Stunted Adults

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Just Call Me Jay-Z


Two weeks ago, my gallbladder got its drama on, up and left me in a very public fashion, and became an Internet sensation.  Thanks to the antics of the organ posthumously known as Kallbladder Kardashian, I was left with three stab wounds in my abdomen, a digestive system held together by duct tape and magic, and a world of pain.

During those first few days, I felt as if my life as I knew it was over.

I was exhausted.  I had no motivation.  And, it seemed impossible that I would ever be able to replicate the greatness that was my pre-surgery exercise and wine fueled lifestyle.

It was time for me to retire from the game.  It was time for me move on to running a record label, buying a sports team, and spending my days with Beyoncé.

I get you H-to-the-izzO V-to-the-izzA.  I GET YOU.

I get you 2003 H-to-the-izzO V-to-the-izzA. I GET YOU.

I was totally on board with the Jay-Z post-Black Album retirement plan.

But, then I realized that I knew nothing about the music industry and I didn’t have enough money to buy an NBA team. And, Beyoncé didn’t return my phone calls.

I know that you don't like the telephone, but it's me Bey.  IT'S ME!

I know that you don’t like the telephone, but it’s me Bey. IT’S ME!

My surgeon, however, did return my calls.  And, late yesterday afternoon, I met with him to assess how I was healing after surgery.

After he gave me a quick once-over and asked a few questions, I got down to brass tacks.

I asked with trepidation, “So, can I go back to normal?”

He responded, “Well, that depends on what normal is.”

I took a deep breath, and just let all of my weird fly.  If I was going to be forced into retirement, I was at least going to go down in flames.

I explained “Normal for me would involve running a marathon in less than 3 weeks, consuming wine in bottle serving sizes, eating a shocking amount of dessert, and having impromptu dance parties.  Can I go back to doing all of those things, preferably tonight?”

The surgeon stared at me in contemplative shock for several moments.  He took an audible deep breath.  Then he said “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but you appear to already be completely healed.  So, yes, you can do all of those things.”

WHAT?!  He actually said yes?!  I didn’t have to retire?!

I was not prepared for that answer.

Not knowing how to quit when I’m ahead, I asked “Are you sure? I really don’t have to retire?”

The surgeon paused, shrugged, and then responded, “Listen, I gather that you are the kind of woman who just does whatever she wants.  If I tell you no, you will just look for loopholes and badger me into saying yes.  And it’s late and I’m tired.  And, after a few weeks, you’re in better shape than most people are months after this surgery. So, you know what?  You win.  Do whatever you want.  We both know that you will anyway.”

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth twice, I said thank you, shook his hand, and got the hell out of his office before he changed his mind.

Like Stannis Baratheon, I will take my victories any way that I can get them.

Like Stannis Baratheon, I will take my victories any way that I can get them.

And then things took a turn for the amazing.

When I got home, I immediately threw on my running shoes, cranked up my favorite work-out playlist, and took off on a five-mile run at my pre-surgery training pace.  Why do things in moderation when you can be excessive?

Hello old friends.

Hello old friends.

Despite initially appearing to be a smidge over-ambitious, last night’s run was one of the best runs that I’ve had in a long time.  I literally felt like I was flying.  I was back and ready to make the marathon my bitch.

Apparently, it’s easier to run with stab wounds than with a failing organ.  Good to know.

I returned home from my run to an invitation from my neighbor to come over for dinner since he had made too much food for himself.  Given me new-found freedom from my post-surgery diet of water, jello, and plain bagels, I grabbed Country Boy and a bottle of wine and sprinted across the street.  Within a few hours, I had defeated a giant plate of BBQ, the bottle of wine, and at least half a package of soft batch chocolate chip cookies.  You know, just a light mid-week evening meal.

Hello other old friend.

Hello other old friend.

After that festival of gluttony, I felt absolutely fine.  Actually better than fine, because, well, wine and cookies.

Country Boy and I eventually made the long walk back across the street to our house.  I had planned to get going while the going was good and go straight to bed.

But then I heard the sweet, sweet sounds of a young Michael Jackson coming from the stereo that I had accidentally left on when we went to dinner.

And then I realized that he was singing my jam:

So, obviously I had to dance.  And I danced hard.  I spun.  I got low.  I slid across the floor.  I might have even twerked a bit.

When the song finished, I took stock of myself.

I was a bit sweaty, but, otherwise, I felt fan-f*cking-tastic.

I had run, I had pounded wine, I had nearly overdosed on cookies, and I had danced like a boss.

My retirement was officially over.

Just call me Jay-Z, because I’m back in the game and better than ever.



Author: PinotNinja

Writer at A reformed hooligan desperately trying, and generally failing, at the art of being a grown up.

43 thoughts on “Just Call Me Jay-Z

  1. If ever there was something that deserved a HUZZAH! it is this.
    I’m with you on everything except the 5 mile run. the bottle serving size of wine, yes. The plate of BBQ yes. Jamming to Michael Jackson yes. Cookies by the thousands yes.
    Glad to hear you are doing better.

    • Thanks so much! It was such a relief to finally feel like myself again. As they say, you can take the player out of the game but you can never take the game out of the player…

  2. Simply epic!!

  3. This was the perfect blog after a long day. Maybe a 5 mile run will do the same for me.

  4. Wtg Jay-Z. Great blog. Love it!

  5. Hooray for quick recoveries, Michael Jackson and alcohol 🙂

  6. Drinking wine by bottle serving sizes and spontaneous twerking? I think we might have been separated at birth.
    Fantastic news about your recovery.

