Boy, things sure were funny a few weeks ago when I cracked jokes about my injured elbow. It is still sore, particularly this evening, thanks to a morning spent hauling my suitcase on and off a 6:36 a.m. train from Metropark, New Jersey, to Washington. Lifting this bottle of Yuengling to my mouth isn't that taxing on my strained (torn?) tendon, but I'm sure a 40-pound dumbbell would present more of a problem.

For the past four weeks, I refrained from working out in the hope that my elbow would heal. Without the gym, I feel lost. Control of my body is the only control I've felt in a very long time. I see guys on campus who I would once regularly see by the bench press, and now I'm envious of the perceived progress they've made in my absence. It's so hard to get back into a workout after abandoning it for so long, and it's going to be even harder getting back into it with an injured elbow.

I fear that I'll never be able to work out again. I will be frail and scrawny for the rest of my life, all because of a stupid sore elbow. For someone who hasn't even seen a doctor yet, I think too much. Which is why I'm scheduling an appointment tomorrow. There will be something glamorous about physical therapy, but only if I'm totally healed in the end. I'm afraid the doctor will say I have a torn tendon, but c'mon, what could I have done to cause that, and wouldn't it hurt a fuckload more?

I feel a bit better now, thanks to writing this entry. It's not funny or amusing or self-hating, but that's just the way things are going to be for a while.