tormenting my inner peace

Last night I hit a mental and emotional wall. I wanted to cook dinner for sprite, who was fresh back from a weekend in Connecticut. Seems fairly routine, right?

Problem: I can’t fill a big pot with water in which to cook corn. I need help, I ask for it.

I feel defeated and depressed.

Under normal circumstances, I have two sure-fire ways of finding inner peace, a release from day-to-day stress: cycling and cooking. In winter, you can add alpine skiing to the list.

But now, with my left shoulder (and, by association, my whole left arm) out of commission, I can’t escape to either. My bikes torment me from their rack. The pots and pans glisten on their hangars, the chef’s knives await in their block, but I can only look at them.

Sure, I can cook a few, simple things. Rice is within reason, as is a simple sautée. I can make coffee, thanks to sprite’s rearrangement of the shelves that brought the coffee maker down from above-the-head heights. The microwave is also fair game.

But I can’t really enjoy the pleasure of cutting onions to a nice julienne, or mixing a big pot of chili and having full command of our tiny kitchen. I worry about my arm not working, or getting in the way. I can’t use my left hand for anything, which is tough because it’s my dominant hand. The oasis that is cooking is now, to my psyche, a place where I no longer have command, or even a place in the ranks.

Same goes for my bikes. I feel the need to ride, to feel the wind across my face, arms and legs. I want to build up a sweat as I use all the muscles in my legs, glutes and back to fight up the steepest hills. I thirst for the adrenaline of speeding down a long hill, having just conquered the pass on the way up. I long to hear the chain interface with the cogs, front and rear, listening for minute creaks that indicate torque (or need of lube).

Yet they sit, hanging on their racks. I can’t even take them down from their perches to wash them, as they are too large and cumbersome (and our hallway too cramped) for me to safely take them down with one good hand. And my road bike could use some TLC: a good wash, some wheel repair, a new chain, etc. My mountain bike wants to be ridden, its strong frame and knobby tires not seeing as much action these days. My skis even taunt me from behind the bikes, reminding me of wintertime fun that’s too far away.

I guess I need to find a new release for the time being. But it’s very, very tough to see the things I desperately want (and, at some level, need – I’m not afraid to call myself an addict of cycling, skiing and cooking), knowing that I can “only look, not touch.”

I have options. I can start skethcing again (sprite’s wonderful suggestion), provided I can find a non-stressful setup for my sketchbook (i.e. one that won’t strain my still-delicate shoulder). Video games (Shelley’s suggestion) are okay, too, though I think I’ll need to wait until I have a little more shoulder mobility. I’ve found that walks are okay, though having my arm in a sling causes me to tweak my back if I walk too long (my center-of-gravity is just a tiny bit off). And then there’s the idea of getting a stationary trainer to which I can attach my road bike and ride many virtual miles out on the sidewalk (or in the apartment, though I’d rather be outside).

I think what worries me the most right now is the unknown: how well will my shoulder heal? How long will it take to get back to some semblance of normal? Will it be a big bother traveling to England with my shoulder in a compromised state?

While I like the quest for the unknown, when it hit such a personal level, it can be very frightening. And right now, I just want some more concrete answers.