One of my high school athletes asked me what I do for fun with friends "my age" last year. (That phrase is always a jolt to hear, even though it is a nice reminder that I am, at least, a chronological step ahead of those who I'm directing). I told her to tell me what she thought I did. It went something like this: I have a specific bar/restaurant that all of my friends and I frequent where the servers know my order, and we basically go every single day after work. Then I change it up sometimes by having people over to my condominium with an array of fancy cheeses on a delicate platter. Every now and then we play an adult board-type game. (I'm assuming she meant CAH, but I can never be sure with teenage girls). I sat back after this glorified depiction of the adult female coach in her life and chuckled a little. I'm pretty sure my social life is an episode of Friends in her book. While not a far stretch from reality, I can't remember a time where I've had a plethora of gourmet cheese out on a platter, and I order something different just about every time I go out to eat. The truth is. My life revolves around that teenage girl and her teammates/classmates. When I think back to my high school experience, I cringe a lot, laugh a fair amount, and shrug off what I can. It was high school. I never thought I would re-live it. Given the second chance with a new set of eyes and responsibility, however, has completely evolved who I am as a person.

What I do in my free time IS, in some ways, like Chandler, Rachel, and the gang. I do hang out with my friends. Sometimes I go to bars or restaurants, and sometimes I go to BBQs or fundraisers. It's all a pretty standard adult life. I eat meals at my friends houses, watch The Bachelor, and go to workout class. I text while I'm at work, call my mom everyday (yes, every.day.), and I play with dogs. The only difference is that I have this hypocritical fear complex that has lived inside me for 5+ years. That's right. I'm talking about practicing what you preach.

When I was in high school, two of my friends went to a Justin Timberlake concert. They saw our Spanish teacher and the dance coach at the concert. Hammered. We didn't have facebook back then...even texting wasn't really big. But nonetheless, word traveled fast. I remember sitting in Spanish class and smirking at my teacher. She was young, beautiful, and single - getting the depiction of her wasted at a JT concert secured what I had envisioned adult life to be like. Wild and fun. There was nothing wrong with either of these two young women. They were amazing teachers and coaches, and they were responsible and put together. They had every right to concert-go and boogy down to the man that IS Justin Timberlake while liquidated and lucid. They could have been celebrating a 30th birthday for all I know. I don't judge them. But I also have never forgotten that moment of gossip and shock-awe. You work with kids and you are immediately subject to being seen at ANY moment during your social outings.

So aside from the standard, setagoodexample model, working with teenage girls has given me that mighty reproach that I had not discovered until it was almost forced upon me. In so many ways, I am still a tween at heart. (Just look at my television choices). I am not above gossip (I mean some is hard to resist), sometimes I eat popcorn for dinner, and my best friend and I have a different "voice" for every dog that we meet. I'm goofy, I have insecurities, and I go through heartbreak and lifeisnotfair moments just the same. I just have my own place and no longer get sack lunches packed by my mother each day with a napkin note hidden at the bottom (if your mom didn't/doesn't pack your lunch, you have missed out on one of the many acceptable spoiled entities of being a child). I do, however, envy the girls that I work with. They are leaps and bounds ahead of who I was in high school. I'm laying the cheese on thick, but they really do teach me a lot about...well, everything. There is one girl, in particular, that I have been thinking about with my latest ACL take-down. She made the varsity squad her freshman year, only to never step field on the stadium because she tore her ACL just weeks into pre-season. She made a full recovery and comeback, and then did the EXACT same thing during the same week to her OTHER ACL her Sophomore year. She rode the pine for TWO YEARS before ever even making the line-up. And then she blew me away. She is a superb soccer player, yes, but honestly - all of the Varsity players are - they're on the Varsity squad. She played without fear! The girl hadn't played soccer competitively in TWO years because of her TWO surgeries, yet she owned her field space. I praised her, of course, but I honestly was in dead shock. She made a comeback that I'm not sure the 16 year old or 27 year old me could or would be capable of facing.

