You know the expression "When it rains, it pours"? In other words, when things don't go your way, they're going to not go your way in many avenues and one after another. It's kind of an interesting saying when you think about it. It rained this weekend here, and honestly, I would hope that when it rains, it does pour. Literally. We need the water! So if it pours, does it have to mean that things are really bad? Or does it give us what we need in one, big blow? Geographical location may have a subjective pull on this, of course, but you get what I'm asking.
While you're mulling that question over...speaking of big blows...I blew my tire out on the freeway on Friday. I'm alive. And completely unharmed. After swerving around and panicking under the prickle of fear, I managed to get my car off of the freeway and crawled into an unruly parking lot. I was 30 minutes late for practice, but was able to hitch a ride and get there. Ironically, I had just admitted in this cute little blog space that I do NOT know how to change a tire. Well, my friends. The time came. My faux knight in shining armor unleashed life lesson magic onto me as the car was jacked up, the bulbs were removed, and the tires were exchanged. I now know that my car comes with 1) a spare tire and 2) a kit that allows you to put it on. Firstworldproblems.
I had this moment, watching the greasy hands and hiked up jeans bent over my car, of guilt. I wasn't doing anything. I was almost useless.
"Need some help?" I asked.
"Not at this point," he said. "I've changed quite a few tires, unfortunately. The worst was on my way to work, and I had to change it in my suit in the snow."
I wonder if that was one of those mornings where my tire savior thought, "When it rains, it pours."
"We" got the spare tire on, and I was set to go. I was told not to drive fast, on the freeway, or much at all. Driving felt ok. It was off, but good enough. Kind of like my knee! I can move, but certainly cannot exceed certain speeds or take the risk of keeping up with the flow of traffic. Little things, like backing out of the driveway felt almost no different at all. Other things, like turning on a slick corner, felt awful and out of whack. You see where I'm going with this, right?
That poor little donut tire. He has to bare the weight of the car frame, endure a foreign foot pushing and pulling and twisting and turning it, and try and keep up with three other massive and healthy guys. My knee empathizes. But alas, on a rainy Sunday morning, after taking side streets for a day and a half, I got a full, new tire, and my handy prius was back to business. Though the timing is off, the perspective is similar to my knee. Endure now. Enjoy the smooth ride later. The pouring rain is only temporary, and no storm, at least in my actual experience, has left me without a stronger sense of who I am and how to get out of bad weather. Read - next time, I can change the tire. And alas, the clouds will clear, and my knee will recover fully. I know this.
While you're mulling that question over...speaking of big blows...I blew my tire out on the freeway on Friday. I'm alive. And completely unharmed. After swerving around and panicking under the prickle of fear, I managed to get my car off of the freeway and crawled into an unruly parking lot. I was 30 minutes late for practice, but was able to hitch a ride and get there. Ironically, I had just admitted in this cute little blog space that I do NOT know how to change a tire. Well, my friends. The time came. My faux knight in shining armor unleashed life lesson magic onto me as the car was jacked up, the bulbs were removed, and the tires were exchanged. I now know that my car comes with 1) a spare tire and 2) a kit that allows you to put it on. Firstworldproblems.
I had this moment, watching the greasy hands and hiked up jeans bent over my car, of guilt. I wasn't doing anything. I was almost useless.
"Need some help?" I asked.
"Not at this point," he said. "I've changed quite a few tires, unfortunately. The worst was on my way to work, and I had to change it in my suit in the snow."
I wonder if that was one of those mornings where my tire savior thought, "When it rains, it pours."
"We" got the spare tire on, and I was set to go. I was told not to drive fast, on the freeway, or much at all. Driving felt ok. It was off, but good enough. Kind of like my knee! I can move, but certainly cannot exceed certain speeds or take the risk of keeping up with the flow of traffic. Little things, like backing out of the driveway felt almost no different at all. Other things, like turning on a slick corner, felt awful and out of whack. You see where I'm going with this, right?
That poor little donut tire. He has to bare the weight of the car frame, endure a foreign foot pushing and pulling and twisting and turning it, and try and keep up with three other massive and healthy guys. My knee empathizes. But alas, on a rainy Sunday morning, after taking side streets for a day and a half, I got a full, new tire, and my handy prius was back to business. Though the timing is off, the perspective is similar to my knee. Endure now. Enjoy the smooth ride later. The pouring rain is only temporary, and no storm, at least in my actual experience, has left me without a stronger sense of who I am and how to get out of bad weather. Read - next time, I can change the tire. And alas, the clouds will clear, and my knee will recover fully. I know this.
