That Moment when I Scream a Profanity

I constantly keep this comment from Peg on one of my earlier bloops in my head. It's funny, because I really didn't have many really dark or negative moments in regards to recovery from surgery - like a good student, I had overprepared and had a pretty good idea of what I was getting into. I knew I had to be patient. I knew this was a long recovery. 

The problem was, "long recovery" to me meant 12 months. It's now been 14. 

I'm not quite sure what I expected when I hit 12 months. Actually, that's not true. Deep down, I expected to hit 12 months and for everything to magically be gone. 

Poof. 

No more aches, no more twinges, no more days where I was moving my desk up and down at work, rotating between sitting and standing every hour. No more need to incessantly foam roll or do those runnersconnect exercises that I swore by (and those are actually really good at fostering "run with your butt" mechanics, so I'm not sure why I didn't want to do them anymore). 

I wanted to be able to train like I've always wanted - deliberately, hard, and with all the vigor and joy for running I have every time I cross a finish line. I was so excited to start incorporating some power and Olympic lifting into my routine. You have no idea how much I love lifting and doing cleans, power cleans, jerks, front squats and the like. I feel so strong and powerful, not to mention it does amazing things for my posture. 

But, three weeks into that routine and my hip was more often unhappy than not. I noticed it more than I had in the previous month or so. 

And that's when something like this happened - in my head anyway:

 Extra points for using a Star Trek gif, right?

And here's where it gets really honest. 

I am tired. 

Tired of being patient. Tired of having to wait. Tired of only deadlifting 30 or sometimes 40 pounds, even though it's single leg deadlifts, which okay does make things a little harder. Tired of not being able to spin as long because things still flare up a bit. Tired of not being able to row because things still flare up a bit. Tired of a 40-pound barbell being too heavy to clean. Tired of using the damn arc trainer at the gym because they don't have an elliptical. 

Seriously, who invented the arc trainer and why can you still actually buy them?

And while we are at it, what gym doesn't have an elliptical?

And WHY AM I WISHING FOR AN ELLIPTICAL??!?!?!?! 

I am just. Plain. Tired. 

And I know that throwing a real tantrum won't do any good. Crying won't do any good, and quite frankly, I haven't wanted to throw and real tantrum or cry. I am not sad. I am just frustrated and angry. I really thought I would be done with this chapter by now. I really, really did. But I'm not. For the first time in over a year, I'm finding it difficult to see the progress I am making. Intellectually, I know it's there, that even if the steps are micro in size, I know I am still moving forward. My emotions aren't seeing it, though and that's where this comes in: 

 There. I feel better now.