A stress fracture in my left foot developed three days before the new york marathon. If I ran I would definitely end up in a booty for 4-6 weeks, and risk the possibility of being in a cast and on crutches for 6-8 weeks.
I literally debated for the next 48 hours - my choices were booty and possibly cast. At the midnight hour, I decided to try and run and see how it goes. I couldn't just let the entire summer of training in miserable heat go to waste - plus this was my last marathon and I really *needed* to close with new york.
My foot started hurting at mile two. My friends were at mile eight - they shoved the bobby pin I had asked for in my face and somehow I kept running. The pain was excruciating but did not get dramatically worse from mile eight to mile 13 (my next mental checkpoint) to mile 15. Then I saw my friend Cassie again at mile 17 and stretched and felt better.
Unlike other 'thons, I stopped at every water and gatorade stations and walked (to give my poor foot a break) while I drank.
My friend's sister also ran and we later recounted our experiences. I must've been delirious with pain because I dont remember seeing any of the people or sights she pointed out - and she was only 15 minutes behind me. Somehow I reached mile 20, and at that point I had to finish. The last mile was the greatest torture I had ever experienced. But it never felt so good to stop running.
The rest of me actually felt good, and I chatted on the phone and limped my way to the subway station - I know I know - I treated myself to a taxi from once I got downtown. That was last weekend.
The following Monday I got outfitted with 'the boot' at the doctor's office, and gimped into work. Other than trying to figure out how tight it should fit and how to walk on it, I felt fine. My muscles were the appropriate soreness, but not overly so, and I felt mentally normal. Monday night all hell broke loose - I got the chills and felt feverish, woke up three times because I thought I would vomit but then didn't. Flu-iness lasted all day Tuesday, and by evening I was still fighting flu-ishness and hoping it was resolve into a cold.
By Wednesday I was well on my way to a sore throat, sniffles, and coughing. On Thursday I closed on my apartment in Fort Greene, Brooklyn - 1 1/2 hours of signing my life away.
It was actually really entertaining as the bank's attorney was a jaded, witty, wise-cracking jokster who literally talked through the entire one and a half hour of paper signage. Friday I worked till eight then came home and packed. That was last week.
Saturday was moving day. I used the same movers that I used last time even though I had a bad experience. The story is that I posted bitchy feedback on apartmentherapy.com and they ended up refunding almost all of my move. I thought that was a nice gesture (and now also felt bad) so I decided to give them another shot. I had asked the movers to come early if they were able, and then proceeded to lock myself out of the apartment about 10 minutes before they were supposed to show up because I went out to buy them drinks, but had already removed the old keys from my keychain - idiot.
Luckily my roommate was in the hood so she was able to come back and let us in. While we were waiting, I chatted with the owner of the moving company and proceeded to develop a crush - perhaps it's one of those psychiatrist-patient scenarios where you project feelings of intimacy onto the person who helps you through one of the most stressful experiences in new york city. He said he gets a lot of female and gay male customers - I'm sure he gets hit on a lot.
I spent a couple of hours in Target today. I guess I am sort of in the hood because there are no yellow cabs out here, only car service driven by Jamaican guys with accents I can't yet understand that act like taxis but probably charge more. I learned this today coming out of Target with my four bags of household stuff - after shooing away a 'taxi' dispatcher because I thought he was trying to con me, I asked the Target guy -"Where did you say the taxis were?". He points to the same line of un-marked vehicles to which the dispatcher had pointed. I suck it up and pay the $8 for a 7-minute ride.
I have no TV, no gas until Friday (so I can't cook), no food (because I have no gas), and nothing to sit on - so I've improvised and am using my jazz fest chair in the meantime.
In leiu of the comforting white noise from TV, I've been listening to NPR broadcasts from multiple cities online - suggestion courtesy of my friend who doesn't have or watch TV. It feels like camping but with a monthly mortgage. Oh, and I just paid $220 to get the locks changed - oye. That was this weekend.
