Dropping Balls

Guess I dropped the ball for NaBloPoMo July somewhere mid-vacation.

C'est la vie.

For someone who often uses juggling too many balls as a metaphor for her life, I've dropped a few of them these last two weeks. Despite all of its positives, I think the vacation takes a lot out of me, especially the part before and after. I'm still trying to get back to feeling normal again.

The worst ball-drop was karate / kickboxing. It's been over 2 weeks, and while I did a little bit of running, swimming, and Middle's mini-cardio class at the beach house, it's really not the same as 8-10 hours per week of heart-pounding, sweat-drenching, gut-busting workout. Or the effect it has on my body, my mind, my mood, my productivity...

I feel like crap, and I'm downright surly to live with. It's like having constant PMS.

Was I like this all the time before karate? If so, I apologize.

I'm sitting here asking myself why I would let something so important go for so long.

I really did have good reasons. First, the vacation, of course. At one point, Savageman asked me if there was a dojo in NC who would take me in for the week. I guess the change in me wasn't subtle. But I really didn't think there was a martial arts exchange program, and I'm really not the kind of person who will put in that kind of work without other people in the room making me do it.

But there's also the leg. (Ankle?) It seems to be the peroneus longus down close to my ankle bone, and I don't know how I injured it, but it started the day we got to the beach and it still isn't 100%. Not that I'm testing it out at this point. Last weekend, when we got home, I ran 1.5 miles both Saturday and Sunday and it felt like someone was stabbing me with a needle with every step. I was almost afraid my fibula was fractured. Fearing the damage that might result from pushing it, I've taken it easy this week while the dojang was semi-closed for summer break.

I'm forcing myself to be patient, but the longer I wait, the more I'm dreading going back in, knowing how hard it's going to be, worrying about the injury, looking around and seeing how much needs to be done around the house...

... but the cleaning I'm doing is Angry Cleaning. I'm grouching at the kids, resentful toward Savageman, miserable with myself, with my ankle, with the heat, with the clutter in the house.

Note to Future Self, reading this somewhere down the road, thinking about blowing off karate for anything other than life-or-death reasons: Don't Do It.

Today I start easing myself back into my normal routine. I am telling my ankle exactly what I used to tell my elbows.

"You are one 60th of this body. Suck it up."

The elbows got the hint, and I hope the ankle does the same.

This is one ball I just can't drop if I want to keep the others going.