Feeding The Muscle

So I’ve been wearing the boot. You know the one: that massive hunk of plastic that goes damn near up to the knee. I’ve been wearing it because that’s what the doctor told me to do the last time I saw him.

He also told me not to put any weight on that foot. But fuck him.

The pins were in for six weeks. They’ve been out for two. I’m putting weight on my heel. That’s just how it is. There was no universe in which I was going to sit in that goddamned chair any fucking longer.

So when I ditched the chair last week, I did it in stages. First the boot and a walker. Then just the boot. Now I’m hobbling forward carefully, deliberately, only loading the heel of my left foot.

Last night, though, I took the boot off and made it upstairs without it. This morning, I came back down. Walked around the house. No boot.

And here’s the thing: the foot itself doesn’t really hurt.

What hurts is the lower outside of my shin, right where it meets the ankle. And that pain? That’s not injury pain. That’s muscle absence. That’s what happens when perfectly good muscle gives up and melts away to make room for plastic garbage.

Holy. Fuck.

I have lost so much muscle in my foot and calf.

The boot gives support, artificial support, but without it, I’m slower. Not because I’m fragile, but because the muscles that are supposed to stabilize me haven’t been fed in weeks.

So now I have another goal: Build my fucking foot and leg back up.

And I’m stuck in that familiar gray zone. Do I ditch the boot entirely? Or do I keep using it when I leave the house until I’ve got some strength back?

I don’t know the right answer. But I suspect it’s the latter. Use the boot in public. Train without it in private. Earn my way out.

Either way, muscle is now the job. Probably for the rest of my life, if I’m being honest.

And here’s the truth about muscle, for anyone reading this: You lose it fast if you don’t feed it. Damn near overnight. So feed it.

Unless, of course, some asshole hits you with their car and the medical system locks you into a cast or a boot where you can’t feed it. Then you wait. You comply. You weaken. Until you’re far enough away from the system that you can start violating recommendations without having to deal with a lippy nurse who starts every sentence with: “You’re not supposed to…”

Um. Says fucking who again? I thought I was the customer here. And last I checked, the customer is always right.

Yeah. She didn’t like that one. Oh well. Can’t fucking win them all. 😉