Savage
“Give me another one,” Mack, the physical therapist the team has sent to work with me, encourages as I lift a much smaller weight than I’m used to with my still-healing knee. Grunting loudly, I give him what he’s asking for. “Does that hurt?”
“No,” I shake my head. “Just uncomfortable.” He hands me a water bottle and I suck that shit down like I’ve been in the Sahara for months. Even if it doesn’t hurt, it’s still very much a workout for me. “God, when is this gonna get easier?” It’s a blow to my ego that I can’t do what I’ve been doing in the past. Stupid me thought that a few weeks into this I’d be much further along.