O, mighty muscle, I miss you

Growing up, I was always skinny. Stick legs, jutting out hips, razor butt bones. I was like a little gnat that couldn't stop moving. Once I hit high school and puberty (late), I was diagnosed with Type I, juvenile diabetes- right before soccer season started sophomore year. I started to put on a little more weight, but also, muscle. It wasn't until after college and the journey into my mid twenties that I have been able to achieve my "derby" body.

Now, don't get me wrong. My thighs have always been somewhat formidable relative to my size. The future destination for me, trite words meant to sum up our attributes as we left high school, was to "kick ass." This was a compliment, but I wasn't sure where it would apply.

(picture on left, 1 wk before injury; picture on right, I'm the one on the right in the pink sweater)

For the last three years, my goal has been this very thing. Derby. Skating faster. Better. I even have grandiose dreams that the sport will make it to the Olympics someday. I was on my way to travel team, thereby kicking ass across the country.

For the last three weeks, I have watched my legs shrivel to their former peg-like quality. I've lost 20 pounds of muscle and 5 inches from my left thigh (3 from my right). The hardest part of this injury is not the healing process, albeit slow, or the sitting still, painful, true, but that I have to watch my body deteriorate every step of the way.

I know what you think. All of my energy is going into healing my bones. That obsessively measuring my thighs may not be the best thing to focus on. That I'm exaggerating. That I started out with more muscle than most, so what harm would it be to lose some? I'll gain it back in no time! All of these things I know to be true. Thank you. This does not sway my alienation nor my rage at forced resignation. Leg lifts don't help much, I've tried.

This post is for my thigh. My left one in particular. O, mighty muscle, I miss you.