  7. I absolutely love that your surgeon totally nailed you. No wait, not like that! :p I love that he just figured out YOU, and knew that he just needed to say YES so that he could get on with his life and you could get on with yours. And way to get on with it, girl. 5 mile run? Damn. You are super woman. If you ever pop out any crotchlings, you’re gonna be that woman who is back in the field picking cotton that afternoon, aren’t you? Crazy.

    • Hahaha! Who’s to say he didn’t want to nail me? My stab wound scars are pretty hot.

      Also hilarious. the term “crotchlings.” I spit water all over my desk when I read that and I am totally stealing it. As for post-crotchlings, if by “picking cotton that afternoon” you mean “sitting on the couch drinking all of the wine while pretending not to hear the crying,” then, yes, that will most likely be me.

  8. Glad you’re feeling better. once I recovered from the initial surgery having my GB out I felt like I was dying too, but then you feel so much better because that nasty diseasey organ is out!

    • Thanks! The recovery really picks up steam as it goes along, doesn’t it? For the first 3-4 days I felt horrible and as if I was getting worse instead of better. But then, on the fifth day, I abruptly started to feel much better. And, by two days after that, it was like nothing had even happened, and, now, I feel even better than I did before it all started.

  9. You really are making us look bad, PNinj. I got a paper cut the other day that still has me sidelined. That being said, I look forward to sharing two bottles of wine with you very soon.

    • It all depends on how badly you want it. I really wanted to run and drink wine, and this pesky surgery stood in my way. I’m guessing that your paper cut is only standing in the way of things you would rather not do. So, in that case, work that injury for everything its got. Maybe instead of a paper cut we should start referring to it as a paper gash? That sounds like it requires a longer recovery period as well as get well gifts.

  10. Brilliant. This post and your surgeon. That’s almost verbatim what I said to boom boom after she wanted to go running after back surgery. It didn’t turn out well for her so just make sure you at least listen to your body.

    Was thinking 50 cent may have been better because he was stabbed. Then I remember he got shot. And he never made it back on top like u…

    • Thanks! I will do my best to listen to my body, promise, but, really, how much damage can I do in the next 2 weeks?

      Yep, those are definitely some famous last words.

      50 Cent is reserved for when I decide to make the wise decision of buying Connecticut real estate from Mike Tyson. I feel like I’m always just a few bad decisions away from doing something like that.

  11. Ha! Good for you! I love both your and your surgeon’s thought processes. Just goes to show what being in good physical shape can do for you. You bounce back quicker after illness, surgery, childbirth, etc. So good on you!

    Congrats on the Freshly Pressed by the way. It was well deserved.

    • Thanks so much — the FP nod definitely made this whole gallbladder debacle much more worthwhile (you know, other than the bonus of ridding my body of a toxic organ).

      And, yes, this experience definitely put a big check in the pro column for working out. Whenever I lose my motivation, I will think about how much more difficult this would have been had everything else in my body not been pain-free and well-trained.

  12. Welcome back!! Kinda makes me want to take up running so I can eat and drink like you…but I think that would work a lot better if I had a friend who was willing to run behind me with a spider on a stick or something…I could maybe hide a bottle of wine somewhere and run toward it, but running from something would be more motivational for me at this juncture. Keep up the good work, Jay!

    • Thanks! And, trust me, wine and cupcakes are a huge motivator when it comes to working out, especially when I was first starting out. Do you know how my running buddy convinced me to train for a marathon with him? With these seven words: all the fettuccine alfredo that you want. Now I run because I love being outside, I love having hours to explore all the music on spotify, and I love the way it makes me feel. And also, on the days when I’m tired and don’t feel like it, I run because it means totally guilt-free dessert eating and wine drinking.

  13. Twerk on, sista. Twerk on.

  14. So glad you’re fit as a fiddle! (whatever that means).

    • Thanks! I don’t know what that means either. The only thing I can think of is that the fiddle plays that crazy Devil Goes Down To Georgia song and you have to be damn fit to do anything that fast and intense?

  15. This is good stuff. Congrats on the organ removal and the dance party. Not in that order. I got a cold after New Years which means I have had no wine in bottle sized servings in 2014. You are my inspiration and I will get back on the cask.

  16. You measure wine consumption by the bottle too? Seriously, why aren’t you geographically closer to me as we’d have epic dance parties/TV marathons/eating sessions ALL OF THE TIME.

    Seriously, though–you have an open invitation to hang out if you’re ever in CT. And I’m so thrilled that you are back in your groove and that your surgeon could figure out exactly what you needed to hear so you didn’t have to waste time you didn’t need to on more silly convalescing.

    • I KNOW! We will definitely make this happen, I promise. My brothers’ (both of them!) weddings have hijacked my trips to the good old nutmeg state this year, but by the fall I should be back to just long sojourns up there with nothing to do but come on over to your place and eat your ridiculous cooking.

  17. This is awesome. Thanks for the good laugh!

  18. Hahaha: Why do things in moderation when you can be excessive? This is one of the many reasons I love you. And thanks for the pro-tip about stab wounds vs. failing organs. That indeed, is good to know. If there are people who can hear Michael Jackson and resist the need to dance I don’t want to know them. But to the main point of this awesome post, I’m so glad you’re fully recovered! You’re a walking miracle. And your doctor is very smart. You’re totally going to make that marathon your bitch. Buh lieve it.

    • Thanks lady! I’ll have your command to make the marathon my bitch echoing in my head next weekend whenever the going starts to get a little tough. It’ll definitely get me through.

      Life is too short to be responsible and to not to dance to MJ. Those are truths.

  19. Pingback: monthly challenges recap: January edition | my year[s] of sweat!

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