(Image credit: Wikipedia.org)

First, I have a confession to make: I've been working out. But if you're not my Facebook friend, you likely wouldn't know it (and if you are my Facebook friend, I apologize for spamming your live feed with my annoying workout messages). For the most part, I've been doing it all secret-like in my office or bedroom, kind of like a teenager with a case of the late night porn itch.

(Come to think of it, it's a lot like porn: skinny, scantily-clad women on the screen working up a sweat, telling you to keep going, twisting themselves into... Well, anyway. I think I've made my point.)

I've been trying not to be too rah-rah about the whole exercise thing. I tend to get overzealous and fall head over heels for something new, then lose interest, much like the guy in high school who never called you back after you got to third base.... not that teenage me would have any experience with that (the jerk). When I make a small change in life I should just do it, do it regularly, and appreciate the results. This is what I've done this time, and it's been amazing. And It feels different. I love how strong I'm getting, how much energy I have, how I tore my calf muscle while kicking myself in the ass...

Oh, yes: the injury! I had almost forgot. I was in the middle of this wonderful exercise called a "butt kick." Basically, you have to run in place while kicking so high you whack yourself in the buttocks with your heels. It's not the most attractive thing in the world, but it does get the heart pumping. I'm not quite getting foot to ass yet, but nearly. In fact, I was trying ever so hard to reach my sizeable bum with my $200 running shoes, using their uberpadding to the fullest as I pushed myself off the floor and - POP! - there went the party.

Did you know calf muscles could making a popping sound? I sure as hell didn't. In fact, it wasn't the pain that made me cease and desist, it was the fact that my leg made the same sound as a champagne bottle on New Year's Eve. The pain only came after that awful sound in the form of a rather unpleasant cramp.

I'll skip the part where I cried in agony in the shower and hastily sent off a message to a friend of mine who knows a thing or two about working out. We'll ignore my visions of having to have my leg's innards surgically reattached, or the horror running through my mind as I pictured watching helplessly from the couch as my once-tidy house goes to shit while I recover from said surgical procedure. I won't even mention my fear of gaining back the weight I've undoubtedly lost (I don't weigh myself at all these days so as to not get hung up on numbers) and watching all the muscle mass I've worked so hard for turn into flab I simply don't need more of.

But I'm not dramatic or anything. And definitely not anxious or someone who skips ahead. Me and the Dalai Lama, staying in the present like the centered beings we are.

The good news: It doesn't look to be serious. I know this because it's been getting a little better every day. As per my friend's suggestion, I immediatley applied the R.I.C.E. technique: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation (I hope I got that right. If not, my botched memory created a whole new recovery system that worked anyway and maybe I have a future as a trainer).

Okay, I maybe lied a little bit. I only took care of myself after donning my Super Mom cape for a few hours. After my shower, I went to the grocery store, drove my sister and Gutsy somewhere, and took Spawnling to the park to play with his little friend Dalek. It was all going swimmingly - minus the part where painkillers did absolutely nothing for pain and I gasped in agony every time my calf muscle was stretched even the slightest amount - until Spawnling and his buddy decided to try to kill each other at the top of a very high play structure. They never fight -- well, hardly ever. They picked the one day I was crippled and Dalek's fairly pregnant mom was the only other adult at the park. They attacked each other ten feet off the ground, surrounded by four long slides and two openings fit for bone-crunching falls.

Fan-freaking-tastic. What on earth was I supposed to do?

After yelling at them to stop failed miserably, I rushed up to the top as quickly as I could, narrowly avoiding my now tattered Super Mom cape getting tangled up in the monkey bars. It was only once the boys were on the ground sobbing and tending their wounds with retracted claws that I felt an intense surge of major ouch. When I got home, I told the kids that mommy was done for the day. There would be no fetching of favours, no snack acquisitions. They were on their own until their dad got home from work.

Gutsy pushed the ottoman up to the armchair, put a pillow on it and carefully lifted my leg. He then grabbed an ice pack and a cold drink and handed them to me. "Are you alright, mommy? Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked kindly, and stroked my cheek. Later, he, Intrepid and Geekster took orders, formed a sandwich assembly line, and delivered a late but very yummy dinner. The even did the dishes.

See? The family can survive without me -- for at least 12 hours! I was mostly back on my feet by the following morning, getting things done one limp at a time. I am nowhere near ready to start kicking my own ass again, but I did get a great upper body and abs workout done yesterday. Soon, I'll try walking a block or two, and then hopefully a little ways longer. By next week I hope to jog, and then I'll tentatively (and a little fearfully) resume my regular exercise routine that involves a fair bit of things that can apparently make Maven's muscle go "Pop." Yikes.

Injury sucks. However, it's reminded me just how grateful I am to be this healthy and mobile; all the more reason to keep working hard, getting stronger and healthier.

Oh, and hotter. Yes, I'm definitely getting hotter and really buff. If you know me in real life and I haven't asked you to feel my bicep yet, consider yourself lucky. I've been making everyone touch it. I expect a flood of restraining orders to start coming in soon.

Look, just fondle my arm, ok? Don't make me hobble after you.