Running on Empty

It’s been too long since I’ve done anything remotely active, and one thing is abundantly clear – It’s time for a change.

My current level of physical fitness is pitiful. I cannot recall the last time I felt as worthless about myself as I do now. I’m not sporting saggy man boobs or cottage cheese on my buttocks, but on the inside I feel like the ambassador of Hostess Twinkies.

The last time I conducted any type of physical activity was on or around the 29^th of January. A few days later, on February 1^st, I received my “routine” vasectomy, and I use the term routine very loosely. Nothing was ordinary about my vasectomy, at least not in my mind.

The recommended time off from physical exercise is anywhere from 1-2 weeks following a vasectomy. Due to the complications following my procedure I was instructed to stay away from the gym for at least a month, but that fast of a recovery was unrealistic barring world-class trainers and copious amounts of steroids. My situation placed me in a 2-3 month recovery, with hindrance to the most trivial day-to-day activities.

Despite my initial hesitance of surgery, I decided the surgical route to be the best choice after listening to my doctors. See, on one hand I could ride out the storm and let my body naturally absorb the swelling; or I could endure 2 more weeks of solid pain, and be roughly 80-90% at the end of week 2.

I had surgery on February 19^th so the doctors could remove a hematoma that was larger than a golf ball.

Recovery consisted of bed rest, and lots of it. Being that the pain was excruciating to simply walk to the bathroom, I openly embraced my newfound laziness. I was not about to further reinjure myself on account of being stubborn and thinking I knew more than the doctors.

I thought about exercising plenty though, I really did. However wishing for something doesn’t mean jack squat as far as physical appearance goes. Since my surgery, the most exercise I’ve done is walk up two flights of stairs. In the past month anytime I tried to be somewhat physically active, the misses would march me to the bedroom, throw some M&M’s at me, and order me to watch TV.

Since I began working out at the age of 14, this is the longest I’ve gone without any form of exercise. I’ve slacked off for a week or so in the past, but I always became so disgusted to let myself slip any further.

During the time I’ve been unable to exercise I realized how much I need physical activity to feel normal. In the last week I’ve been a shell of myself. My ambition has/is steadily dropping, and to describe my behavior as lethargic would be a compliment. Celia summed it up the best when she told me “get the poop out of your pants.”

If all goes according to plan I should be able to ease my way back into the gym this weekend. I know I will have to fight a strong urge to not push myself to the limit right out of the gate. For the past month I’ve been on a steady diet of M&M’s, Sour Patch Kids, Percocet, and Jack Bauer.

What would you do if you were me? Probably the same thing I’ll end up doing come Saturday – Try to get it all back at once. I know it will take some time until I’m back to my old self, but I do know one thing for sure. I’ll finally get the poop out of my pants and begin feeling better about myself.

And it’s about time!