I have an unwelcomed little secret I was hoping would just go away just as it arrived. Unfortunately, it just seems to be hanging on like a bad VD (thank goodness it's not-scouts honor). I just kept thinking if I stopped thinking about it-well then-it would just stop hurting. I mean I AM THIRTY-NOT ONE-HUNDRED AND TWO! Like the total hard-headed-german-V-Scoy I am (shut up Jerrid) I just kept on it pushing myself at the club and continued hitting the trail until the ouch crawled right up to my ankle and then yes into the dreaded knee. Then I finally called out "Uncle" and went to see my nice Dr. James at the finest orthopedic joint this side of the tracks. All those smarty pants Doctors and Nurses treat the great professional athletes we covet so in them I trust as well. Last week old Dr. James wrapped the tootsie up just like Magic Johnson shoulda wrapped his junk up in the nineties. Dr. James said, "if this works we'll fit you for a perfectly crafted pair of orthodics" and you be back to the brut you are at no time (well, to paraphrase I guess)." "Come back and see me in one week!" I really tried and willed myself to feel better with the foot wrapped better than a Martha Stewart gift, but it just wasn't happening. So today I hung my head in defeat and went back to see what Dr. James recommended next. Ohhh boy! What he recommended (and did) was a needle big enough scare Hannibal Lecter stuffed full of cortisone. My adrenaline was running so high I coulda bench pressed a small car. Did it hurt? Oh for sure-and I knew it was going to be bad when right before the needle pierced the inner depths of my calloused heel he inquired, "have you had kids?" OMG! Dude (James, Jim, Jimbo, whatever) don't say stuff like that when you are 12 inches from my foot mule kicking you right in the chops. But I made it-with only a wince. AND the best part? Dr. James (who by the way is a man) said that when he gives that shot to men he always asks they lay down because more often than not they fold like a lawn chair. Ha! Just goes to show us ladies are tough as nails. So anywho let the body dysmorphia begin because I swear I am up 5lbs just from hearing him say, "two weeks of taking it easy-no poundin' on that heel of yours."
Now listen, I hate to have to tell you this, but... tomorrow I'm hitch hiking my way to "uff-dah" land for a couple of days. Wipe that tear from your eye-you're gonna be just fine. I'll check back in with you on Monday with an update. In the meantime don't forget some of my preferred reading-the links are listed to the right. T.T.F.N.