Another week, 2 more degrees of ROM. I'm gaining flexion on a timetable closer to a regular diet than the crash course Adkins -- I just keep adding a few degrees here and there. I'm now at 143 degrees, about 2 degrees shy of my good leg.
I went swimming for the first time. Not pool-walking; real swimming. A few weeks back, we set up the 20-foot round, 3-feet deep, above-ground pool. It sits right next to the camping trailer and the '75 Impala resting on concrete blocks. Real classy addition to our backyard. But the kids love it, so I can't complain.
Anyway, I actually swam the length of our pool a few times. My swim stroke can best be described as "painfully ugly." Well, assuming you can see my form past my blinding "office glare" tan. Truthfully, I can't call my swimming motion, a "stroke." That would be an insult to swim strokes; thrashing about is more accurate. But luckily it only takes me 2-3 "strokes" to cross my pool. Anything longer and I'd drown. No, wait. I'd just stand up. The pool's only 3 feet deep. Phew.
Similar to using the ellipitcal machine, swimming felt...odd. My leg felt more like a broken flipper, flopping precariously like a creaky door barely attached to the hinges. Not sure if that's my gimpy knee; the weak quad; or just my uncomfortableness with swimming. I doubt I'll swim regularly enough to give Michael Phelps a run for his money. But I do hope to get decent enough that the life guards won't have to rescue me. Or at least good enough to avoid having to wear my daughter's Strawberry Shortcake floaties.
Showing posts with label swimming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label swimming. Show all posts
Friday, June 12, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Physical Regression
Before I begin, what the fuck happened to global warming? I don’t care if it’s January, it’s not supposed to be 25 degrees, ever, in Dallas, which, by the way, feels like -30 does to Chicagoans. Like most Americans, the cold weather is beating me down, and I can’t shake this nasty hacking cough and constant green snot. This isn’t helping my rehab.
17 days. That’s all it took to wipe out 4 months of solid exercise and healthy eating. The soulless combination of surgery and inactivity has inflicted serious damage to my body. Before the surgery, I wasn’t about to win any bodybuilding competitions, but I was in fairly decent shape. Now, the little bulging veins that once proudly rippled across my arms are gone, as are the 1- and 2-pack abs I developed. (The closest I got to a 6-pack was the Amstel in the fridge). My right quadriceps is flimsier than jello, to the point where the outside of my thigh is actually sunken in like a crackhead’s cheeks. In fact, my entire right leg looks homelier than an orphaned chicken. It’s shriveled up so much that the brace already is starting to slide off. The PT told me yesterday that my leg strength was “pathetic,” though that’s normal for folks at my stage. I haven’t stepped onto a scale, but I’ve probably lost 5-10 pounds, mainly because I lost all muscle definition in my upper and lower body. Plus, I eat less than a French super-model addicted to heroin. My body transformation is like the reverse Super Size Me.
To combat my Benjamin Button-like renovation, I resumed lifting weights today, in addition to my regular rehab exercises. I’m finally comfortable enough sitting up without putting any pressure on my outstretched gimpy leg. Using light dumbbells (10lbs), I did a variety of curls, military presses and delt raises. It’s not much, but hopefully it’ll stave off any further deterioration. This past week, I started taking regular showers again, and each glimpse at my new body humbles me. I’m just trying to hang on until the doctor clears me to resume normal exercise, which, unfortunately, probably won’t happen for at least another month. Once I reach 90 degrees flexion in my knee (I’m at 75 degrees now; hopefully I’ll hit 90 by the end of January), I’ll be able to start riding a stationary bike with no resistance. Nobody will mistake the biking I do for the Tour de France, but at least it's a form of cardio. At first, I’ll peddle for just a few minutes at a time, before slowly increasing the duration and eventually adding some resistance.
Around the 6-week mark, I also expect to ditch the brace and start water therapy. I’ll likely just walk the length of the pool, perhaps adding gentle straight-leg kicks to my routine. According to the rehab protocol, “the buoyancy of the water decreases the amount of weight-bearing forces” on the injured areas of the knee. Even before I hurt my knee, nobody ever confused my swimming prowess with Michael Phelps’s, so I’ll be curious to see how pathetic I’ll function in the water with my bum wheel. I might even wear floaties just to be safe.
17 days. That’s all it took to wipe out 4 months of solid exercise and healthy eating. The soulless combination of surgery and inactivity has inflicted serious damage to my body. Before the surgery, I wasn’t about to win any bodybuilding competitions, but I was in fairly decent shape. Now, the little bulging veins that once proudly rippled across my arms are gone, as are the 1- and 2-pack abs I developed. (The closest I got to a 6-pack was the Amstel in the fridge). My right quadriceps is flimsier than jello, to the point where the outside of my thigh is actually sunken in like a crackhead’s cheeks. In fact, my entire right leg looks homelier than an orphaned chicken. It’s shriveled up so much that the brace already is starting to slide off. The PT told me yesterday that my leg strength was “pathetic,” though that’s normal for folks at my stage. I haven’t stepped onto a scale, but I’ve probably lost 5-10 pounds, mainly because I lost all muscle definition in my upper and lower body. Plus, I eat less than a French super-model addicted to heroin. My body transformation is like the reverse Super Size Me.
To combat my Benjamin Button-like renovation, I resumed lifting weights today, in addition to my regular rehab exercises. I’m finally comfortable enough sitting up without putting any pressure on my outstretched gimpy leg. Using light dumbbells (10lbs), I did a variety of curls, military presses and delt raises. It’s not much, but hopefully it’ll stave off any further deterioration. This past week, I started taking regular showers again, and each glimpse at my new body humbles me. I’m just trying to hang on until the doctor clears me to resume normal exercise, which, unfortunately, probably won’t happen for at least another month. Once I reach 90 degrees flexion in my knee (I’m at 75 degrees now; hopefully I’ll hit 90 by the end of January), I’ll be able to start riding a stationary bike with no resistance. Nobody will mistake the biking I do for the Tour de France, but at least it's a form of cardio. At first, I’ll peddle for just a few minutes at a time, before slowly increasing the duration and eventually adding some resistance.
Around the 6-week mark, I also expect to ditch the brace and start water therapy. I’ll likely just walk the length of the pool, perhaps adding gentle straight-leg kicks to my routine. According to the rehab protocol, “the buoyancy of the water decreases the amount of weight-bearing forces” on the injured areas of the knee. Even before I hurt my knee, nobody ever confused my swimming prowess with Michael Phelps’s, so I’ll be curious to see how pathetic I’ll function in the water with my bum wheel. I might even wear floaties just to be safe.
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