Hot or Cold

Remember when I wrote about my first ride with the club in a couple years?  It was so bloody hot that weekend.  It took forever to cool down from the hot sun when we arrived.  The trip home was even hotter.  Every time we stopped and I took off my helmet, my hair was soaking wet.  Well, this weekend we headed up to northern Minnesota.  Not so hot this weekend.  It was only 63 degrees, cloudy and windy when we rode into town.  After the lunch stop, I forgot to put my gauntlet gloves on.  I was leading the pack and didn’t want to make everyone pull over just because I forgot to put my gloves on. So I rode the last hour with bare hands and wind blowing up the arms of my jacket.  Since I was using my cruise control to keep a constant speed, I took turns with my left hand and right hand to warm them up on the engine behind my legs.  I was glad to get into town.  By the time we went to dinner, it was 59 degrees.  It rained a bit while we were in the restaurant, so wet seats when we headed back.  

So now, I’m sitting at the house we rented for the weekend with the rest of the club watching a movie.  We turned up the heat when we got back. I look around and everyone has their shoes off, some barefoot.  Three of them in short sleeve shirts.  I’m still wearing my boots, chaps, three layers of shirts, my leather jacket and my rain jacket. But nothing is coming off until I really warm up.  Typing is even difficult, because my fingers are still stiff from the cold and having been wrapped around the handle bars.

But once again, any day on the motorcycle is a good day.  The weather is all a part of the experience.  

So, why am I telling you all this?  Got me.  I have to get my blog written and wasn’t sure what I was going to write about.  So here we are.  I’m still trying to figure out if I have anything more to say today.

I guess I could tell you about my conversation with Alice yesterday.  Once again, it was time for me to own what’s going on with me.  I found myself in an old familiar place that really wasn’t all that comfortable, but I guess I was escaping the pain for a while, so I stayed there.  Every morning, I’ve been getting up, relatively ready to face the day.  But after three months on crutches and not working out, I have lost a lot of strength.  Two days ago, Alice and I went to work out and by the time we walked to the locker room, I could hardly take a step without pain and my leg just didn’t want to work.  Alice asked if I was up to it, answered her own question, grabbed my workout bag and said we’re out of here.  It was a long trip back to the truck.  I just couldn’t walk without a lot of pain at each step. Fortunately, I’m just that much taller than her, wrapped my left arm around her shoulder and limped back out to the truck.  By late afternoon, I’m done.  

When I’ve been getting back to the house after visiting my husband, it’s like I have no energy left to do anything.  That night, I sat in the garage where I could smoke and played on my tablet for hours as I had been doing almost every night. I tried to talk myself into getting up, going into the house and getting something done.  Lord knows things needed to be done…two loads of laundry still laying on the bed-not put away, bills that need to be paid, work to do for the non-profit, dinner to eat.  But, I sat there until bedtime, accomplishing nothing.  I knew I was in trouble, but couldn’t figure out what I was going to do about it.  I wasn’t even sure what was going on in my head.

In the conversation with Alice the next morning, I realized I had sunk into the same emotional pit from chronic pain and grief that I had been in last fall before I got off the narcotics and started physical therapy and working out.  Between the six weeks of walking the hospital halls when my son was in the hospital and physical therapy, I had gotten strong enough that my hip wasn’t as painful and I could actually function in my life better while waiting for my surgery.  I finally got approval from the insurance company and will have my surgery in September.  So, if I’m going to be able to function until then and have a better chance of recovery, I’ve got to get back in shape and quit sitting around smoking and doing nothing.  Taking care of my pain and grief is necessary, but I can’t keep wallowing in it.  Life goes on.

So, having finished my writing, even my fingers have warmed up.  Time to shed a few layers and get ready for bed.