(If you've never heard of the term before, hammy is sometimes used as slang for the hamstring muscle)
I'm not entirely sure how, but during my shed-building adventure, I somehow managed to hurt my hamstring. It was a very mild injury, since I didn't even notice it until the next day. In fact, I didn't even notice it until the work day was over on the next day. Clearly, this was not a life-changing injury. Still, something didn't quite feel right in my leg.
In fact, I started suspecting an actual injury after heading down to the gym and talking to the trainer that was on-hand. After some quasi-diagnosis at the check-in counter, we figured that it wasn't just a bruise, but more likely a mild strain. That made sense given what I felt in the afternoon, but it was still a little disheartening. Injuries are never fun, but the worst part was that the trainer told me to be very cautious. Any kind of jerky or explosive movements were off limits, and even the things like cardio should be a step slower. Bummer.
Worse yet, after I sauntered in to the locker room, I discovered that I had actually forgotten my gym gear at home. I know that the injury wasn't to blame for my memory miscue, but I couldn't help but think that this recovery period was off to a bad start.
Of course, I've learned to roll with a punch or two, so I figured this was actual, verbal approval for me to baby my injury. In short, I had permission to be a wuss. Amused by my realization, I took to social networking sites with my news. I quickly discovered that many of my friends had both quick wits and zero qualms about letting me have it. The comments included the following, slightly paraphrased:
I'm not entirely sure how, but during my shed-building adventure, I somehow managed to hurt my hamstring. It was a very mild injury, since I didn't even notice it until the next day. In fact, I didn't even notice it until the work day was over on the next day. Clearly, this was not a life-changing injury. Still, something didn't quite feel right in my leg.
In fact, I started suspecting an actual injury after heading down to the gym and talking to the trainer that was on-hand. After some quasi-diagnosis at the check-in counter, we figured that it wasn't just a bruise, but more likely a mild strain. That made sense given what I felt in the afternoon, but it was still a little disheartening. Injuries are never fun, but the worst part was that the trainer told me to be very cautious. Any kind of jerky or explosive movements were off limits, and even the things like cardio should be a step slower. Bummer.
Worse yet, after I sauntered in to the locker room, I discovered that I had actually forgotten my gym gear at home. I know that the injury wasn't to blame for my memory miscue, but I couldn't help but think that this recovery period was off to a bad start.
Of course, I've learned to roll with a punch or two, so I figured this was actual, verbal approval for me to baby my injury. In short, I had permission to be a wuss. Amused by my realization, I took to social networking sites with my news. I quickly discovered that many of my friends had both quick wits and zero qualms about letting me have it. The comments included the following, slightly paraphrased:
- "Not having permission never stopped you from being a wuss before"
- "Baby it, spoon feed it, do whatever it is you need to do, but you need to be ready to run when I'm back."
- "Whatever, you still have an upper body. Exercise that, and quit yer whining."
My friends sure do like to keep me on my toes. The best part was what happened when I was over at a friend's place explaining myself. I told him I could still work out, but that certain movements were a bad idea. His reply was classic, "no jumping or Olympic lifts? I don't know what I'd do with myself." He was being sarcastic, of course. No love for the injured brown kid, I tell you.
It's going to be an interesting two weeks or so of recovery.
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