So, I was at the health club about two weeks ago. I was totally getting into the routine of working out 3 to 4 times a week, and I was starting to feel really good about myself.
Then I, like the complete maniac I am, decided it was a good idea to put the pin into the bottom plate on the leg-lift machine. You know, the one that Russian weightlifters use to build up their massive thighs?
Well, I found out that my leg muscles are stronger than my knee joints by a factor of, oh, I dunno, a MILLION?
The fact that while I did ten reps before I noticed a funny sensation that closely resembled pain should say something about my lack of instinct for self-preservation. Because I struggled to finish the set, while repeating to myself that age-old lie about "No Pain, No Gain". I truly felt like I must have been gaining a lot.
Wrong-o you dummy! Because the next day I noticed a little swelling about the right knee. It didn't hurt much, it just felt tight as hell. In fact, I even spent a good amount of time shooting hoops in my driveway, although I was running a little funny to retrieve the basketball. Yeah, I'm smart.
By the middle of the next week I realized I'd fucked up my knee something serious. I started applying heat, ice, Ace bandages, and anything else I could think of to try and make it start healing. When those didn't provide immediate results, I liberally applied single-malt scotch in frequent doses. It didn't do shit for my knee, but I started not caring as much about it.
Today's Thursday; thirteen days since I wrecked it. My knee has finally stopped clicking when I walk, and the swelling only happens when I overdo the stairs or walking about. My floating kneecap has settled back into more or less it's original position. I'm thinking maybe another week or ten days and I'll be able to go back to the gym. And start from absolute fucking scratch.
But I'll be careful. Because if this happens again, I can only guess where my next stop would be: