"How's the leg?" is the question from caring friends and family members (and acquaintances who are co-passengers in elevators--you know how awkward those rides can be).
My answer varies from "Good," to "Getting better," to "Not bad." Why the variation? Because I am in a kind of awkward time where I am not yet healed but definitely not struggling down stairs or carefully negotiating street curbs as before. Brittney Spears could write (lipsynch) a great song about me.
My running has reached an apex of 20 minutes and has hovered around the 17-20 minute mark for two weeks now. The plan is to ramp it up to 22, 25 minutes in the next week. I might even run a 5K in five days.
My physical therapist, who I haven't seen in two-plus months, even gave me the thumbs-up to do sprints, tennis, basketball when you feel like it.
Do feel like it? YEAH. Yeah. Yeah, I think.
With the Master Plan being a full return to fairly-frequent (yes, purposely vague) tennis and basketball-playing, I wonder about the next, ahem, step.
Jump rope? It'll be a pretty soft landing.
Tennis rallying while jogging to balls? I'll need a patient partner.
Shooting around? Can someone shag for me like I'm Jesus Shuttlesworth and his impeccable elbow-positioning before a game?
Half-speed game until I find a groove? In the words of Tom Jackson: "C'mon, man!"
Who ever heard of half-speed games?
As for the voice in my head that has been planted by my friend who insists that I hang up the basketball shoes lest I suffer another dehabiliting injury...
I tell myself, and anyone who deigns to ask, that my injury was like chicken pox. C'mon, man, they only happen once.
Famous last words?