It is my fervent hope that this post will come across as darkly entertaining and amusing. As it is essentially an invitation to my PITY PARTY, however, I recognize that the end result may simply be annoyingly whiny. Oh, well. It’s not like anyone else uses the Internet to air petty grievances and mild moderate problems, right?
On to the not-so-very-original-or-worthwhile post. Whenever I get myself into some kind of shape after a running hiatus, I tend to make comments like,
- “why do I ever stop running?”
- “I feel so much better when I’m running” or
- “things go better when I’m running!”
And I’ve always thought that I was just referring to the (not insignificant) things like how I felt physically and felt about myself emotionally. Getting better sleep, feeling more alert throughout the day (without the aid of my friend caffeine), enjoying the extra endorphins…all of that. But then, you see, I realized that there is the possibility that there is a different connection entirely.
Husband is to blame for this realization. Last week was NOT A GOOD WEEK, and as I pouted and bemoaned my fate Husband listened patiently, then offered this little gem: “you’re always a mess when you’re not running.”
Shock! Indignation!!!!!!! How dare you…..…..reconsideration. Realization. Ah, crap. He may actually be right.
It is no secret that I have been running intermittently at best since the marathon. Husband and I have been enjoying the occasional run together, but he’s only managed to talk me into a few days each week so far. We did run 8 miles on the newest portion of the Swamp Rabbit Trail the week it opened. Neither one of us planned on running that far, but once we got going we had to see more. (Thank goodness I talked Husband out of his suicidal plan to run all the way to TR. That would have been rough!)
Before last week headed downhill, I’d logged a morning run or two. Just a couple of miles each, nothing ambitious. Then, on Wednesday I managed to slice my thumb while trying to prepare dinner. Thursday I legitimately rested, not wanting to reopen the cut. I used the same excuse Friday, but now of course it really was an excuse. The thumb could have handled a run, I was just being lazy. Saturday there was work to do around the house, so I claimed there “wasn’t time” to run. Snort.
And that’s when it happened. On Saturday, I noticed that my leg started to itch. I looked down to see what appeared to be a normal bug bite on my lower leg. Mentally shrugging, I prepared to ignore it. Sunday, I woke up to discover that the bite had swelled. This didn’t immediately concern me because I tend to be pretty allergic to mosquito bites. They sometimes swell for a day or two and then fade back to normal.
By Sunday night, it was obvious that the bite was decidedly NOT normal. I think I’ll spare all the gruesome details, but a visit to the ER was discussed and adamantly opposed by the spectacularly stubborn. I would wait it out and go see my normal doctor the next day. I was determined. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t die. This was the semi-logical decisions made prior to the LOST finale.
Post-finale, I was tormenting myself with paranoid thoughts. After we went to bed, I listened to Husband sleep and tried to calculate the odds of the mutant bite requiring amputation or some other catstrophic medical intervention. For awhile, I even considered staying up all night just so I couldn’t die in my sleep of mutant bug bite poisoning from being too stupid to seek medical attention. Oh, no. If I was going down, I wasn’t going to go down quietly.
Needless to say, I woke up the next morning feeling generally awful but alive. Looking at the bite made me feel sorry for myself. It was ugly. Very, very ugly. I felt feverish. That made me feel sorry for myself, too. Then I looked at the stitches in my thumb and that made me feel sorry for myself but also amused me that I no longer cared about them. I had bigger things to worry about. I was able to see the doctor soon after the office opened, and the mutant bite was ruled a probable spider bite. It was definitely an infected one. I left the office with a prescription for antibiotics, a prediction that things would begin to “look better” in a few days, and an awesome white bandage covering the (now drained) mutant bug bite.
Husband says I’m a mess. But he says it in the most loving way possible and he brings me Starburst jelly beans to make feel better, so I forgive him. Things are “looking better,” but I’m not sure I’m out of the woods yet. After all, I can’t run until the swelling goes down enough to be able to comfortably lace shoes. Based on last week, there’s no telling what could happen.