Running Pt. I
I went running twice this weekend. Not the smartest activity with my arthritic hip. I'm paying for it today. I usually like to give it a couple days in between but I am trying to win that trip to Hawaii at my gym by trimming body fat. Plus, I need to run; it's good for my mental health. Doctors haven't forbidden the activity, though common sense somewhat does. Running is tough on the joints, the hard pounding, and in my case it is bone-on-bone in my restructured right pelvis socket. My hip showed traumatic arthrosis in the last X-Ray I had, which was almost a year and a half ago, so it's a pretty safe bet we've advanced to the traumatic arthritis stage, at which point the countdown to hip replacement begins, commencing when that bone-on-bone pain makes it impossible to do the little things, like climb stairs or walk. Basically, I only have so much life left in my hip, like so many points, points used up with each activity; and jogging uses a shit-ton of points. But there's a caveat. Non-use, sedentary sitting-on-my-ass, also proves detrimental. Not doing anything only slows the inevitable, not to mention the added stress gaining weight and body fat would put on the joint, and inactivity increases the constant, chronic pain condition stemming from the motorcycle accident, which escalates the more I don't do. I sometimes feel like a shark. I stop moving, I die.
All of which may be a little melodramatic, I admit, a detailed analysis where a simpler explanation would suffice. I got fucked up in a bad motorcycle accident. Broke a bunch of shit. Doctors say it's a catch 22. Exercise is good, some better than others. Yoga is less stressful. But I ain't doing yoga (no offense, Ms. Brett). Like my father before me, I am man. I lift heavy shit. I run.
Perception is 9/10ths of the law.