Rehab

This morning I went for my first run in two weeks. Earlier this month I gave myself a LAME lower-leg injury during a jog in Milad, Idaho while running from the resident free-range cattle and three-legged dog. Various expert and internet medical consultations diagnosed me with severe shin splints, an IT band injury, and/or a (pre) stress fracture. The remedy for all of the above is to stop the aggravating activity.

So over the past few weeks, instead of running I've turned to less optimal stress-management strategies, such as eating lots of cookies, popping my gum, and lying awake nights coveting new carpet.

I also took out a short-term membership at the gym, which I hoped would at least provide me with some good blogging material. With the exception of the 70-year-old glamor puss in the Body Sculpt class (I'm pretty sure she'd bejeweled her free weights), the gym was disappointingly bland.

Imagine my excitement this morning when, after Wade woke me up by tossing my sports bra in my face, I stepped out the front door on the brink of sunrise and my tenuous strides became pain-free sprints. I was so excited I didn't notice the driver turning left into the crosswalk on 39th South who very nearly hit me.

But he didn't, and things are looking up.