Thursday, March 14, 2013


Yesterday in the middle of my workout I thought to google "broken metatarsal healing time." I think it had something to do with the pirates' Super Why. And because I was tired of doing pushups on my knees. But mostly because I have this nagging fear of what I'm going to find at my next x-ray. (Last time I did not find what I wanted to find.) 

The honest Dr. Google said some metatarsals take a really long time to heal. The thought of having to do pushups on my knees for fourteen more years scared me enough to call my mother and ask if she'd meet me at Costco later in the day. I needed her to push the cart while I crutched my way around the spinach / milk aisle. (I have hardly used those cursed crutches. I have two and a half weeks left until my next x-ray and if I add up all the time I have spent using them, it might equal five days. Maybe.) I have to change my ways. 

On the way into Costco I used the crutch to remove the shoe from my mother's heel. (She said it didn't hurt but I don't believe her.) Once inside I placed one crutch in a puddle, the other on solid ground,  and almost lost all of my pride. And then in front of the clementines I did it again. (Crutches are so embarrassing.) I thought of putting them in the cart and walking around like I'd been miraculously healed, but then I thought of not being able to run until summer and left the crutches where they were. Not that they belonged there. They're entirely unnatural - but it was the lesser of two evils. 

So we shopped. I bought spinach, milk, and clementines. And sweet potatoes. We loaded it into the car, said goodbye to my mom and went to start our auto. Only it didn't start. My mom, who was parked in the next stall over, rolled down her window and asked if my car was running. "No," I said. "But that's normal." And then I tried again. And again. (Getting it to start sometimes involves revving the engine to the point of embarrassment.)

The cart collector came towards us.... I took a moment to think of all the similarities between Danica Patrick and myself, and when the area was clear I revved the engine LOUD. I threw it in reverse and pressed the gas. It went ten feet and died. I revved the engine and put it in drive. It went fifteen feet and died. I revved the engine and made a circle around the lot... it died. So I revved the engine thirty seven more times to get it parked, loaded the spinach, milk, clementines and sweet potatoes into my mom's auto and gratefully accepted a ride home.

Slightly humbling from start to finish? Yes. But more miraculous than any thing else. (After dinner we sat the pirates triple wide in our one remaining auto and went to find dessert - they loved every minute.)


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