06.23.08
I couldn’t help but wonder …
… what other TV series is going to be made into a movie? I mean, there was Sex And The City, and in a few weeks is X-Files, and I just saw Get Smart this weekend. I’m not old enough to really remember the original series, but I enjoyed the movie. The dance-off scene is particularly hilarious! I recommend it if you want some light-hearted entertainment. Yup, that’s what I do nowadays. I’ve traded my tennis shoes for books, my tennis racket for movies. My game now consists of a virtual representation on Wii, where cute little characters without arms bounce up and down with melodic notes above their heads when they’ve won a point. Those crazy Japanese, I tell ya.
And also with all this freed up time, comes a lot of silence to contemplate. Things like, why do hot dogs come in packages of 6 but the buns in 8? (Thank you Ms. Degeneres) Or, if a tree falls in a forest, and there’s nobody around, does anybody really care? And of course, that annoying question, pertinent to all of us here, which may not have a clear answer: why did this happen?
Screwdiver asked me (don’t worry, Screwdiver, I didn’t forget about you, and thanks for the message btw): “if it did not happen the day it happened- is it just something waiting to happen, waiting for us to make a very forceful movement?” Like I said in my first post, I don’t know. When I chased after that dropshot, I wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. I’ve made that move hundreds of times before (whether my ball actually got to the other side of the net and dropped in, is another story). I’ve thought about some of the explanations, and I realized some of them don’t apply to me.
First off, I’ve read many entries from everybody which has this general story: I was starting to play XYZ again for the first time in a while. Did some stretches, warmed up a little, felt pretty good. About 10 minutes into playing, I turned, jumped, landed, did a triple Axel, whatever, and BAM! Emeril declared I ruptured my Achilles tendon.
This isn’t what happened to me. I’d been playing with my team for a few months already and prior to that, I was playing tennis weekly for the past year. Also, I ruptured my AT in the third set, after 2 hours of playing. My muscles were very loose already. I was hydrated. I still had plenty of energy. WTF, right?
Another common explanation I’ve read online is age. The middle-age weekend warrior. Or someone who is slightly older who realizes after this has happened that he or she isn’t 18 anymore. Let me start off by saying, I applaud everyone, no matter what their age, who makes an effort to benefit their health. I hope when I reach the age of some of our bloggers that I’m still attempting to be active. Now I must reveal that I’m 26. Last I checked, that’s not old. Maybe if I were an actress in Hollywood, that would be considered ancient, but in real life, I think I’m still relatively young. Heck, 50 can be young! Just look at Dorothy, Rose, and Blanche! So what gives?
Now I have a theory. Definitely not scientific. No double-blind testing. No control group. But it kinda goes along with what Sheila proposed regarding climbing the hills of my hometown, San Francisco. For the two weeks before I had my ATR, I felt like I was overdoing it a little. I ran 5 non-consecutive days on concrete, 5 miles each run. I went to an hour-long spin class twice. And I played tennis 4 times, averaging 2 hours on court each time. Now, I run, spin, and play tennis anyways, it’s just during those two weeks, I increased the quantity of each. But all three days before my AT-fatal match, my calf muscles were kinda tight and sore. I think this possibily led to my Achilles finally saying, “Who do you think you are? A male Jackie Joyner-Kersee?” Does putting a lot stress on your AT, like when Sheila scaled through SF, and then doing one forceful move, like when she managed to run down a passing lob, lead to ATR?
Maybe another explanation is wear and tear, because I’ve been running and playing tennis for awhile now … was something bound to go? I mean, you look at ATP and WTA players, and they never have concussions or dislocate their arms. But they do get injured pretty seriously because of years of grinding, and finally, one day, the body just says, “You’re either in, or you’re out. I’m out. Auf Wiedersehen!”
And of course, there’s the worst answer, which is bad luck. Like the Fates conspired against you, or Zeus himself struck you with his lightning bolt. I say it’s the worst answer because it prevents me from my goal in asking this “Why” question in the first place: to not let it happen again. I know that I might re-rupture if I keep running and playing tennis. I know that once something’s been broken, it’s never 100% again. It might be 99.99%, but I believe our chances of rupturing our AT again is higher than somebody’s who’s never ruptured their AT. So trying to understand “Why”, and prevention are very important to me. Unfortunately, this is a conversation I haven’t had with my doctor yet because I see him 5 minutes at a time. I will talk to him about it, but in the meantime, what’s everybody’s take? Anybody’s doctor have some meaningful insight?