In my previous column, I wrote about completing a week's worth of workouts with DVDs featuring the fitness experts from TV's The Biggest Loser that left me sweaty, sore and weighing one pound more than when I started. Instead of consoling myself with that old saw about "muscle weighing more than fat," I took comfort in another popular workout truism: Regular exercise made me feel better about myself mentally (albeit achy physically) and full of new energy and confidence. I vowed to stick with it.
And I did.
For about another 36 hours.
That's when I thought I had snapped my right hamstring like it was a strand of dried linguini.
Of course, I blame that gaggle of Loser losers. Without that life-affirming energy and confidence they gave me, I would have never challenged my daughter's soccer team in a 50-yard sprint while spotting them a 15-yard lead. (In a testimony to their slothfulness, which is why I challenged them to start with, I beat all but two of them even though I had to hop like a wounded jackrabbit the last 25 feet.)
I had heard professional athletes speak before about speeding along normally then hearing a distinct blood-curdling "pop" in the back of their upper leg. I always thought it was one of those sports myths like a white guy who can dribble and dunk. Still might be. When my hamstring went it sounded much more like Lou Ferrigno's thighs ripping through a pair of heavy corduroys while transforming into the Incredible Hulk. If anything, hearing the sound visibly turned me a shade greener than Lou's cheesy 1970s makeup.
After driving myself home, left footed and in mortal fear that I would never again walk let alone do plyometric jump lunges with Jillian, I did what any able-fingered American parent of two would do these days. I Googled "catastrophic leg owie" and silently prayed I wouldn't need to be put out of my misery like a racehorse that pulled up lame at the finish line.
A review of several Web sites (I knew they were credible because they featured fewer than two ads with gyrating silhouettes enticing me to refinance my house or dog) showed that I would live. They also said that my ability to walk with only a vague Igor-like limp, little visible swelling or bruising and the lack of my life flashing before my eyes meant I probably would be unable to sue NBC Universal for deluding me into thinking I was a born-again athlete.
The online docs insisted I only needed to follow the tried and true RICE method of injury treatment to return to health. So I crawled to the pantry and grabbed some Uncle Ben's Long Grain …
I kid. Anyone who has played sports knows that RICE is an acronym:
• R is for rest. Not a problem when just the thought of walking makes you wince.
• I is for ice. Bags of frozen vegetables also work as long as you leave them in the bag. No one wants to find leg hair in his Birds Eye Oriental Stir-Fry.
• C is for Corona. This goes on the ice before imbibing. Some sports medicine experts may also tell you the C stands for compression as in "to squeeze that wedge of lime into your bottle of Corona, you will need to perform some serious citrus compression."
• E is for extra dry martinis. This helps break the monotony of only drinking Corona. If you don't have vermouth, mainlining gin or vodka is acceptable. Either method helps you achieve the alternative definition of the E -- elevation. As in, "several martinis will elevate your spirits."
After several weeks of this therapy, my leg feels fairly sound though my lack of a fitness routine has once again left me feeling listless and off balance. And that’s not just the martinis at work.
Stamford native Kevin McKeever, a married father of two, is a freelance writer and editor. He also writes the humor blog, Always Home and Uncool, and is a contributor to DadCentric.com. He spent 10 years as a reporter and editor for local newspapers, another nine creating and running the employee communications program for a Fortune 200 company, and then he wised up.
His humorous view of health and wellness, "Rubbing It In," will be featured regularly in future issues of Aetherial Living.
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