Yesterday was my low intensity day... and my trainer agreed to let me take my dog for a walk instead of putting my pudgy parson's rearend in the seat of a recumbant bike...or worse in a bathing suit. I had a marvelous time-- I hadn't been on just a walk in so long. Lately, all of my exercise has been structured and carefully planned... and thought inducing. Gone are the days of mindless walking and running. But he gave me permission. It was a clear, cool night. There were Christmas lights to look at, and a small-town charm to absorb. Bella was beyond happy...she's missed it too. It was one of those night that if I hadn't made a promise to my trainer that I wouldn't run, I would've. Wowee, was it tempting. But I think he would've known, and I'm not eager to incur the wrath of He-Who-Trains. Besides, a promise is a promise--even if it's hard to keep. So I set out, with only two guidelines. 1) That I would keep my heartrate in the 130's. 2) that I wouldn't hurt my knee. "I won't. I promise." (I started to add, "Daaaad"-- because I've gotten that same lecture from my dad a number or times in my life. It seemed only natural, in the way that a rebellious teenager would eye-rollingly say that to someone whom she was certain was being completely over-protective.)
But the marvelousness of the walk was short lived. Because 37 minutes in, my knee started hurting. The decree of He-Who-Trains was that I'd stop if my knee started hurting. I promised that I would. And I promised (Clearly, I need to stop making promises.) that I would give him a report on how it went.
Which, of course, is why I didn't particularly want to see him this morning. Because I knew what he'd say. That I was grounded. No more walks, not even the hills that made me want to curse just a few weeks ago. No more carefree time to be hit on by 10 year old boys (who whistled at me, and then promptly wanted to play with Bella.) No daydreaming times.
At least until my muscles are stronger. At least until He-Who-Trains thinks my knee is capable of better behavior.
My knee and I are grounded. (I guess I'm guilty by association?) At least He-Who-Trains didn't make my knee write a letter of apology.