I have always had a tendency to go overboard. Always. I take everything to the extreme. When I set my mind to doing a project, I ultimately put passion into it. This is probably one reason why I developed an eating disorder. I put passion into my dieting and went overboard with it. (I no longer put passion into my restricting because restricting is no longer a project. It is my life.) I didn’t just make one dog sweater. I have made 17, maybe more. When I was a kid, I got on my bike one day and rode 100 miles just for the heck of it. When I participated in National Novel Writing Month this year, I didn’t pace myself; instead, I finished my novel in 17 days. I have worked 14-hour writing days. I have pulled many, many all-nighters. When I collected stuffed animals (this embarrasses me no end) I had over 100, and had their names memorized. (Needless to say, I got rid of all but three.) I invented not one but a dozen muffin recipes. The list goes on….
So when it came to my recent extreme, exercise, yes, I went overboard. Of course I did. Exercise means not only staying in shape, but burning calories. Right up my alley. I do have an eating disorder, right? I walked or ran 10 miles a day for a month. This worked out okay–I guess. Maybe. Then, suddenly, I increased to 14. No, no no no no no. Three days later, I ran after a bus, the “straw that broke the camel’s back.” That did it. My knee gave out. I was injured. I was injured. I was injured. No more running. Not for a long, long time.
No more walking, either. I was on crutches for about 10 days, then gradually moved off of crutches and was able to walk okay, a little at first, using the crutches when I needed to carry something, and then, finally, off crutches entirely. Improvement was rapid. I was careful. And a bit wiser about overdoing it.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Yesterday morning, I walked my dog a mile and a half. This was a half mile further than I had promised myself I’d walk. This morning–two miles. Three hours later–pain. As the minutes passed, the pain got worse and worse. Now, I’m off it completely, hopping around the apartment. Boy, do I feel like an idiot. And that’s exactly what I am. An idiot. I overdid it yet one more time. When, oh when, will I learn?
I don’t even know if I’ll be able to walk without crutches later today. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk without crutches tomorrow. I might be back to square one with this injury. On the other hand, a bit of rest might do the trick. I’m icing it and resting it. Still, pain.
There are people who are intense about everything, and there are people who are laid back. They say there is such thing as “Type A” personality, which is the anxious, rushed kind. Intensity isn’t the same thing. Being overachieving isn’t the same thing. Drive isn’t the same thing. Problem is, I am on overdrive. I am burning. I desire…intensely. I write in this notebook passionately. The title of this notebook, The Starvation Transformations: how hunger befriends me, nourishes me, and betrays me, is passionate. I write, I write, I write. And I hunger.