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Six weeks ago I had surgery to repair a torn labrum in my hip (in more technical terms, the surgeon took some sort of sharp thing and some screws or something to strap down that bad boy and then a grinder thing to scrape off a bony protuberance on my femur that was causing all the problems in the first place. Sorry for all the jargon). My surgeon, who loves this sort of stuff, showed me a slideshow of the entire operation, as seen from the inside of my hip. This is not a point of view I'd considered before.

Today I got permission to completely ditch the crutches and start exercising on a stationary bike, jumping rope,  as well as engage in some light jogging, which, as Will Ferrell reminds us in Anchorman, is sort of when you just run for an extended period of time. Sounds so easy.

I've never had surgery before, and I hope to never have it again. I also never want to be on crutches again (to those of you shouting, "Come on, what's wrong with crutches? They're glorious!" I know, I know, but they're just not for me). Now the recovery begins. It's hard to believe that I devolved from setting a personal record in a half-marathon last December to today, when I'm struggling to walk down my block and back. But I know that many people have it much worse than I do, and I also know I'll be running once again.

Regardless of my progress, I made sure to get a doctor's note informing whoever may be concerned about such things that I probably shouldn't be washing dishes or mowing the lawn or in general cleaning up after myself anytime soon. The tragedy, oh, the tragedy.



 


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    A former student and teacher of philosophy, I write a daily stock market/humor column for a major financial organization from my home base north of Austin, Texas. If I find any words lying around after deadline, I stuff them into a novel-in-progress. It turns out that these are usually the wrong words.

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    May 2013