I put her on the field to play to the level I expect all my athletes to play to - their best. If that's what I expect for them, can I really back down from my own pre- and post-op wrangling of success? Sure, I may be a little bit older, a little bit past my glorified "athlete" years, but damnit, what kind of role model am I if I set the bar low for myself?! It might be scary to grab my wii controller and knock out some dance moves, but that doesn't mean I won't be tearing it up a year from now. Football (and futbal), do not need to be permanent scare tactics in my young adult years. If I'm going to tell my girls to come back strong, it's only fair that I set myself up to do the same. I thought about that last night when I went to the gym. My surgeon has encouraged me to bike (pain-free) up until surgery. I've been pedaling ABOUT how quickly and ferociously you might imagine your great-grandmother going. Yesterday, I stepped up my game. I taught spin through my college years, and I jumped on that bike last night, and I went no where fast. Check yourselves, blog readers, I made progress in the fear department. I was spinning.

Look. It's not my first rodeo. You know this. I know this. My surgeon knows this. It is, in fact, why I'm quite sure the sympathetic looks of my friends of 3+  years are that much more dramatic. It's a small town. News travels quickly, and the number of people who have stopped me on the street and simply said, "Oh. I heard," with a mix of relief (for themselves of course - certainly no one offered to trade places) and pain dripping off their faces is astronomical! I mean. I totally feel cared about and all that ooey gooey stuff, but nobody died here. You heard because I updated my status on facebook and am clearly limping with the utmost disgrace. Yes, I have been here before. Blessing or a curse? Time will tell. But for now I will give my candid opinion.

The pros: I've gotten through this. Here I am, world! Witty, cunning, and totally important to the few permanent prospects of my inner circle. ACL dissection did not leave me in a heap of heartbreak and failure (for any substantial period of time at least). So, yes. Knowing that I've done it before is all the more reason to hold my head up, shake my fist at the bastard ligaments that once held each of my knees together and give it the old college try once again. Side note: I feel like my ACLs are on the same page. They're like, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Soccer didn't keep us out of the fire? Let's try an ill-fitted surgeon. Oh! Football - Perfect. Do not let this has-been athlete keep us from severing and hell - let's take the meniscus with us this time. OK. Done with that. Other pros include my mother's homemade brisket. (Mom, that is the only subtle hint I will give regarding food choices), time off of work (give or take), a DVR loaded with endless Real Housewives of the world's classiest zip codes, and, of course, all the money I save! No need for new running shoes, copious tanks of gasoline, and entry fees into soccerkickballfootball games/tournaments/etc. They say you go into debt after surgery - ha! Clearly they've been doing it wrong! I've been investing in the ACL business since 2011, and I tell you my friends - it is lucrative. I am filthy rich in braces, medical knowledge, and reckless abandon. Joke's on you.

So now that we know all of the super detailed aspects of how positive this experience will be for me simply because I've gone through it before, let me warp your mind into something else. In May of 2011, I signed up for one of those Tough Mudder races (yes - only weeks before I would meet the first fate of my destructible knees). I ended up doing it all by myself because my friend had gotten injured just before (insert cruel irony joke here). The race was whatever. I climbed a lot of stupid ski slopes and carried large firewood for no reason and wore a space blanket because it was imperative I plunged into the filthiest, coldest water imaginable (see photo above). Wonder how those races are doing with this drought going on. Hm. Anyway, the big finale of the race is running through this huge swamp of dangling electrical wires. Wait. Read that again. Yes. The event so classically titled "Tough Mudder" finds it compelling to throw competitors (of an un-timed race, mind you) into seething volts of electricity. AFTER you've finished the entire race. But FTW! Let's be animals and do it! I totally did it. And with grit and determination, too. I had never run through electrical wires before. Have you? I've also never been knocked out on my blindside, but I'm pretty sure the feelings are exactly the same. I ended up with a mouthful of mud water and army crawled my way through the end of those snaky wires cursing the craze that just was a mind-numbing shock. My friend (oh wait I was by myself). Ya, no one cared. But I'll tell you what. I'd prefer to NEVER run through that mess again. I now am cursed with knowing that feeling, and I will carry wood and run up ski slopes until I'm blue in the face, but I will NOT run 15 yards through those monsters ever again.

