Broken

My thumb is broken. Well, its in two pieces that are binded together with two pins drilled straight across my thumb. I’m sick of feeling broken. I’m tired of being cramped in my house watching my family go out and play. It’s incredible what a break of such a tiny bone can do.

I’ve got the company of four dogs laying around the room and the Tour de France entertaining me on the tube.

Yesterday I stood up, walked a couple paces and collapsed to the floor. I called to my mom, “Thanks for the low blood pressure!”

Being prepped for surgery last Thursday, one of the machines surrounding me began beeping, whining that my heart rate was too low. I must be dead, 48 beats per minute and dropping.

I’m so happy for the way my body has performed and the first two decades of my life have been. But I am sick of being kept from doing what I love to do when nothing within me mentally or emotionally dictates that I should slow.

I am excited to possibly race 3sports triathlon with a cast on. Of course I wish I could have done my best but the drag on my arm and the time off from training will be my pitfall. I know I can earn a podium position and with what I have been through these past couple weeks I will not be disappointed.

I have struggled to fill the void in my day that work and training filled before. Mostly I have commited my time to eating and watching t.v. I definitely am not proud of what I have not accomplished but I only have to maintain my sanity till Friday and hopefully I’ll be back training hard, prepping for the Age Group National Championships in Alabama in September.

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