My dear friend, Cody, has turned me into a bodybuilding.com MISC follower so this entire tale of woe is all his fault. Just kidding, of course. Reading these forums frequently (and I do), you tend to pick up the popular phrases and lingo of the site. I find myself often telling ignorant people to "pls go" and cockily challenge people to "come at me, bro". It is entertaining and informative. It is ridiculous and addictive. It is all fun and games until a "bro" actually does "come at you"...
In a large, extended-cab Dodge truck going 80mph.
Yep. I recently met an obese redneck who took the "Don't Dodge it, Ram it!" bumper sticker to heart. Well, I didn't actually meet him. I was unconscious in my totaled, smoking BMW. He was probably stuffing beer cans under his front seat while lamenting that his Friday night watching moths hit the bug zapper was officially ruined. So sorry my near-death blew your weekend, Bubba.
Anyways, so that is the story. I was in the worst car wreck ever and I'm VERY lucky to be alive. I remember little about the wreck other than the poor young girl who held my neck/head in place while they removed me from my car, the smoke, and lying on the stretcher thinking, Welp! There goes any competitions in 2012, if ever. I left the ER wearing an arm sling and nursing two cracked ribs, a clavicle broken in multiple places, and a scapula that looked like shattered glass. I was heartbroken. In a matter of seconds, I went from an athlete deep in contest prep to a woman drugged on pain pills that couldn't even put her own hair in a ponytail. I couldn't even sit up after laying flat without William pulling me into an upright position. I had to rely 100% on friends and family to bathe me, fix meals for me, and even tie my shoes. I was helpless and miserable.
In the passing days, I made small milestones as my body mended and healed. Yes. My legs are now shaven again. Thank the lawd! I was starting to feel like a true Austin hippie complete with slightly musty odor and the v-neck tee sans bra. Ewww. I can shower myself. I can cook. I can throw my hair in a baseball hat by myself. Great. Now what?
Time to start kicking ass again. Come at me, world.
Now, I know my limitations...sort of. I know that it isn't feasible to try to compete in my original show choice in August, the Europa in Dallas. Hmmm... Okay, so some simple math here: I've suffered a setback of about six weeks. Mmmmkay...so I'll just do a show six weeks from the August one. Do I need a little downtime? Nah. I've read all my Hunger Games books. Let's do this. I'm back to prove that I might be broken, but I'm far from beaten.
In the meantime, as I heal and recover, I will devote my passion and efforts to something that has become as fulfilling as competing myself: coaching others on their way to competition fighting form. I think I have a knack at this considering that Mr. "Swole" Cole Miller has swept every show he has ever entered and will surely get his pro card at the Junior Nationals in Vegas. The pride I feel when I see his success is POWERFUL. I love it. I also have helped Cody "The Prince of Peanut Butter" Hill gear up for his physique debut at The Adela Garcia Classic in three short weeks. He will rock it, no doubt about it.
Note to self: Yep. He needs a new bodybuilding nickname. Something about abs and chocolate so it fits him well. Hmmm...
So, that is it. Surgery tomorrow. Time to rest, recover, and help those I love excel in this incredible sport. You'll see me onstage very soon. I promise.
I'll be the one with the titanium clavicle in the sparkly Band-Aid of a bikini winning first overall.
"What doesn't kill you makes you STRONGER."