Why am I telling you this story? Time for an attitude shift. I'm drawing an analogy between ACL surgery and shock-wave wires, people. I'm not sure which one I'd rather choose, but remembering the pain of those first few post-op days and the struggle to prevail on in normal life inebriated by a cocktail of anesthesia and pain meds is daunting, to say the least. I remember going through the motions of considering peeing my bed because it was THAT painful to walk myself to the bathroom (I didn't, for you sick-minded that care that much). I whimpered through the first 2 nights and was ready to mine for blood by the 3rd day of un-washed hair (another shout out to my brilliant mother who bathed my hair as if I was 2 years old). Basically, it sucked. I know I got through it, but I also know what it felt like. So sitting on my thumbs and swimming laps and loading up my DVR the past 2 weeks has NOT distracted me from the inevitable future that will be my tough first few days after the operation. There. I got it out of my system. I'm totally complaining, and I don't even feel bad about it. I'm an adult, and it sucks to be an adult who struggles to get socks on in the morning - go ahead. Find an outfit that you like with a 4-inch wide locked-out brace running down the length of your leg. That doesn't involve standing, sitting, squatting, or bending over. Cool. That's what I thought.

You know what? While I'm complaining, let me just say this. I ALSO know what my knee (read: ACL) was capable of before any of them were torn. Most recently, I became famed and flourished through cruise-ship Dancing With the Stars. That's right. I'm legit. I cha-cha-ed with stilettos on, and I got a completely meaningless perfect score. So there. Blessing and a curse. I know I won't be able to pursue my fate as a ballroom dancer for some serious time. But alas, I also know that I can hip-roll my way across a stage with 2 surgeries under my belt. What's one more? The inevitable is just that. Inevitable.

I mean...you are bound to be able to form opinions on me based on my sporadic content and general literary tone, but let's be clear...I will not be divulging any juicy secrets or personal pastimes of mine.

Except for this one. Because it's not so secret for any relevant friends and family (or social media followers for that matter). I don't have my own dog. I have my family's dog, Ginger, who I get to see every other month (ish) and absolutely adore. And then I have Larry. Larry isn't mine, but I have him often enough that I have rightfully and graciously been named his godmother. Larry, as I alluded to last night, is another top reason as to why I have the utmost confidence in surviving knee surgery #3.

Larry has the warmest heart. Yes he licks feet and jumps on you when you open the door and rests his nose in the forbidden areas, but Larry loves you. And by you, I really mean me. Larry is the man in my life that has made me feel second to none. He was sitting at the picnic bench charismatically sniffling and inspecting the not so lush grass when I went down with my ACL tear 10 days ago. You better believe he showered me with the perfect balance of sympathy, kisses, and patience. I expect nothing less when exiting the operative haze in a couple of weeks. If there is one thing I know, it's that there are no bad days when Larry is around.

Today is no exception. Despite the inclination to sit and do absolutely nothing for the afternoon and evening, knowing that Larry's ball-loving nature (and nurture) would go unused is too heartbreaking to bare. Severed ACL and all, we took to the park, picked up trash and poop (we do our part), and played fetch. Old school, one-on-one, genuine, raggedy tennis ball catch. Touché, twisted and aggravating universe, I'm still thankful for my good day(s).

Albeit, I may or may not be posted up on my sun-stained couch with this fluffy friend at my feet, but I don't feel slighted one bit. I'm divulging the secrets that many of you may very well have been dying to unveil for sometime now, and I'm doing it willingly. (Bonus secret: I'm a reality television junkie in light of my education - #sorryimnotsorry).

If I can hashtag a millennial phrase and kiss the lips of a 3 year old god-dog without dangling my head in shame, my self-worth has not floundered yet. Stay with me, blog world, I plan to continuously exploit the uninteresting.

When I was growing up (and by growing up, I mean playing sports), no one really talked about tearing your ACL. One girl on my basketball team tore hers in high school. But it was like oh, bummer, you tore your ACL, I broke my foot, let's all get better and wear super long shorts and high socks. Done.

There were not 9 ACL injuries amongst my classmates per year (or more). No one empathized. That would mean people really understood what it was like to tear it. I sure didn't. I had more important things to understand like how I could flirt without ever having to date as an over-compensating, smart-mouthed teenager.

Doctors, PhD students, and money mongrels around the world are still trying to find an answer to the million dollar question: why the F@*% are there so many ACL injuries?! It could be the cleats. The grass. The Q angle. What you ate. Didn't eat. You're on your period. Or. It could just be that life was too easy for too many people, and the universe chose a very specific litter to challenge. In the words of my good friend (in my dreams) Barney Stinson, challenge accepted.

I keep throwing in jokes laced with my dying insecurity of gaining weight during my post-op this round. I honestly am only slightly nervous. I'm pretty sure my determination is like...18x stronger than it was last time (we shall see if that's enough), so I'm feeling confident in my cooking skills (shout out to my mom - heyo!) and workout skills (shout out to my trainer/workout class!) Extra parentheses (my shout outs are the equivalent to me mouthing the words as I type them right now. There isn't actually anyone on the receiving end. All good.)

