Posts Tagged ‘pain’


Tom Petty really knew what he was talking about. The waiting really is the hardest part.

R had his ultrasound appointment today. He wasn’t allowed to eat anything, and was even afraid to drink any water this morning. The appointment was at a local radiology clinic, and since the doctor’s office is only open until noon on Fridays, it will most likely be next week before we find out what the results are, and where we go from here.

I would like to take a moment to apologize to my readers. I know my past few posts haven’t been the usual humor you may have come to expect on here, but I just need to get this off my chest.

Hopefully I will soon have something funny to blog about, but until then, I hope you’ll hang with me.


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>…A world of pain, oh, woe is me…

But seriously, my second workout wasn’t that bad…or so I thought.

For my second workout, Angel (yes, I’m aware of the irony that my trainer’s name is Angel, but she tortures me like she’s straight out of the depths of hell) gave me what I thought was a fairly easy workout:

Warm Up 10 min

Step Ups 10# 15 reps each side
Side Squats ½ lane and back (approx 20 each way)
Wall Push-Ups 15 reps

Curtsey Squats 8# 15 reps each side
Free Motion Flys 15# 15 reps
Bent Over Rows 12# 15 reps

Do three power sets.

Seems easy enough right? That’s what I thought too, but boy was I
W-R-O-N-G. I was fine all day, I had lots of energy, and I was feeling great. The next morning…

I could barely move. It hurt to stretch my legs, and it hurt to bend them. It hurt to sit down, and it hurt to stand up. It hurt to walk, and it hurt to stand still.

I have to walk up about 25 steps to get from the main floor of the gym to the area with the cardio equipment, weights, and express fitness machines. I swear to you, after staggering in the front doors that morning (barely holding back the tears); I think the staircase actually grew while I watched from the bottom step. It may have taken me ten minutes to get up those steps, but eventually I made it. I did that workout again, and when I woke up on the third day, I was still in pain. Yeah, what the hell? My legs still freaking hurt! I put special rubbing oil on them the night before, and I massaged them until my hands ached, but they were still sore. Nevertheless, I went again, and again on the fourth day. I was still hurting by the weekend, but I had three days to recover before my next meeting with Satin, I mean Angel.

Eventually, my legs quit hurting, and I was like a dopey puppy when I showed up for my next meeting, all memories of the pain of the last week wiped from my memory by the excitement of a new workout to try. I have gone back to that workout since that week, and have not had the same issues. A few days pain was definitely worth the benefit of smaller thighs, and a higher, firmer butt.

So what should you, my dear devoted readers (all two of you), take from this tale of misery and woe? Simple: no pain, no gain. Feel free to whine to anyone who will listen, even wallow in self-pity if that’s your thing. However, there is one thing you cannot do. You cannot quit. I didn’t quit. I will admit, I thought about burrowing under the covers every morning that week and just staying in bed all day, but what would that have accomplished? My legs would have still hurt, and there is no way I would have been able to fit back into my pre-baby jeans a few weeks later if I didn’t make myself get up and face the dragon. Every. Single. Morning.

Until next time…

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>The Speech

>The following is my speech from Calvin’s funeral. A few things to keep in mind, I do not do public speaking because I tend to get nose bleeds then throw up. My Mum told me I could not cry because she could not handle it. I managed to make it through the entire thing without as much as a single tear, drop of blood, or even so much as a gag and I did not once loose consciousness (that I know of).

This past week, I’ve thought a lot about my brother. I’ve remembered wild stunts, crazy stories, long lost friends and enemies, and I’ve finally gotten the back story on so many jokes. But I sadly realized just how little I really knew about my own brother. We had our rough patches growing up. It’s inevitable when you are as close as we were. But as we got older, the petty childhood bickering faded into the past, and we would talk more. Never about anything serious or deep, just about day to day life and our kids. We would talk for hours about nothing at all, but somehow the conversation would always get back to his girls.

Cal loved children, especially his girls. They are his pride and joy. The true loves of his life, and he would do anything for them. The last time I went to see him, he showed me a playhouse he had built for Gabby. It was wonderful! It had real windows, a light inside, and a little covered porch. It was a masterpiece and a perfect example of his talent. He had built it from scraps of this and leftovers of that. Gabby was so proud of the little house that her daddy had built, she couldn’t wait to show it off. That was one thing she definitely got from her daddy, Pride.

Cal was always so proud of his family and friends. He loved everyone, and it was almost impossible not to love him back. Don’t get me wrong. There were times when you really weren’t happy with him, but you always loved him, and you knew that he always loved you too. He was always ready with a good strong hug. A “Love ya, Sis.” Mum says he always gave the best hugs, and it’s true. He could have taught a class on it. They were always just right.

