Gettin' Nervous

So remember how a week or two ago I was all like, "I'm getting so totally buff and in shape and I like to be sore because I'm tough like that and also awesome."  Yeah, well, I've fallen off of that bandwagon.  Ever since Sidekick Sister has had a date on her surgery my work-out motivation has plummeted like I think I'm in my first trimester of pregnancy or something.  I was going to run a half-marathon at the end of April.  I was signed up and excited - the whole sha-bang.  Then the tablecloth got pulled out from underneath me and boy has it rattled my teacups.  But I'm thinking if I get a good, firm, "Get over it Jessica," I should be able to get my shoelaces tied and patter down my country road at least a few more times.  Anybody got a, "Get over it Jessica," out there for me?

And maybe, just maybe, there's something deeper going on here.  I'm getting a little bit nervous about what is coming up.  And to talk about running a little bit more, anticipating this surgery is kind of like anticipating a marathon.  I know it's coming, and I know it's what I wanted to come, and I know I'm going to be euphoric when it's all done, but that doesn't happen to take the middle of it away.  And I know the middle can be uncomfortable as heck - watch out - yep, I said uncomfortable as heck.

So in a way I blame my not running on the fact that all of my mental powers are going toward keeping myself relaxed until I'm up to my neck in leg braces and PT exercises.  I'm doing everything I can to stay light on my feet while chanting, "You can do this, you can do this," to myself.

Don't think that the selfishness of these thoughts is lost on me.  I'm not the one that's going to have a broken leg for three months.  I'm not the one that's going to be feeling the actual pain.  I'm not the one that is going to be told by scary strangers to move my leg this way and then spin it around that way.  I'm not going to get x-rays and pokes and any numbers of prods.  I know who is really going to be uncomfortable in a couple weeks.

And man, how I wish that it was going to be me instead.