There are so many gleaming cliches that can just go right along with my train of thought here. Every dark day leads to a brighter one. I can see clearly now the rain is gone. The list goes on. I don't need these cliches to get my point across. Sometimes you're the windshield. And sometimes, you're the bug. Sometimes is always temporary though.
I keep having to remind myself that about my recovery. It's long - depending on who you ask (me). But it's temporary. Know how I know that? I've done it before. I truly cannot even remember the moment when I realized I was able to recover after the last two knee surgeries. All I know is that it happened, and I got healthy. I know that's the path I'm heading down. Not being healthy right NOW is temporary. Just like rain storms.
And anger. The emotional version of a storm. Anger is a funny thing - and by funny, I really just mean intriguingly awkward and heavy. A few years ago, in my early 20s, I did my first sort of "internal exploration," have you. I took some time to understand myself and maybe make the right adjustments. Somewhere along the way, I was asked the question, "Are you more afraid of being angry or of being sad?" It seemed like too deep and too ambiguous of a question, even though I knew it was probably a good one because I didn't know the answer right away. I didn't think I was too afraid of being sad. I've always been a risk-taker. So I explored the anger part. I used to have a really bad temper as a kid. I was wild, which was both fun and unruly for my parents to deal with. I wanted to do everything, be everywhere, and live fully before I even knew what those things meant. But when I was mad...I was MAD. Fists on the floor, heavy sobs, screaming obscenities MAD. Mad also meant mean.
I got in trouble when I was about 5 or 6 years old for yelling "I hate you" to my older brother. My mom said that's a phrase that is never to be said to anyone. While I learned the lesson, I also used that to knowingly "go mean." "Hate" became the below the belt phrase that was my silver bullet as a young child. Mad made me mean.
And then I tamed it. For the most part. I mean...I'm human. I have obviously said mean things. But I seldom lash out in true anger. I am controlled, even when my blood boils. I yell as a coach, but otherwise, I stay collected. Unfortunately, that doesn't actually void me of anger. I think the answer to that question was a daunting one - I was more afraid of being angry...simply because I knew the capabilities that could lead me to. Just because I stay calm on the outside doesn't mean I'm not throwing knockout punches to my wrong-doers on the inside.
The truth is I am mad sometimes. About lots of things. But anger is just a sub-emotion of something else - fear, rejection, hurt - all those awesome truths. We compare the emotion of anger to stormy because it's unpredictable. I guess that's kind of the same deal with my blown tire and blown ACL. The anger behind both of them is really just hiding behind a curtain of all sorts of other things that have to be dealt with. Being angry is scary because being angry is likely being scared. Ya, I'm pissed that I'm not running right now...but why? Because I enjoy running for the purity of the act? That isn't true. I like the benefits. The way my body responds to it. The ability to be competitive and gain recognition for being athletic and fast. My gripe with the not running bit is selfish in the worst way. I'm scared of losing credibility for the things I'm good at. I'm not mad. I'm insecure.
Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, right? I blew my tire. I learned how to change it. Next time, there is no damsel in distress phone call to be made. I just have to do it - otherwise that's on me. Having a tough time during an ACL recovery because I'm selfish and stubborn and opinionated can almost be qualified the first time around. By the third, I should know what I'm doing. So is that what I'm scared of? Knowing all of the right things to do and still messing up? Being an experienced ACL survivor and then doing it wrong again? Or worse, setting myself up to re-tear it? It can't be blamed on anyone but me at this point, right?
Saying "when it rains, it pours" is so much easier than saying "I'm scared." Saying I don't know how to change a spare tire is socially acceptable until I throw it out there that I've now been taught.
I live in Southern California. It rains, like...6 days a year. Yet, I always have an umbrella in my car. I've been caught in that mess before. I've learned. So ya, stormy anger, flat tires, and rain can set things back. They can be grueling to deal with and tedious in the now. But they make me a little bit wiser in the long run. They make me carry an umbrella in my trunk. Know where my spare tire is. Admit my fears and insecurities. Conquer my third knee surgery.