Aside from weight gain, some other...let's call them...mentalemotionalspiritual stipulations often come along with going through a long recovery process without the outlet that is intense exercise. I don't drink or do drugs, so don't try and peer pressure me through your blog reading to outlet my energy that way either. Been there done that. I enjoy adulthood, thankyouverymuch.

So. I won't be burpee-ing my way through the frustrating periods. I won't be drowning my sorrows in booze. And as much as I love this, I only have so much to say everyday on this awesome new blog. What do I have? Well, my literate, work-avoiding friends, I have some pretty awesome counterparts. Let me tell you about one of them.

You know when you're like 8 years old and you get in a fight with your best friend? And you maybe throw the pen that she "made" you for your birthday at her and tell her she has an ugly backpack? (Oh, that didn't happen for you?) But then the next day you get a new best friend and then you ditch THAT one in 3rd grade when you sit next to someone new in class? Ya. That should STOP happening after high school. I found my best friend in my early 20s, and she is the SHIT. Sorrry, Mom, I'm trying not to use bad words, but any other word wouldn't do this girl justice.

She is like the coolest, easiest going, and most supportive friend ever. Anytime I feel REALLY good about myself, she feels good about me too! That's right ladies, you should NOT have best friends that pick you apart - she is NICE! And FUNNY! Helllll yes we gossip. And talk behind people's backs (mostly celebrities). She cooks me epic meals and never feels like I owe her. She has her own life, but I couldn't live without her. And yes, she is beautiful!

Tonight (Friday night), I'm turning the tables and cooking HER dinner. And I'm totally going to vent about dragging my leg around, swimming with a booey, and missing out on our early morning workouts. But mostly because I know she won't feel sorry for me and will give it to me straight. And then tell me it's ok to eat ice cream. Only if I want it. Because I deserve it. And then we will talk about her dog and my god-dog (his name is Larry and this is one of about 9 million that I have of him because let's be honest, that's the cutest face ANY of us have ever seen).

All of that to say...My ACL tear doesn't suck because I have the coolest best friend in the world. And she can totally call me names and make fun of me to make me feel better and help pick out the healthiest option for dinner all in one sitting. Wanna know more about how she keeps me sane through this whole thing? And more about the other amazing people in my life? Want to meet Larry? And my blood-tied dog, Ginger? Stay tuned to this thrilling and ever-developing blog, you eager beavers. I know you're on the edge of your seats. More to come.

Ideally, surgery would have happened the week following my injury. Which would be basically right this minute.

You think the process is that easy? Wrong. I will fully admit that I have gotten close to VIP service thanks to the many generous people who are part of my life in one way or another (when you work in the sports world, people are bound to know the right doors to knock on when your ACL splats out).

So getting into a surgeon the day after I went down, having my MRI results by the next day, and having pats on my backs, hugs, and "you`ll get through this" talks from every adult in my life was honestly nothing short of miraculous. I am beyond appreciative. And. I will get through this. All things considered, it isn`t THAT bad.

That being said... My knee was too swollen and too messed up to schedule surgery any sooner than 4 weeks out from the day of the tear. It isn`t that I`m dying to get under the knife, but a) the longer I wait before having surgery, the longer away I am from recovery. Simple as that. And b) I am a soccer coach and my influx of eager teenagers and apprehensive parents comes on the coattails of scheduled surgery date. Ideally I would be able to string a sentence together and stay on my feet for 2 hours at a time. Eh.. Such is life, right? There is never a good time to break up with your boyfriend and there is never a good time to have ACL surgery. 

Alas, it is pre-hab time.

August 11th is the magic date. This gives me a few weeks to pretend I am still a functioning human and try my hand at all of the exercising methods that old people, lazy people, and patient people do. I am a lot of things, but those are at the bottom of my list. Fine, maybe I am lazy sometimes.

What types of exercises am I doing? Try this. Sit down on the floor. No seriously. Sit down right now. Extend your legs in front of you. Very good! Now. Squeeze your left quad as tight as you can while pressing the back of your knee into the ground. Got it? (Look, the quad is the huge muscle that you commonly refer to as your "thigh"). Ok you did it? Great. Do it 30 more times. You just did my workout. This comes from the girl who takes an ass-beating from a room full of morons that wake up at 5:30am everyday. Flexing our quads isn`t typically in the workout, but hey.  It isn`t nothing. (Get off my back, I can use double negatives if I want to).

