Well last week I had my Mohs surgery on my head for skin cancer. The good news is that instead of having to wait 10 days without running it looks like it will be only 8 days. I tried to lawyer my way into being able to run sooner, but no-joy.
The bad news is that for first 48 hours I wasn’t able do much of anything exercise-wise. I couldn’t drink beer and or even bend over to tie my shoes. However, I could still blog (OK, I didn’t ask specifically about blogging, but anyone who has read this blog knows that I don’t exert any effort blogging (or proofreading). So I thought I would chronicle my rest.
Rest Day Streak Day 1
I know that I take rest days all the time (it’s the only way I can try to party with The Pig). A rest day is OK, enforced rest days are an entirely different matter. I want the freedom to be a sloth, not be forced to be a sloth. As you may have guessed I have a history of clashing with authority figures (Hi Mom! Hi Dad!). However, I will be smart and listen to professional guidance. Day 1 ends with a dull pain in my head from the surgery.
About mid-day my body is going, “Uh, aren’t you supposed to be moving some”. I counter with “Hey, I got out of bed” but my body is having none of it. Even though I look like a Halloween reject with my bandage on my head, I feel a jolt of jealousy when I see a runner go by. How am I going to survive 6 more days of this? The Pig is drinking a beer and says he is just looking out for my health—-right.
The bending over restriction is over so I no longer have an excuse not to pick my dirty clothes off the floor. I tried to get The Pig to clean up, but his response was “It will still be there in a couple of days”. He’s right, the clothes were right where I left them.
My running shoes are mocking me. They taunt me whenever I get close. I pick them up and put them at the bottom of my dirty clothes hamper. That should shut them up. Fortunately, there is not a Geneva Convention restrictions on what you can do to running shoes (and before you get too smug about this, think about your sweaty black toes wallowing in your shoes).
The good news is it is the weekend. The bad news is that with all the people in town for Marine Corps it is a reminder than I am not going to run the race. I get a nice long walk before I have to log in at work so at least I can enjoy the crisp fall day for a bit and actually meet my step goal.
I would say I am getting stir crazy, but this is really just a subset of my standard crazy, so I really shouldn’t complain. The Pig leaves early for a mud run (he comes in 2nd (he says he was just doing it as a training run (I pretend that’s the truth))). I go for another walk. The temps warm up quickly and I think about if I was running how I would be sweating my butt off (if only you could sweat your butt off). At least the fall leaves are pretty. At this point I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I am just hoping it isn’t a train.
Fall. My rest has made my captions even lamer.
I have another surgery to remove another skin cancer in my left forearm, but at least the day starts off better. I get to meet follower Jennifer who was in town to run Marine Corps Marathon and find out what was up about her Twitter handle (cool story). The Pig got to meet Jennifer and Mojo.
Mojo and The Pig
I was my typically awkward, introverted self, but managed to have a conversation without her running away screaming (well that may have been because I put my fingers in my ears after saying good-bye but let’s call it a win anyway).
So later I go off to get my arm hacked on. During my surgery the doctor is telling me I can’t exercise for 48 hours (which nicely overlaps with my other restriction). I talk about ultra running and the doctor can’t really comprehend running a 50 miler. When I ask about walking, she says it is ok as long as it is at a normal pace and “don’t intentionally walk 50 miles”. I almost tell her there is no way I was going to “accidentally” walk 50 miles, but since she is holding a scalpel, I think better of it. She patches me up and tell me not to doing any lifting either. I don’t bother telling her that the last time I lifted anything heavier than a beer was during the Truman administration.
Since it is Halloween, the Pig and I are giving out candy. I am dressed up as an elite runner so no one will recognize me. The Pig mentions that protein is important for healing wounds. Snickers has protein right? We tear into the bag of Snickers.
The Pig and I wake up from our sugar coma and I am almost late for my doctor’s appointment.
Time to get the sutures out of my head. The time driving back and forth between the appointment takes longer than the appointment itself and the appointment is uneventful other than I have officially added to my scar collection.
I go back to work for the first time in a few days and the world hasn’t collapsed. Makes me think that maybe I should take vacations more often (without the scars).
There is one more day I will have to rest and I think I can make it. Well, assuming my running shoes haven’t melted from being in my clothes hamper.