And This, To Boot

No exercise of any kind whatsoever for at least two weeks.

That was the instruction from the doctor, who thinks I have a stress fracture. It is the “thinks” that is driving me crazy. Like, what if this isn’t the problem and he first has to start figuring out some other solution in two weeks? I’m guessing that whatever is wrong with my foot can only be helped by two weeks of rest, but still…

Possibly worse than the rest is the cast/boot I have to wear, which is more painful than the injury. Seriously. And I have to wear it all the time, including in my apartment. At the moment it is uncomfortable enough that I can hardly think straight. How on earth am I going to write?

I nearly cried when the doctor made his pronouncement – and that was before I knew about the boot (much less tried it). It set off – and continues to set off – a wave of panic about weight gain, bingeing, and total loss of fitness. (Oh, let’s be honest – the panic is about weight gain. If I could eat as much as I wanted and see no ill effects from it, I probably would.)

Immediately I started thinking about what and how I can cut my food because I am not exercising or even walking my usual amount, but I know that I can’t do that. So I feel trapped. Which, I don’t need to remind you, is a binge trigger.

I should laugh that I am this distraught about at least two weeks of being prohibited to exercise – my elementary/teenage self would have been delighted. But it's been since November 2006 since I went more than about four days without exercise. These days, working out is more than just calorie burn – it’s how I get going in the morning, how I de-stress, where I get ideas for stories, and often, how I think things out. I take a break from writing and I exercise or go for a walk with my ipod on, and sometimes, the words I tried all morning or afternoon to write unjumble themselves into a coherent thought. Sometimes.

Day 27.