Though we talked now and then on the phone, it was always in the back of my mind, “I should call Cal and see what he’s up to,” but it would get put off. There were errands to run, chores to do. My regret is that I didn’t make the time to call my little brother more often, just to say “Hi”. I let life get in the way.

Last week things changed. Priorities were shifted. Despite the prayers of thousands, God felt it was time for Calvin to come home. Friday morning he slipped peacefully through the gates into the arms of loved ones who had gone before him. They will be catching up on all those wonderful hugs that I’m sure they missed.

I know the full reality of this has not hit me yet. It may not for a while. But I also know that someday I too will pass through those gates, as we all will, and Cal will be there, arms open, ready to give me one of his wonderful hugs.

Calvin William Allen Skinner
August 11, 1980-April 17, 2009

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It has been several weeks since I’ve posted on either of my blogs. A lot has gone down in that time. Easter weekend, my little brother was in a car accident. He suffered a traumatic brain injury that resulted in his death, but his passing was not in vain. His wish was organ donation, and through his gift, others will have a better life.

I’ve had a hard time dealing with this, and have never wished more to be closer to my family. You see, they live in Pennsylvania, and I’m way out here in Iowa. That’s three states. Nineteen hours by train. Twelve hours by car. Five hours by plane. An eternity if someone is hurt.

I haven’t posted about this for “so many reasons”.
Jeopardy is on.
I’m too busy.
It’s too late at night.
Letterman’s on.
Craig has Eric Idle tonight.
Makaya has her dance recital tonight.
Mum’s in town, have to spend as much time with her as I can.

All the while, I was unwilling to face the main reason.
If I don’t talk about it, it never happened. I can push it to the back of my mind, and pretend it was a dream.


Pure as fresh snow.

There have been dreams. Nightmares really.

Doubts. Did we make the right choice? Did we act too soon? Should we have given him more time?

Unanswered questions. Did he know what was going on? Did he know we were there? Did he know how much we all love him? Did he suffer at all? Was he scared? Who will care for him? Is there a heaven or hell? Why did it happen to him? Was there someone else involved? Why now when he was so young? What do we say to his girls? Did he know I love him? Did he know how sorry I am?

There are ok days where I only think of him in passing and the loss doesn’t fully register.

There are not so good days where I cry without realizing it, and have to answer my daughter’s concerned questions with vague assurances that “No, Mama’s not hurt sweetie.”

Then there are the bad days. The days where I have to hold my self together, wrapping my arms around my body. I have to squeeze tightly because I’m afraid I will shatter into a thousand tiny shards if I don’t. The days where I sit in bed and rock myself in an effort to soothe an injury that refuses to heal. The days where my heart quite literally aches, each beat a painful reminder of the one that is now forever still.

Those are the reasons why I haven’t posted.

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>OK, so I was going to write about the “Full Body Workout,” specifically the Double Leg Extensions, and just how much I truly hate them, but you know what? Yeah, they totally suck and hurt like a mother, but every day they hurt a little less, and every day I can put my legs down a little lower. The best part though, is today, when I was done, I just sat up. Up until today, I had to pretty much roll off the bench, while trying not to draw attention to myself, and struggle back to a sitting position on the bench while my lungs, abs, and thighs burned and screamed at me. That alone was more of a workout than the whole rest of my routine.

So instead, I’m going to wax poetic about the treadmill, which is basically mind numbing and painfully boring. That is, unless you know its secrets…

When I started this whole fitness thing, I had only ever used the treadmill one-way: flat and as fast as I could go for as long as I could stand it. This time, it only took one day before I started to get bored. Not just ho-hum bored, but oh-my-fucking-god-just-shoot-me-in-the-head-and-throw-me-into-the-lake bored, and that, as everyone knows, is the kiss of death for motivation to work out. If you’re bored, you’re not coming back.

What can you do to make walking on a black rubber belt for two hours fun? Sure, I have my music going, but after a while, it just becomes audio Novocain. It makes it easy to ignore the protests from your muscles and allows you to push through your time and get to the shower, but how long can you really keep that up? A few days? Maybe a week or two? Not good enough! Don’t get me wrong, there is a certain relaxing Zen-like quality to staring at the ducks on the pond while your body automatically puts one foot in front of the other, your brain just clicks off, and your vision goes slightly fuzzy, but I want more.

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>The Right Foot

>So that’s what I did. On Monday, I joined a gym. It’s not the first time, but hopefully the result will be a little different this time. Since Monday, I have gone every day but Wednesday, and have already lost 2.2 pounds. I can’t begin to tell you how good it feels to say that. I’ve told everyone.

In my next post…The “Full Body Workout”

Yes, I have seen the ninth ring of hell, and let me tell you, it has nothing on the Double Leg Extension.

Until next time……

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