God decided he has had enough of my hubris today.
After my event happened in late April, I took the anger and spite and ideations and channeled them into my New Workout Plan, which included running, walking, getting huge at the gym, reading, making new friends, fostering a general love for life, etc. If we exclude the event in itself, the first stone laid upon me from the firmament was the temporary destruction of my knees. See, when the wound was fresh, I was putting in like four miles a day at the park every morning. I’m out of shape, so that wasn’t all running, but still, over a week and a half, I put in something like 38 miles. I was feeling great. God apparently didn’t like this amount of movement or my general feelings of satisfaction, so he sent an angel down to take my legs.
Well my ass is stupid, so I said to him “More weight.” I pivoted from running every morning to taking more walks around town and working out/hanging out with pals. Now, this next stone is not God’s fault, try as I might to lay it upon him. The semester ended and thus, many of my friends (which, unfortunately, or more so pathetically, were my direct employees who presumably had banded around me so I wouldn’t off myself) had left the city. The second stone, which I’ll dub “social isolation”, had hit the tower.
Okay, you know, I can deal with that. I’m not someone who has to be social, it just helps. I can simply pivot to more walks and focus on cultivating that appreciation for sun and seed and sounds. My knees were feeling a little better (not good enough to run- I tried), so walking it is. Plus I got some tickets to see Of Montreal in Atlanta at the end of the month, so that was something to look forward to. I can handle two stones, that ain’t nothing.
Enter God from the top rope with a steel folding chair, aimed squarely at my lower back.
Today at the gym was leg day, which I felt pretty confident about. My form for squats was my best one, plus all that walking and running means I should have decently okay legs. So, I arrive at the rec, ready to start the first exercise, which was bar squats. First three sets go well, I’m feeling it in my quads and hamstrings. So, as the fourth set progresses, everything feels fine. On the very last rep, my lower back loudly pops. Luckily, I can rerack the bar before I almost pass out, but my lower back, right down the middle between the hips, is in searing pain. And apparently this triggered a vagal response because I’m sweating and my vision is oscillating between blurry and black. Fucking stupid. You know what’s worse than back pain? Being 27 with back pain from a low-weight squat and visibly fading into unconsciousness in a public gym. I swear, I’d rather pull every muscle in my body than be publicly perceived as I crumble. I called the worker over, who I sort of knew from my lifting lessons with my employees (which I apparently did not understand).
“Hey, uhh, my back just popped while doing a squat and now I feel like I’m going to pass out. Just thought you should know.” I squeezed out while laying down on a bench, trying not to cause alarm or appear too distressed.
He called whoever he was supposed to call and about 20 seconds later, I was surrounded by four people who are probably close to a decade younger than me. Again, embarrassment is worse than a pulled back. So, they asked me some questions and then some athletic director came and touched my back and put me in an elevator. I walked to the gym this morning and I certainly couldn’t drive, so I had to call a ride. Let’s recall the second stone, I know no one. My first message is to my ex’s brother, who I’m still close with, but he’s busy at work. Now, maybe it was the spasming in my back or the lack of oxygen in my brain, but I really could not recall any other people. I was about ten seconds from texting my ex to see if she could drive me to a doctor, which most likely would have turned into me pleading the doctor for a heavy dose of opiates or barbiturates rather than muscle relaxers. Luckily, I remembered I knew one other person in the city, who so graciously brought me to doctor. Great person, shoutout AB.
It’s just a pulled muscle, recovery of one to two weeks, light pain medicine and muscle relaxers twice a day, no lifting heavy things. Third stone. No gym for a little bit, probably no walks, but God damn it, Ill try. The alternative is rotting inside, which might mean more writing, but after a week straight, I’m running low on fumes and most of my content is based on the events of the day. So unless you want to read a worse-written Notes from Underground, pray that my back doesn’t prevent me from hobbling about town.
But, this is just a setback. No point undoing all my mental progress because of a lousy strain. I’ll find some other ways to be productive. So, like Mr. Giles Corey, I again ask for more weight. Three stones isn’t quite enough to kill me.
jeez, louise 