One of the activities that keeps a smile on my funemployed face is exercise. Running, hiking, spinning, yoga and pilates are all favorites. In the face of the cleanse debacle (only 3 lbs lost over three weeks of starvation), I have committed to eating better and exercising so that I can feel good about my body.
A month ago, while in Connecticut visiting my family, I hurt my knee. I rested it for a week and then slowly went back into exercising. I ran 3 miles on Friday and since then, my knee has been on fire. Like, shorty burning on the dance floor fire. Enter orthopedist stage left.
No one at Cedars (my medical rest stop) took my insurance so I ventured out of the BH (Beverly Hills). I went to some shady orthopedic clinic too far from home. I did not like this. The place was like a factory. I couldn't pronounce my doctor's last name, but his first name is ORR. He was talking about how he didn't think I (k)needed (ha, I'm funny) an MRI because it's not like I had knee cancer. Um, what the hell is knee cancer? Turns out bone cancer which is more likely in kids. Deduct points for the overly dramatic Dr. CreatORR of KNEE-dless Panic.
Anyway, I assured him that there was no knee cancer in my family. He touched the sore spot, I winced and made fists with my hands and informed him that his touch made my knee feel like it was burning. He proclaimed that I have patella tendonitis, aka seriously pissed off knee tendon. No exercise for 2 weeks, physical therapy and topical Advil.
M*therf*ckORR just ruined my Jennifer-Aniston-body-in-30-days-exercise-plan.