I've been pissed off a lot the past few weeks. Which means I've been in a whirlwind of fear and hurt. Angry isn't going to make my knee weather any type of storm. It's just going to make me mean. Mean to myself, or maybe other people. That definitely doesn't help things. I've got to simmer down and take the spare tire approach - slow and steady with the support of the strong, abled helpers around me.
Bring on the rain.
I keep having to remind myself that about my recovery. It's long - depending on who you ask (me). But it's temporary. Know how I know that? I've done it before. I truly cannot even remember the moment when I realized I was able to recover after the last two knee surgeries. All I know is that it happened, and I got healthy. I know that's the path I'm heading down. Not being healthy right NOW is temporary. Just like rain storms.
And anger. The emotional version of a storm. Anger is a funny thing - and by funny, I really just mean intriguingly awkward and heavy. A few years ago, in my early 20s, I did my first sort of "internal exploration," have you. I took some time to understand myself and maybe make the right adjustments. Somewhere along the way, I was asked the question, "Are you more afraid of being angry or of being sad?" It seemed like too deep and too ambiguous of a question, even though I knew it was probably a good one because I didn't know the answer right away. I didn't think I was too afraid of being sad. I've always been a risk-taker. So I explored the anger part. I used to have a really bad temper as a kid. I was wild, which was both fun and unruly for my parents to deal with. I wanted to do everything, be everywhere, and live fully before I even knew what those things meant. But when I was mad...I was MAD. Fists on the floor, heavy sobs, screaming obscenities MAD. Mad also meant mean.
I got in trouble when I was about 5 or 6 years old for yelling "I hate you" to my older brother. My mom said that's a phrase that is never to be said to anyone. While I learned the lesson, I also used that to knowingly "go mean." "Hate" became the below the belt phrase that was my silver bullet as a young child. Mad made me mean.
And then I tamed it. For the most part. I mean...I'm human. I have obviously said mean things. But I seldom lash out in true anger. I am controlled, even when my blood boils. I yell as a coach, but otherwise, I stay collected. Unfortunately, that doesn't actually void me of anger. I think the answer to that question was a daunting one - I was more afraid of being angry...simply because I knew the capabilities that could lead me to. Just because I stay calm on the outside doesn't mean I'm not throwing knockout punches to my wrong-doers on the inside.
The truth is I am mad sometimes. About lots of things. But anger is just a sub-emotion of something else - fear, rejection, hurt - all those awesome truths. We compare the emotion of anger to stormy because it's unpredictable. I guess that's kind of the same deal with my blown tire and blown ACL. The anger behind both of them is really just hiding behind a curtain of all sorts of other things that have to be dealt with. Being angry is scary because being angry is likely being scared. Ya, I'm pissed that I'm not running right now...but why? Because I enjoy running for the purity of the act? That isn't true. I like the benefits. The way my body responds to it. The ability to be competitive and gain recognition for being athletic and fast. My gripe with the not running bit is selfish in the worst way. I'm scared of losing credibility for the things I'm good at. I'm not mad. I'm insecure.
Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, right? I blew my tire. I learned how to change it. Next time, there is no damsel in distress phone call to be made. I just have to do it - otherwise that's on me. Having a tough time during an ACL recovery because I'm selfish and stubborn and opinionated can almost be qualified the first time around. By the third, I should know what I'm doing. So is that what I'm scared of? Knowing all of the right things to do and still messing up? Being an experienced ACL survivor and then doing it wrong again? Or worse, setting myself up to re-tear it? It can't be blamed on anyone but me at this point, right?
Saying "when it rains, it pours" is so much easier than saying "I'm scared." Saying I don't know how to change a spare tire is socially acceptable until I throw it out there that I've now been taught.
I live in Southern California. It rains, like...6 days a year. Yet, I always have an umbrella in my car. I've been caught in that mess before. I've learned. So ya, stormy anger, flat tires, and rain can set things back. They can be grueling to deal with and tedious in the now. But they make me a little bit wiser in the long run. They make me carry an umbrella in my trunk. Know where my spare tire is. Admit my fears and insecurities. Conquer my third knee surgery.
I've been pissed off a lot the past few weeks. Which means I've been in a whirlwind of fear and hurt. Angry isn't going to make my knee weather any type of storm. It's just going to make me mean. Mean to myself, or maybe other people. That definitely doesn't help things. I've got to simmer down and take the spare tire approach - slow and steady with the support of the strong, abled helpers around me.
Bring on the rain.