Streaks

I'm not talking running streaks today. Those are puzzling to me, though they do show how compulsive a person can be. The more I give up on running, the more ridiculous it all seems to me, and yet I am familiar with that crazy drive. It has just escaped me lately. Sometimes I wonder if it was all one big waste of time, as I sit and binge on House of Cards episodes.

I'm in a hole. Shit luck, bad losing streak or whatever you want to call it, I'm getting tired of "fighting", which means I'm just plain tired. If I could sleep the rest of my days, I don't think I would mind all that much. Of course, when you feel cruddy, being positive isn't all that easy, and it has been one hell of a winter/spring.

I mentioned that I was sick for two months with some kind of monster flu/virus/cold, but that was just the tip of the mountain of ice. In short, things suck right now, but I suppose being on the mend is better than where I was two days ago.

God, my let foot has been a disaster since that stress fracture led me to the idiot who gave me the cortisone shots. I've forgotten what it's like to even walk normally. Allow me to rant a little bit, because I have been through hell. With me, it seems it can never be something minor; it has to be an all-out catastrophe, though it has been pointed out to me that I'm "lucky" to still have a foot at this point. The worst way to try to make someone feel better is to point out that it could be worse. "Oh, you just slammed your hand in the car door? At least it wasn't your head." Yeah, works great. I'm sure the guy squirming and yelping with the mashed hand feels a ton better now.

The story...

After the surgery, my foot was hurting. That seemed normal, right? Maybe not. I get so used to feeling shitty that it becomes hard to tell what's normal pain and what requires more attention. The doctor checked how the foot was healing a week ago Monday, and it looked pretty good. It was looking better, and the stitches were supposed to come out the following week. For two days, nothing much changed, but by the third day I was limping more. I assumed the discomfort was from the rubbing my shoe was doing, so I cut up an old pair of shoes, leaving as little friction against the side as possible. That didn't seem to help much. My foot ached and was too painful to run on, so I switched to the bike, doing mostly easy workouts. I'm VERY out of shape lately. What was concerning was this low-grade fever that I couldn't seem to shake.

I struggled through the rest of the week, and when I woke up on Sunday, I knew something wasn't right. In addition to my foot being extra swollen, it was also bright red. Infection. It was obvious, so I called my doctor on his cell phone. Man, I hate bothering people, even when I know it's the right thing to do. He was super nice about everything and called in some oral antibiotics. Before work, I took a double dose, as he suggested. Somehow I managed to get through the day, but when I got home, the foot was worse. My mood wasn't helped when, on my way home, some out of control asshole tried to cut me off and then started yelling at me, flipping me off in the process. He wanted to make an extra wide turn in a double turn lane, forgetting that there are other people on the road. The situation escalated when I didn't respond to his monkey-like gestures, so he cut me off and slammed on his brakes. I'm not sure how I avoided the accident, but I did and laid all my anger out on my horn. Some people really are complete holes and need to be medicated.

Back to my foot...

Well, the thing looked awful. It got to the point where I couldn't really put my weight on it. It looked like an over-stuffed burrito, just ready to burst at the seams. And it was an angry pink, the scars stretched and raised up against the pressure building inside. I called the doctor again, and he told me to get to the hospital. Had I known what was in store, I'm not so sure I would have gone so willingly, but it needed to be done.

(If you're eating, you might want to set your Fruit Loops aside at this point)

People tell me that I have a high pain tolerance. I think at times that's true, but prolonged pain reduces me to a wimp. When the ER doc told me she was going to have to open the wound a little, I knew it wouldn't be pleasant. When she looked at me and told me flat out that it was going to hurt, my stomach felt queasy. It already hurt, so the thought of anyone even touching my foot made me cringe. The last time I was told not this is going to hurt a little bit or this is going to hurt for a short time, but simply this is going to hurt, I was in the ER after severing a tendon in my hand. The doctor had to give me several shots around the base of my thumb, and I was told to breathe through the pain, which I did. While that was bad, it was NOTHING compared to what I went through with the inflamed foot. Holy shit. This was a bloody red, supreme kind of pain, the kind that makes you whimper and beg for it to stop in your head. At one point, I think I yelped, but it didn't stop her from poking that needle around in the wound, jabbing it up and down and then left and right. Before it was even numb, she started squeezing out the puss, which, mixed with a bit of blood, oozed down my foot in a thin line. After that and a good cry, I felt at least a little bit better.

