Shoot Me

I knew lifting Erik was slowly taking a toll on my poor back. Last week I felt a strange pain begin in my right buttock/hip, as if I had pulled something. Now it seems I have worsening sciatic nerve pain that occasionally doubles me over. It feels like a hornet is constantly stinging me in the ass. From what I have read, 90% of the time, watchful waiting is the best cure for this type of pain. I want to crawl to a chiropractor/magician/physician/witch doctor/mechanic/funeral director and beg for mercy, but I want to give it at least a week. What sucks is that I am afraid of losing ground in terms of my fitness goals. Luckily, being this dedicated for almost an entire year, writing nearly everything I eat down and setting aside 30 to 60 minutes a day to sweat like a pig, means my chances of returning to flabiness are greatly reduced. Thirty-five pounds ago, I was just so horribly miserable and don't want to go there again. Ever. I was hiding. Plus, I was finally feeling fabulous before this occurred. I climbed up on the treadmill today, and I did okay with that. Aerobics are not an option for me at the moment. The trouble is that the treadmill is harder to cram into my day, as Erik can't be present when I am on it. Last night I was in so much pain that my eyes watered. Today is slightly better. Either that, or I'm getting used to it. I saw a lady gyrating on an Aleve commercial today, and I felt like hucking a tennis shoe through the television screen.

I watched my friend with ALS hold Erik today. His disease is progressing very rapidly. His right lung is beginning to deteriorate, and he is in agony from periodic muscle spasms. I watched him endure one today, and his shirt became soaked in sweat, although he tried to put on a very brave face for me. After it was over, Erik giggled in his arms, and everything seemed perfect again. Death is a funny thing when you know it is coming. It puts strain on relationships in such an odd way. You would think the petty stuff would evaporate, but the little things suddenly seem unbearable, like coarse grit in the bottom of your shoe. It just feels different than I expected it would. My only hope is that when he goes, we won't hate each other. I guess I expected things to be perfect before we said goodbye, and that isn't very realistic after all. I should know that nothing is perfect. Ever. Even knowing this, I seem to always shoot for perfect. That's just how I am, even in my imperfect little world. Go figure.