After injuring an already bad knee, I'm determined to keep going.
Osteoarthritis has done its damage.
Then, last weekend, I did it. I injured myself.
My knee has been fussy lately anyway.
Knees locking up, bone on bone, and osteophytes tangling with a whole mess of knee matter, a.k.a. ligaments, trust me, it's no fun.
I yell more than I ought. Yelping, yelling, whatever.
I could give up. It would be so easy to just sit there in a chair.
I have babied my knee. I do it on purpose. I want it to stop hurting me, or rather, I want to stop hurting it, so I stop hurting.
But that's not the plan.
I'm waiting to hear more from the surgeon who's looking at my knee. But in the meantime, I'm planning. I'm planning on eating well and burning calories in the one way I can, in the pool.
I may have to hobble my way to the water, but I'll get there.
If I let an injury keep me down, my chances of getting back up at this weight (415.2 pounds), are slim. So I must get up and I must dust myself off and I must continue on no matter what.
Victory is the only option. I must lose that weight!