I know you are dying to know what else I do. Ok. Want to get crazy? Sit back down. Seriously. Do it. It takes you like 2.5 seconds. Sit down. Press your left heel into the floor and bend your knee slowlllllly toward your hip. Easy? I bet it is! Whoop-dee-doo for you! That is the hardest exercise I do. And it is hard. You people with your bendable limbs and glue-tight ligaments. You really have not experienced life if it`s not a struggle to sit Indian Style.  Congratulations. You just completed my daily workout.

Do not forget that I feel slightly good about my health right now. My muscles are tight (ish - no need to oversell here), and I have been working hard to keep them that way. So I will go ahead and admit that I have sadly been doing one-kneed push-ups, awkward variations of planks, and ab rolls by holding on to the top of my stair case with my legs dangling. I promise to let you know how much weight I gain despite my lackluster efforts not to. Did I mention I love ice cream?

That, however, brings me to today. Today is what I like to call the "teaser." It`s a day that feels pretty nice. It may even be considered a breakthrough. Today, my friends, I got to swim. Swimming does not fall on the list of old, lazy, or patient. Aqua aerobics does, but we will cross that bridge when we get there. So yes. I swam! Doc said so! No legs though! That wouldn`t be fun! Who wants to swim with their legs?! I squeezed the phallic booey between my quads (thighs), and swam my little heart out. While my outlook may drip in sarcasm, I truly enjoyed myself in the sun and water today. I swam about 20 laps. Everything hurt. My shoulders especially. But it was hard. And I liked it.

So while my unhinged knee and doomed surgical fate are wrapped and warped into this daunting  and fattening future, today was a good day. It was a day that reminded me that there are many avenues my torn and triad knees can take me. I may not be running a touchdown anytime soon, but today felt like an endzone dance.

I'm sure everyone is absolutely thrilled and enthusiastically awaiting my grandiose story about the dreaded torn ACL. It's an elitist club that only top athletes and unsafe idiots get to be a part of. Which category am I in? You decide.
Regardless, I will fancy you with my saturating and exciting journey to get you up to date with my latest and greatest failed knee. If you're lucky, you'll become enthralled with my tale and stay up to date on my future days as a recovering full-ligamented human.

This will be my 3rd knee surgery since 2011. After being a competitive basketball player, soccer player, and runner for 19+ years, my body decided to royally screw with me during my adult years. Very clever, life. You got me. The first tear? Recreational co-ed soccer. No one touched me. But I had the prettiest upper-V goal that the soccer gods rightfully decided that goal would, in fact, be the best shot of my career. So they ended me there. I had surgery July 5, 2011.

The second surgery? Nothing happened. No seriously. Nothing. Except that my first surgeon got scissor happy in my first operation, producing a painful neuroma (think of a spider web of nerves that becomes scrunched up in a huge ball living under your 3 inch scar). My body couldn't recover, so I found a new surgeon and had another operation January 17, 2013. This is the short version of the story as I battled hard and pretended that I had or would actually recover for 18 months before conceding to another anesthetic stint.

Flash forward to 6-months post-op of that second surgery. I could move! With very little pain, mind you! I regained my athleticism, my drive, and my muscle! I spent a year testing my former health, dedicating myself to workout routines, sports, and brace-free life. Let me tell you, if you've undergone surgery, gained 20 pounds, and then come out on the other side feeling fabulous, you're unstoppable. Pregnancy glow has NOTHING on post-ACL success.

The clear next step is obviously to join a Powder Puff charity football game. I was fighting Alzheimer's here. After about 3 months (give or take) of practices I was left feeling a) pretty badass at football and b) ridiculously immune to any type of injury as my body was durable and cooperative.

False. Regardless of durability and overall badass-ness, if you plant while sprinting one direction and someone yanks you in the opposing direction, items WILL tear. In this case, my (never before torn) left ACL and meniscus....5 days before the big game.

What's next? Surgery, obviously...after which I will emerge with missing hamstrings from both legs, 6 scars, and sheer determination to become a whole athlete again. That's right. You heard it right here. Stick around (or don't) to froth around in my ebb and flow of positivity and downright frustration as I battle the recovery once again.