And then I fell down (it was only a matter of time)

Uhh so. After a really great week of training, I spent two days eating things like this:

That's Midwestern for "gourmet breakfast" in case you aren't fluent.

We like anything that involves cheese.
Source

Cream cheese counts as a cheese.
Source

Cheez-Its are low-brow cheese.
Source

I don't usually stress about the occasional binge weekend because a) it's fun (look at all the cheese, who knew cheese even CAME in so many forms?!) and b) it doesn't matter if you go back to eating like a sane human shortly thereafter. Plus with all the running, I figured, who cares? Clearly this is the best part of running.

And then I slipped and fell on ice into my way into work yesterday, and now my butt hurts and I am walking like I am 80 and I don't know that is such a great idea for me to go running. Also did I mention it looks like this outside YET AGAIN:

Only less pretty and more annoying. And if I managed to injure myself walking at a slow pace into work, you can imagine what I would do to myself outside trying to contend with NATURE, or whatever. The end result of this is that I am crabby and I feel bloated from the trillion grams of carbohydrates I ingested over the past few days. The extra-sad part is that normally eating some Cheez-Its would make me feel better.

Through the magic of the Google, I have learned that if running doesn't hurt, it is probably okay to do it. So my tentative plan is to head to the gym tomorrow and see how it feels, though frankly if I get dressed and drive all the way there and go through my entire warm-up and then get on the treadmill to find that it hurts, I am probably going to be inclined to keep running just because, good lord, that is a lot of BOTHER. Maybe I will do some sweet warm-up jogs in the living room beforehand just to test things out. You know, give the cats something new to tell their therapist.

Unimpressed with me generally.

In closing I would like to say that if you are in the Great White North, walk very slowly when you are outside lest you fall and injure your tailbone. Said injury will lead to crabbiness and, at least in my case, concerned BlackBerry messages from my father inquiring about the state of my coccyx. Since then my power mantra has switched from "IT'S NOT A TOOMAH" to this:

Napoleon: What are you doing here, Uncle Rico?
Uncle Rico: Grandma took a little spill at the sand dunes today. Broke her coccyx.

F my life. My mom suggested icing it but I draw the line at icing my butt. I must retain what little dignity I have to begin with.