...the riskier the fall. At least in the land of cadaver and hamstring grafts.
Let's take ourselves back...I'm talking 84 days ago. 12 weeks. 3 months. The day I tore my ACL. I was playing football. And I mean. I was really playing. We all were. Clearly. Based on the ebb and flow of my childhood memories and crushed bones, you may have picked up that there's a lot of tomboy in me. It's true. I grew up surrounded by the neighborhood boys, and I never went into anything without a "game on the line" mentality. I wore hiking boots and rolled down socks on the first day of 2nd grade, and on my first "date" I threw on a Hawaiian dress with my airwalks. I wore umbro shorts and my brother's old t shirts to school until I was 14, and I punched the guy that screwed my best friend over in the face. While some of those moments were simply thoughtless and unflattering, I may have a bit of permanent "roughness" to me. But that being said...
I'm a girl!
A hetero-normative, gender-role compliant, blonde-haired, green eyed, Taylor Swift singalong...GIRL.
I like shoes. A lot. I want to be cute and sexy and pretty and sought after. I want to look good. When it matters, and sometimes when it doesn't. I started wearing lipstick in the last year, and I believe it's edged me closer to looking my own age (which is not always easy). I do girly things. I paint my nails. I shop. I wonder what boys think of my legs. (Sidenote: they're probably thinking I'm a disaster waiting to happen with countless scars and a large, hinging brace). Yet. I still wonder.
Well I threw a party for my best friend and her fiance this last weekend. They're two of my favorite people, and I wanted it to be great. And you know what? I was playing hostess, so I wanted to look decent, too. I picked out a dress that I like. Everything was fine until...I had to put the brace back on. Nothing takes away the sexy factor quite like a 6-strap get-up from thigh to calf. They say to leave things to the imagination. Well, boys. You'll really have to imagine the underbite of what's left under that damn brace.
I looked in the mirror, and just kind of gulped. What was I to do here? Change the entire outfit so that I slipped on my black leggings YETAGAIN to hide the bulky brace? Or simply strut my stuff and wear the outfit the way I would have sans surgery.
You guess it. The latter prevailed.
Come on, ladies. What's a dress if you can't wear the right pair of heels with it?
Navy blue 5" stilettos with a cork under-run were the winners for Saturday night.
...Leaving my ACLs, toes, and feet bottoms as the clear losers by Sunday morning. Oh, the ache. My feet hurt so bad. My knee hurt. The "good" one and the "bad" one. (I mean, at this point, which is which?) My entire lower limb felt hungover the next day, using ice, elevation, and a whole lot of nothing in order to recover. Those shoes were completely necessary for my outfit. But did I push the limits? All of the sudden, I was concerned.
Let's take ourselves back...I'm talking 84 days ago. 12 weeks. 3 months. The day I tore my ACL. I was playing football. And I mean. I was really playing. We all were. Clearly. Based on the ebb and flow of my childhood memories and crushed bones, you may have picked up that there's a lot of tomboy in me. It's true. I grew up surrounded by the neighborhood boys, and I never went into anything without a "game on the line" mentality. I wore hiking boots and rolled down socks on the first day of 2nd grade, and on my first "date" I threw on a Hawaiian dress with my airwalks. I wore umbro shorts and my brother's old t shirts to school until I was 14, and I punched the guy that screwed my best friend over in the face. While some of those moments were simply thoughtless and unflattering, I may have a bit of permanent "roughness" to me. But that being said...
I'm a girl!
A hetero-normative, gender-role compliant, blonde-haired, green eyed, Taylor Swift singalong...GIRL.
I like shoes. A lot. I want to be cute and sexy and pretty and sought after. I want to look good. When it matters, and sometimes when it doesn't. I started wearing lipstick in the last year, and I believe it's edged me closer to looking my own age (which is not always easy). I do girly things. I paint my nails. I shop. I wonder what boys think of my legs. (Sidenote: they're probably thinking I'm a disaster waiting to happen with countless scars and a large, hinging brace). Yet. I still wonder.
Well I threw a party for my best friend and her fiance this last weekend. They're two of my favorite people, and I wanted it to be great. And you know what? I was playing hostess, so I wanted to look decent, too. I picked out a dress that I like. Everything was fine until...I had to put the brace back on. Nothing takes away the sexy factor quite like a 6-strap get-up from thigh to calf. They say to leave things to the imagination. Well, boys. You'll really have to imagine the underbite of what's left under that damn brace.
I looked in the mirror, and just kind of gulped. What was I to do here? Change the entire outfit so that I slipped on my black leggings YETAGAIN to hide the bulky brace? Or simply strut my stuff and wear the outfit the way I would have sans surgery.
