have to have get groceries right then. I could have waited until a day when someone was available to help. I could have saved myself a whole lot of headache, frustration and bruised bananas if I wasn’t so damn stubborn.

Independence.

Is it totally overrated?

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Anklegate, Story Time

Picture this for me if you will, I hobble into the main entrance of the downtown two story evil empire known as Walmart, late on a Monday night. Of course it is crowded even though it is well after 10:00pm. Following close behind me is Karina the Russian and her two overly tired children. All of the motorized shopping carts are currently being used  by other invalids or teens looking for a cheap thrill, so our only option is to use a creaky wheelchair. We hide my crutches behind the glowing Coca-Cola machine and set out for a shopping adventure.

The youngest Russian child, Pasha, is looking overwhelmed so I tell her to come sit on my lap. Her disheveled hair is giving my disheveled hair a run for it’s money. We are both in pajamas and look like the princess-zombies of the apocalypse. Since we need someone to push our blue craptastic chariot – that someone being Karina – that leaves the older Russian child, Dimitri,who is a mere six years old, left to push the shopping cart.

This shopping outing was to buy enough groceries to fill my new house, which until this point consisted of martini olives in the fridge, so you can imagine, we had a long way to go. As our zombie-princess-wheelchair-voluptuous Russian-child-labor entourage weaved up and down each isle collecting the essentials of bread, frozen skillets, frozen pizzas, frozen waffles, bananas, coffee and ant killer the cart became heavier and heavier.

Poor Dimitri, who can’t even see over the top of the cart, had to put all of his weight into each turn and kept running into the back of Karina with the cart. I’m sure it had to have hurt like hell, but Karina stayed surprisingly calm, even after the fourth time of having her ankles rammed.

An hour later, our train made it’s way to the longest checkout line in history. Pasha kept climbing on and off of her princess perch. Dimitri kept bringing candy and toys from the check out isles that he “really needed” over to us. Karina and I couldn’t be bothered by his need to have M&M’s and new ear phones because we were too busy looking through an entire issue of Vogue magazine – the line was that long.

I paint this picture for you for two reasons. The first so that you can see how the mighty have fallen. From fancy cocktail parties and free concerts to being wheeled through a Walmart where a man in a stained wifebeater, dirty cut off shorts and a trucker hat was actually judging me. The second being that if you happen to come across my picture on The People of Walmart website, will you please let me know?

That’s one claim to fame I do not want to miss.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Anklegate, K to the R stories

I’ve asked my parents the same questions at least four times now. They’ve explained to me that it’s a side effect from coming off of anesthesia – at least four times now. Somtimes I remember that I’ve asked the question before, I just can’t remember what the answers was so I ask it again. So, for the sake of my parents sanity, an update for my readers, and for me to look back on the next time I forget, here are the details from my surgery.

I had surgery to fix a ruptured ligament on my ankle, the ankle that I also broke and sprained on my 30th birthday in New York. The doctor has told me that the MRI pictures painted a pretty serious picture but that he was confidant they would be able to rebuild me so I agreed to become a bionic-Summer.

The surgery, which was supposed to take 45 minutes to one hour, ended up taking two.

Apparently when they got in there, the damage was even worse than they originally anticipated. The ligament the MRI had shown was completely snapped and detached from the bone. There was also a small fragment from my ankle bone that was broken off along with additional ligament damage.

When I woke up in the recovery room I instantly started crying. The pain was UNBELIEVABLE! I’m talking frowny-face 10 on the pain chart unbelievable.   

The anesthesiologist (who was amazing by the way) put in a regional block  behind my knee right before the surgery, but for some reason it did not work like it was supposed to. To get my pain to a tolerable level the doctor had to give me morphine, then more morphine, then two lortabs, then a shot of Demerol in my ass.

That last one shut me up.

When I got home I immediately passed out for three hours. No surprise there. When I woke, my stupid foot was numb. The block finally kicked in. Which is pretty damn cool because I now feel next to nothing - except for loopy.

The block will last anywhere from 8-24 hours, meaning I will likely be playing the pain vs. narcotics game by the time you read this post.  

Here’s hoping the narcotics win!

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Oh wait! My recovery plan… glad you asked.

For the next two days I am to remain vertical as much as possible with my foot iced and elevated. The doc is telling me to plan on two weeks off work.

Psh. Like that will happen.

I do however plan on working from home as much as possible.

I’ll be on crutches for the next four weeks and in a boot for two more following that. In there somewhere physical therapy will come along. 

Right now I am still staying with my parents, sharing a bed with my sister Staci. They have been amazing to me and make sure I don’t fall backwards down the front porch stairs or overdose on pain pills. Next week I am moving into my place. Karina the Russian is going to move in with me to be my nurse. Truthfully I’d stay at my parents a little longer (they have a fully stocked fridge) but I miss my kitty and she can’t come stay here with me. Nothing quite as healing as a kitty curled up on your lap, even if that kitty is a bitch.

Anklegate, Under the influence