It is hilarious to me that the last thing I wrote about was how I overwhelm myself with the amount of things I want to write about that I end up not writing anything at all, then wrote nothing again for two months after that. I highly suspect it’s because four days after I wrote that blog, my son came home from school with two goldfish. It’s been a mad scramble to learn about fishkeeping in this house. Friends, over the last two months we have ended up with three tanks and nine fish all in all. What happened? I cannot even begin to explain. But it has been so fun getting into this hobby and it has led to some inner healing, which I’ll probably maybe someday over the rainbow write about.

But the other thing that got me stuck is my stupid, decrepit right knee. I know it’s really unfair of me to be mad at my knee since this is all my fault, but I’m mad at it anyway. I’m mad that I spent many, many years dancing my heart out in clubs, houses, stages, weddings, parties, and studios, and like a fool acted invincible. Every time my knee would swell up, I’d ice it, rest it for a few days, and then go on with the careless behavior of someone who dances like no one’s watching. Repeatedly my knee would swell, and repeatedly I ignored it and refused to see a doctor. Why? I don’t know. Youthful folly? Arrogance? Laziness? It always seemed to get better, so I figured it was probably okay, right? WRONG.

Many years and additional pounds later, I decided to get back on track with my fitness and started playing pickleball. You know, the sport created by a bunch of dads who wanted a game they could play with their kids. I couldn’t quite stop my momentum and twisted my leg awkwardly. I knew something happened in my knee, but felt okay enough to play a couple more games after that. A COUPLE MORE GAMES!!!! Who did I think I was??? And what is wrong with my pain receptors??? That twist was enough to give me grade 2 tears on my LCL and MCL (outer and inner knee ligaments). When I came home from that open play, I knew something was seriously wrong. I had never felt swelling that bad. I could not bear any weight on my right leg. There was no pain, but there was no strength either. Finally decided I was too old to be stubborn and went to see my friend who is a rehab doctor. Aside from the torn MCL and LCL, he suspects even my PCL is torn (the counterpart of the ACL). So today, I have to get an MRI done.

Dear reader. I am claustrophobic. Heavy traffic makes me hyperventilate because I feel trapped on the road. I cannot be held in a tight embrace for long because I feel like I will run out of air. It’s not a fun phobia. So imagine what an MRI does. I tried to get one done a few years ago, but I was unprepared for the tightness and the noise of the machine and the music in the headphones. All of it was just too much and I panicked and cried and hyperventilated. They let me calm down and try again three times during that one session, because I told myself I could power through. Surely my mind was stronger than my fear. It was not. They sent me home, and I cried to my husband on the phone like a broken hearted teenager. It was an ordeal I never wanted to go through again. Life had other plans though.

My doctor told me that weight loss was necessary for my joint health, and I told him, yes I know. That’s what I was trying to do with the whole pickleball thing. Irony at its finest. I am painfully aware of the weight I’ve gained, but the thing is, I am happy with myself whatever weight I’m at. It’s both a bad and good thing. We all know it’s bad because of the health implications, but good because I know my confidence is not based on things that fade and falter. I told my husband I needed to dig deep for the motivation to get fit again, because being thin just didn’t do it for me. So dig I did, deep I went.

I imagined my life as an old woman. What did I want that to look like? I wanted it to be full of long walks with my husband, hikes with my kids, running after my grandkids. I imagined myself independent of any one else for movement, for living, for doing. I imagined overseas trips with my girlfriends and carrying my own luggage. I saw my life full of service in the church, even in my old age, strong and energetic. Also, I imagined it full of dancing—in clubs, streets, parties, weddings, stages. I would dance to heaven, if I could. If I wanted that life to come true, I need to watch my health, and I needed to get that MRI done. So that we can treat my knee, and so I can kneel down in prayer without needing someone to help me get back up.

I recognize that this has gone all over the place. What am I even talking about? I guess my brain hasn’t really worked through all of the things that have taken place over the last couple of months. And maybe this is me anxiously babbling before an activity that will test my will. My best case scenario is that I fall fast asleep and it will go by like a breeze. I’m doing this for that beautiful, wrinkly version of me, the old lady who can still climb mountains. Hopefully she gets to look back on this day, read this crazy blog entry, and feel very proud of the 40-year-old version of herself.

Say a prayer for me, I’m off to the races!