I've been working out every day this month. I declared this goal over at The Stir but not here because, uh, I don't know. Perhaps I assume each and every one of you read every word I write anywhere on the internet? Or, more likely, I just forgot to.
Or maybe I did tell you? Shit, I can't remember. This week has been full of fail, in almost every way.
So, anyway, I've been doing a lot of running. So much running that my left knee and ankle are all, what the fuck?, we did not approve this? and I officially need more gym clothes because I go through all my sports bras in about a week, and you should know I don't do laundry every week.
But, I've been enjoying it and, even more, I've been proud of myself for doing anything that requires a heart-rate increase every day. In fact, I don't think I've done anything so intense for weeks on end since Mike and I watched four straight seasons of 24.
Then, last night Kyle started crying around 3 a.m. because his eye teeth are coming in and those fuckers are just as horrible as his molars, AND NO ONE MENTIONED THIS IN A "CONGRATS ON YOUR BABY" CARD, STUPID WITH-HOLDERS! (No, seriously, almost new-moms, sleep deprivation blows but teething? IS PLAIN EVIL.) When I rolled out of bed to go comfort him or douse him with Orajel, whichever came to me first when I got in his room, my back totally staged a protest.
It hurt like labor pains. Oh shit, I thought, I'm about to be on I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, aren't I? And that kind of upset me because 1) this child wouldn't stand a chance with all the champagne I've had over the last 9 months and 2) also, I really wanted to make a hospital mix CD if I ever had another baby, and I had no such thing at 3 a.m. last night.
I was in so much pain, I genuinely contemplated going to the ER. But I calmed myself down and decided to wait it out just a bit. I did let myself think of all the things it could be other than labor, and I settled on an appendicitis, as I was pretty sure that pain started in your lower back? Am I making that up? I didn't Google at 3 a.m., so I just convinced myself I was right. Then I convinced myself that if my appendix had burst, I'd know for sure soon. I decided to give it ten minutes, and if I hadn't died by then, I'd know it wasn't an appendicitis.
(I'm very dramatic at 3 a.m.)
I had gotten Kyle back to sleep while I was doing all this very effective thinking, and then I woke Mike up so he could find the heating pad for me. He did, although not quite as happily as I'd prefer him to do things at 3 a.m. for me when I'm in a lot of pain, but that's for another post.
I moaned and groaned and curled up in a ball and prayed for sweet relief, and I finally fell asleep and things were much better this morning.
BUT! The plot thickens because this morning my abs felt like I had done The Shred 87 times back-to-back and then had decided to do an extra 400 crunches after that. They were (are!) killlllling me. They're tender to the touch, they are tight and sore and when I stretch them out, they scream in horror.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?
Could these mystery symptoms be related? Could they be related to me running so much? Could I have pulled a muscle in my sleep that spasmed enough to cause stomach pain? (Who does THAT, my god?)
And the real question, am I dying?