It Sucks to be Old. . .so I've Heard.

Yesterday I had yet another visit with my orthopedist.  She has a vacation home in the Keys, so I'm sure I have many more visits ahead of me.

The foot is still broken.  Curse you, Fifth Metatarsal!  Curse you, Spring Nut!  I have had this broken bone since August 4th, and I am moving from impatience to fear to hopelessness.

As God is my witness, I will never step on a nut again!

"Is it possible that I won't be able to run anymore?" I tearfully asked the doctor.

She winced.  "You should never ask a doctor if anything is possible.  Of course it's possible.  Do I think that will happen?  Probably not."  Last time I talked with her she had said she didn't think I'd need surgery either. . .look what came of that.

I have a CT scan in two weeks and a followup to interpret the results the week after that.  The doctor says the fact that I have very little pain is favorable, and she would like to allow the foot to heal on its own, even as slowly as it's going.  If the scan shows that the foot is not going to heal, and I don't know how someone can get that information from a scan, then I will have no choice--surgery it will be.

This is EXACTLY how my foot will look after surgery.

Looks like the Cleveland Half and the Medina Half may be out.  I wonder if Akron will let me defer another year?

I wonder if I can get police protection for my loved ones?  How will they survive this?

Walking but not Running

I've been walking.  My orthopedist has said that I'm allowed.

Before I became a runner, I used to walk almost every day.  My friend (who at the time was my neighbor) and I used to get up early on days off work and go walking on a trail by my house.  It was so peaceful and beautiful.  The hills on the path really worked my glutes and my legs, and at the end of four, five, or six miles, I felt exhilarated.

There have been days when I would run that same path and think, "Wow, I wish I were walking again.  That was really nice."

I am here to say that I was wrong. Walking when you wish you could run is pure torture.  Trying to get a cardio workout in by walking like a damned duck sucks out loud.  While I have never been self-conscious about how I look when running (even though I will never run like a gazelle), I am absolutely certain that everyone who looks at me while I'm walking is laughing his/her head off.

This is EXACTLY how I look when I run.  Except I'm not a dude.

Surely, I am exaggerating.  Surely, I don't look that bad when I walk.

This is EXACTLY how I look when I walk.  I seem so happy.

I know; don't call me Shirley.  (Any Airplane fans here?)

So, anyway, the weather on Saturday was beautiful, and I took advantage of it by walking a four-mile loop.  It felt great to blow out the dust that had settled in my soul, and it was nice to get out of the house and listen to Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me without my daughter interrupting Mo Rocca's punchline to tell me about what the cousin of the neighbor of some kid on the bus did when she was in second grade.

I proudly added those four miles to my dailymile total.  I try not to think of the fact that I could have run those miles in much less time.  I try to be grateful that I can walk at all.  In a week I will have my next x-ray, and I worry that I'll have to get surgery, so I should really try to appreciate walking right now.

It is close to Thanksgiving, and I am thankful for walking.

This Is for the Ladies

How many sports bras do you own?  Underwire or no underwire?

I used to own six bras:  two without underwire, which I used for yoga, and four with underwire, which I used for running and other aerobic exercise.  One day I noticed that my favorite running bra, the purple and black one, was missing.  I searched everywhere: behind the washer and dryer, all the drawers in the house, all the suitcases.  Nada.  Then I noticed my OTHER favorite black bra (non sports bra) was missing.  Huh.

I had recently presented at a conference, and I had brought both of those bras with me, so I again went through my garment bag and any possible luggage I might have taken.  No.  Did I leave TWO BRAS at the hotel?  How is that possible?

Then I started getting freaked out.  Why my FAVORITE bras?  Where could they be?  This is where my imagination started getting the best of me.  Bear with me on this one.

Meet the creepy guy I was sure was living in my basement.

It all made sense.  I do laundry in the basement.  We have a fridge in the basement, and we store our beer there.  There is a man-cave type room in half of the basement.  There are LOTS of places to hide in our basement.  Therefore, there is a creepy troll-like guy living in my basement who stole my bras.

I am insane, but not stupid, so I didn't share my discovery with anyone else in my household, but I started poking around (during daylight hours only).  Nothing.

A few weeks ago, I was putting away my laundry, and I had trouble closing the drawer, so I pulled it out of the dresser, and VOILA!!!  Both bras were caught between the drawer and the dresser, and the underwire was preventing the drawers from closing.  Somehow they had slipped back there, and I just kept closing the drawer on them.  In the meantime, I had purchased MORE bras, so now I have. .  .well a lot.  I have learned to lay them flat in a large drawer instead of cupping them up in a smaller underwear drawer.  I have also finally, truly exhaled because I now know that there is no creepy guy living in my basement.

I'm pretty sure.