Oh yes, so, I was saying how I got the slipped (or, more accurately, herniated or, if you need a giggle, “prolapsed” *snigger* ) disc. Well, that’s a stupidly long story, as these things often are, so I’ll start in the middle and throw in interesting facts for spice and confusion.
I was always skinny. Really skinny. In fact, I was telling my husband the other day how I was flat chested until I was 14 when I suddenly sprouted breasts, thighs and stretchmarks in equal measure. I was also clumsy and lacked coordination which, I would later find out, was due to hyperlax joints, but that’s another saga for another day. I was crap at sports, always picked last, etc etc, then, one day, my high school created a gym (this was in the 80s) and I signed up because it (a) wasn’t a team sport, (b) I figured I could hide at the back and get away with not doing much at all, (c) the bitchy girls would surely do volleyball or dance or something.
It turns out I was actually pretty good at it (my father had, after all, made me carry the 25lb bags of cement that my mum needed to raise the level of the back porch all the way from the car up 2 flights of stairs; there would be no weak women in his household, thank the gods. I think there were 12 bags in all, but I only carried one at a time *cough* ).
So, I developed a lifetime love of the gym but I graduated from HS and moved to England where I got my “fresher 15″ after discovering real beer coupled with a drinking age of just 18 (or, 17 if you never let it slip how young you were. I ended up banned for 3 weeks – in other words, until my 18th birthday – after showing the Kiwi barman what a US driver’s license looked like. I blame the beer). I joined a gym (all free weights back then, and always empty!) and lost it, then got married and gained it, then got divorced and lost it, rinse and repeat until 6 or 7 years ago when I quit smoking and started eating. Over the years I’ve ended up 50lbs (let’s say 3 stone) heavier than I want to be. My current (and last, I assure you) husband is a fit freak, which is part of his charm, and got me into running.
Now, I’d always been a lifter. Cardio was for warm ups and cool downs, though I’d dabbled in aerobics, or “moves fitness” as I think they called it back then. Running did not, and DOES not, come naturally to me, with good reason it turns out. This is where the hypermobility diagnosis saga comes in, but I’ll save that for later. In short, I couldn’t get past about a mile or so figured that I’d need something else as well. As a strong swimmer (grew up in LA; had own pool) and cyclist, I always wanted to do a triathlon so seized on that as a goal. Running was my weakest sport so concentrated on that.
I successfully completed my first tri (Timex WomenOnly, Novice distance, came 26th out of 40) 2 seasons ago, but that was the beginning of my problems. I didn’t realize it then, but my disc was already herniating and it manifested itself as a dislocated pelvis. Thankfully, I’d pulled out of the London Triathlon because I couldn’t run the 5k, though I had been tempted to walk it.
Fast forward 2 years later and it went big style in Jan-Feb of this year. I had 6 weeks off work with the first 3 weeks as bedrest. All was good until I started running again a month or so ago and here I am again, back at the beginning, though not quite bed bound.
I’m a food lover. I must have double the normal allotment of tastebuds or something. Anyway, trying to lose weight without exercise is just not working for me, but my physio has banned me from EVERYTHING until my core is strong enough to support my pelvis. Apparently, the muscles are good when I actually engage them, I just don’t engage them when I should (standing, sitting, walking, running, swimming). My entire exercise regime hinges around gripping my tummy muscles in and tucking my pelvis under to make it level, then walking around like that.