You guess it. The latter prevailed.
Come on, ladies. What's a dress if you can't wear the right pair of heels with it?
Navy blue 5" stilettos with a cork under-run were the winners for Saturday night.
...Leaving my ACLs, toes, and feet bottoms as the clear losers by Sunday morning. Oh, the ache. My feet hurt so bad. My knee hurt. The "good" one and the "bad" one. (I mean, at this point, which is which?) My entire lower limb felt hungover the next day, using ice, elevation, and a whole lot of nothing in order to recover. Those shoes were completely necessary for my outfit. But did I push the limits? All of the sudden, I was concerned.
I've been a HUGE Dr. Drew fan since I was like 13 years old. I've read pretty much all of his books, watched every show he hots, listen to his podcasts (including the old Love Line reruns), and I even went to see him speak and stood in line to get his autograph. Why do I like him so much? He's so CONFIDENTLY brilliant. I've never heard him NOT know the answer to a question. I mean really. Does he not know?! I wish he was on my trivia team. If only for a night. Well. On Sunday morning, after my dogs were barking and my toes were finally unglueing themselves from one another, I thought about Dr. Drew. He's not ACL expert. The man is a doctor, yes, but he's not an orthopedic surgeon. Nonetheless, I thought about what his answer would be if I asked him the daunting question in the back of my mind.
"High Heels. Yay or Nay?"
His smooth, sultry voice echoed in my head. I don't think he would 100% disallow it, but I think he would qualify what height, type, and situation would excuse the need (or lack thereof) for high heels.
God dammit, Dr. Drew. Why do you always have the answers? It was as if I was in 1999, calling into Love Line at 12:30am and asking if this relationship was working. It hurts me most of the time. Sometimes a dull ache, but sometimes it's debilitating. I'm mostly attracted to the physical appearance, not what's on the inside. I feel most inclined to reach for them when I'm feeling a little bit low about myself.
He'd be all over this abusive relationship. I know him.
So what if I didn't actually ask him? Dr. Drew didn't need to tell me that I shouldn't have worn those high heels on Saturday night. I owned that nasty pair the best that I could, but what if I HAD set myself back? Beauty is pain, yes, but beauty is NOT worth re-setting my ACL recovery. Did I just grow up? That totally was a huge maturation moment for me, blog readers! My 84 days post -tear has completely redone my psyche and made me this new, brighter, wiser woman!
The bite of the entire situation is this - despite being sore for 2 days after those infamous heels, I rounded a corner at Physical Therapy. My pain has lessened SIGNIFICANTLY, and my extension and flexion are booming. I start my workout class back up in 5 short days. I didn't set myself back. But it's not lost on me that I could have.
HELL YA I'm a risk taker. And a girl that just wants to wear a cute pair of shoes every now and then. But I've come to the conclusion that if I want this blog to drip with copious amounts of success and pride, I better do this schtick right. Which means finding a middle ground between BOTH of those things. At least for now.
"High Heels. Yay or Nay?"
His smooth, sultry voice echoed in my head. I don't think he would 100% disallow it, but I think he would qualify what height, type, and situation would excuse the need (or lack thereof) for high heels.
God dammit, Dr. Drew. Why do you always have the answers? It was as if I was in 1999, calling into Love Line at 12:30am and asking if this relationship was working. It hurts me most of the time. Sometimes a dull ache, but sometimes it's debilitating. I'm mostly attracted to the physical appearance, not what's on the inside. I feel most inclined to reach for them when I'm feeling a little bit low about myself.
He'd be all over this abusive relationship. I know him.
So what if I didn't actually ask him? Dr. Drew didn't need to tell me that I shouldn't have worn those high heels on Saturday night. I owned that nasty pair the best that I could, but what if I HAD set myself back? Beauty is pain, yes, but beauty is NOT worth re-setting my ACL recovery. Did I just grow up? That totally was a huge maturation moment for me, blog readers! My 84 days post -tear has completely redone my psyche and made me this new, brighter, wiser woman!
The bite of the entire situation is this - despite being sore for 2 days after those infamous heels, I rounded a corner at Physical Therapy. My pain has lessened SIGNIFICANTLY, and my extension and flexion are booming. I start my workout class back up in 5 short days. I didn't set myself back. But it's not lost on me that I could have.
HELL YA I'm a risk taker. And a girl that just wants to wear a cute pair of shoes every now and then. But I've come to the conclusion that if I want this blog to drip with copious amounts of success and pride, I better do this schtick right. Which means finding a middle ground between BOTH of those things. At least for now.