Bikram yogz -- How did I get here?

In Michigan, I was the athletic one of my friends (or, at some points there were several of us). But I've been a runner since middle school or so, and I went on pretty regular jogs throughout high school and college. A lot of my friends weren't athletes at all -- and I don't say that in a negative way, I mean, I'm not hinting that they were fat, it's just that sporty things weren't their jam. My mom is the same way. She goes on walks semi-regularly with my dad, but anything else? Nahhhhh. And don't get me wrong, if I were blessed with better genes and could get away with sitting on my ass all day, I totally would.

So in contrast, in California, EVERYONE seems to have some kind of sporty/outdoorsy preference or hobby. It was kind of the same way living in Colorado. Running, biking, yoga, a softball league ... it's like, there doesn't seem to be anyone around here who just prefers knitting or reading or staying in by the fire (we live in Sacramento? No fire? OK). But everyone has SOMETHING that gets the heart rate up on the regs. Even the seemingly unathletic people are like, "I go standup paddleboarding every day before work!" (I realize a lot of these statements are massive generalizations, but really. I'm onto something here).

So, I came to the Golden State and running was already out. I needed a thing.

To backtrack a bit, my senior year of college, I tore my ACL-MCL-LCL-meniscus while skiing at Beaver Creek. It was stupid. I wasn't even going down a particularly steep hill or doing anything impressive. My dad and I were just goofing around, racing to the bottom of the mountain for lunch/dinner/linner and my legs were shot from skiing on real terrain all day. I made a sloppy turn, got my ski stuck in some thick, sludgy snow, tried to jump out of it, and my body fell one way and my legs went another and GAH. I've never felt such pain. I just remember whimpering alone in the snow, my body shocked at what had just happened. I'd been skiing almost as long as I could walk, and I'd never had anything like this happen. A ski school guy called down to the base for help and someone went and found my dad. In the meantime, I had to get carted down like some kind of cripp. (Oh, and my dad won the race, apparently. Victoryyyyyy).

RIGHT before it happened. #thefall

But my injury changed everything. I came home from Colorado, had reconstructive surgery, crutched around the MSU campus my final semester, completed about half my physical therapy -- and then the insurance wouldn't cover any more, so I stopped going. I figured my leg would continue healing with time. Wrong.

I started running again maybe just six months or so after the surg. It hurt, but I was all like, "no pain, no gain!" Oh, and I should mention -- I didn't just start running again like, "oh, let's just do a few miles here and there, see how it goes!" 

I decided to shed the few pounds I had put on -- by staying inactive for way too long, sidelined by the injury and drinking beers -- and train for the River Bank Run in GR. A 25K, no bigs, right? 

No one said I was smart.

So I trained and I trained and I was pretty slow but completing my runs (I've always been slow. I was competitive at sprinting, but never distance).

And then like, a month or so before the race, I had hit my stride. I knocked out a 13- or 14-mile training run without any major problems, conditioning-wise. I could breathe! But I was in pain, re: my leg.

I was pumped I had stuck to a training schedule. And I had really proven something to myself. But again, PAIN. Not the good kind.

My knee was killing me. And so was the back of my leg, where part of my hamstring had been grafted for the doctors to create a new ACL. (I didn't want a cadaver. Something about that grossed me out. In hindsight? Should have just taken the cadaver). And my hips were creaky where I had been babying my one leg and things just felt really off inside.

So, I tried ice and I tried taking it easy. But the race was approaching, yo.

It was weird, once I would get like, a few miles in, the hip/leg/knee pain would kind of numb itself out. But the act of getting my body to run was getting harder and harder. I think my gait was off. OK, everything was off.

Finally, as much as I wanted to run in the race, I realized I had to throw in the towel and finish rehab. My health was more important than my pride and I knew I couldn't compete.

On a day when I headed out just on a shorter 5-mile run, I couldn't even get my leg to lift up or hit a stride. It was time.

So there's my way-too-dramatic backstory of why I had to stop running.

Fast-forward to my move to California. Did I learn my lesson and finish my physical therapy?

Nope. Started running again in 2012. Forgot how bad it hurt. Quickly remembered. I think it was maybe a three-week stint before I gave up again.

Fast-forward to now: Have I learned my lesson and finished PT?

Nope. Ran a mile on the treadmill the other day just as a test and then was like, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUUUUUUUUU!"

I was just testing it, guys.

I did, however, go to the knee doctor recently and confirm I hadn't re-torn anything. They gave me a list of exercises I should be doing on the daily and told me to act fast because I've got some mean arthritis that's developed in my left knee. (You should hear it in the morning. It's SO loud and creaky. It sounds like ghosts).

So, they also told me to ease up on the yoga.

I hinted that this was a yogz story, remember?! A two-parter, apparently. Yoga has become my California THING over the past few years. Seriously, bikram calms me down like nothing else can. I mean, probably because I'm dying on the mat and you can't hyperventilate about work when you're DYING. But still. Bikram.

Part two follows ...