UGH. I AM NOT HAPPY. Basically I am this:
2. I can't go to the doctor to properly diagnose my butt injury because I don't have insurance, because I quit my job and moved to California to be with my now ex-boyfriend, where presumably there is no ice to slip on, OH MY GOD THIS BUTT THING IS JUST BRINGING UP RAGE ABOUT SO MANY OTHER THINGS. Through the magic of the Google, I have determined that my tailbone is in fact bruised and not broken, not that it matters because either way there's not much a doctor can do for it except offer ibuprofen and ice and pat me on the back. But still. It would be nice to know for sure.
3. I HATE QUITTING THINGS, and if I had NOT fallen on my ass and had been able to continue my last-minute training plan, I would have been able to run that half-marathon no problem. It probably wouldn't have been pretty but I believe I would have beat my tumor time, and I would have also gotten to spend the weekend with the giraffe, drinking wine and coffee and loving the balmy 40-degree temperatures in Little Rock. Now instead I am going to suffer alone, with my butt, in the Great White North. Probably with wine, as clearly alcohol is all I have left.
4. I hate the Great White North. Can I please move anywhere, except for back to Virginia? Can I please get a job so I can get out of here? It is so cold outside that every uncovered part of my body (aka my face, my hands) physically hurts after about 10 seconds of venturing outside.
5. (the kicker) When I am this crabtacular, running is basically the only thing that makes me feel better. Aaaaaaaand I can't.
Well, maybe that's not entirely true, because whining about things on the internet just now kind of made me feel better. KIND OF.
Anyway, probably I will keep blogging about ridiculous things that happen to me, but unfortunately my posts will probably not include any running for awhile, like until my
As a sad final note, please observe the email I received from the Daily Mile this week:
Thanks, jerkfaces. Appreciate it.