i feel bad about my calf
on minor injuries & my ego
I’ve always been a big fan of spin classes. While I don’t own a Peloton, I do own a stationary bike, which I use while I follow Peloton spin classes streaming on my iPad. It’s likely cringe-y to a lot of other people, but I enjoy it. I have instructors I follow, playlists I enjoy. It gets me moving several days per week. And when work gets especially stressful, I find spin to be an excellent release of tension and stress.
But, as the previous semester started to heat up, I did something to my calf. What exactly, I don’t know. All I knew was that every time I stretched my calf, it created a sharp pain. And stretching your calf is…well…it’s kind of the point of spin classes.
At first, I was certain I was overthinking it. I didn’t want to make excuses for myself or fall out of the habit of exercising. So I tried to work out through the pain. Specifically, I pushed myself to take a really tough 45-minute spin class because I was stressed from work and I just needed to let out some steam.
This was a mistake.
My calf seized up. The first few days, walking more than a block resulted in a needling burning sensation. It was winter time, aka Doc Martens season, and not even my trusty boots could provide me with comfort. I applied tiger balm so liberally the bedroom reeked of it. I mastered the art of piling up pillows and blankets to elevate the calf, in a desperate attempt to make the pain go away faster.
Your calves, in turns out, are pretty instrumental in—well—every kind of movement. Walking, sure, but also lifting heavy things, and leaning down to pet your dog, and, like, not slipping and falling on an icy sidewalk.
If I’m being honest, I didn’t handle it well. I already loathe winter, and I especially hate feeling so confined during the cold months. I felt like I was finally making progress in regards to my body, both my stamina and my strength. I was being inundated at work and none of my other outlets could release the physical tension. It did not take long until I turned into a grumpy, angry mess. And I was, of course, anxious as all hell on top of that.
There wasn’t a real way to reckon with all that anxiety without exercise.
I’ve never considered myself “athletic,” and so while injuries might be inevitable for athletic people, it felt as if I had done something horribly wrong. I was not an athlete, and therefore nothing I’m doing should be considered too physically wild.
But I’d come to a precipice, a place in which I’d stumbled upon a physical limitation. And while I knew those existed within me, the confirmation that I’d pushed too hard was difficult to accept.
And let’s clarify the stakes here. By the standards of, say, a pro athlete, this was an extremely pedestrian injury. Just something strained, nothing permanent or in need of true medical intervention. This wasn’t something chronic or lifelong. In other words: I was having some big emotions about something very minor. I was being a Big Ol’ Baby.
But I’d come to rely on an exercise routine to keep me emotionally stable, particularly during the busy months. I always hated when folks said that “exercise helps with anxiety,” as if doing jumping jacks will somehow make serious and legitimate problems go away. But it was not until I had to take a few weeks off from much of any movement at all that I realized just how much exercise was doing for my moods, which I’d taken for granted. So much of my day-to-day stability, it turns out, relied upon my ability to sprint along to Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” or DMX’s “X Gon Give It To Ya” for 30 - 45 minutes at a time.
As much as I resented this forced break from spin, it did of course force me to consider other forms of movement. Upper body strength and core strength, of course. The subtle movements associated with gentler forms of yoga. Stretching, yes, as well as mobility training. It wasn’t the sweatfest I longed for, but it was movement regardless. And I had to force myself to be ok with that, at least temporarily.
I have completely recovered. I just take extra care of my calves and make sure to stretch them a bit extra. I am extra grateful for their ability to push, pull, and jump; for their ability to stay elastic with all I throw at them. But I suppose I am also extra thankful for what movement has, and continues to do, for my anxiety. And I intend to try and keep my calf, or whatever other muscle tries to act up, in line to support that mission for as long as I can.