I was put on an IV and given antibiotics. I was worn out, but my foot was achy and throbbing, too irritated to allow me any rest. It took about an hour and a half to administer the medication. I got to listen to a flock of kids who brought their friend to the ER after he had been yarfing, probably due to some kind of flu. I started to feel very alone, but not necessarily lonely, more just sad about my own situation. No pain meds when driving, so I was sent home with 4 Percocet. I took one and passed out for a long time in my cozy little bed.

So, I haven't been exercising, and I can't say I give much of a crap at this point. Maybe I will start to care when I realize how grossly out of shape I have become, but for now, all I want is for this fever to go away. I'm on one of the most powerful oral antibiotics out there, so the infection should clear up soon. I have one more draining to do today, and hopefully that will be the last of those things. The stitches are all out now, and the swelling is down too, though my ankle still hidden under the puffiness.

So yeah, shit luck. Some years are worse than others.

Letting Loose

I need a break from struggling through article writing. Editors are great when they know what they are talking about, but every once in a while, one pops up who seems to be drifting into the vast regions of Hilbert space. Having an editor who does things in a way that's different from everyone else makes writing these soul-sucking articles that much more of a challenge. 

The foot is recovering. It was a tad more painful than I expected, but I also wasn't given any narcotics to ease me into a different realm. I had to make do with over the counter generic pain pills. Other than my foot swelling and looking a little bit like an over-stuffed Weißwurst, there hasn't been a whole lot to report. I accidentally popped a scab near one of the stitches when I was rushing to take a shower before work after a hectic Sunday morning. My mom fractured her foot the day before but didn't know it, and I had to take her to urgent care the following morning. The two of us have matching limps now. I tried a jog Monday, but there's too much pressure on the stitching. I also seem to be getting a low-grade fever off and on with this. It shouldn't be too much longer before I can get back to at least jogging, but I have to wait until I can tie my shoe. Biking seems harmless. With the winds lately, I guess it's a good time to be indoors. Well, today I'm being a bum, because the fever is a bit more than I expected. I will be training again soon enough. Rough winter this year, damn.

                                                               *****************************

Recently, a couple of coyotes were shot, because one of them nipped in the general direction of a kid who was out playing near a creek in an open-space area. This seems wrong to me, mostly because it was on open space, not in the kid's back yard, though I can't say I would want any animal shot even if it ventured into a back yard. I'm not going to pretend I know what the perfect solution is to these kinds of situations, but people around here seem to be animal-rights activists only if the issue relates to their own dog that has a right to be off leash and jumping up on every living creature within three miles. Those who think otherwise are ANIMAL ABUSERS, but it's OK to shoot the dingo, right? It just seems weird that we expect wild animals to know that they should stay away from Pomeranian-sized snacks and avoid Hobbit-sized beings encroaching on their territory. 

Someone suggested beating the coyotes, and others suggested that carrying guns would solve the problem. Not to be condescending, but what kind of bizarre lesson is a beating supposed to teach the coyote? Let's see, days after the incident, round up all the coyotes in the area and, assuming the one that did the nipping is among them, give them all a good pummeling. That will teach 'em! The gun thing? "Oops, I thought your little Rusty was a bear. Sorry!" Yeah, that's a smart solution; just have everyone carry a gun on open space and shoot at anything rustling in the bushes. I'm thinking relocation of the animals when possible, wildlife education and posting warning signs about animal sighting might be better solution, but who wants to be reasonable when you have the opportunity kill or badly injure a coyote? 

I don't know. I guess I haven't changed my opinions much from when I was little and secretly hoped that Wile E would catch the roadrunner. I'm still rooting for the coyote. That doesn't mean I wanted the kid to get eaten, but I also don't like to know that two poor animals are dead because they did what was natural to them. Let's hope that the female they shot wasn't simply protecting her pups.

The Storm

It seems that when I go to blog lately, I can't think of what I want to say. I know I have been neglecting this place, but my mind has been occupied.

It also seems that the world is filling up with more arrogant people, and this diminishes my desire to participate in life. If I were religious, I might point to signs of the coming of Al-Massih ad-Dajjal. Fortunately, I tend to attribute these omens more to the imbalance and greed that capitalism tends to create and the increasing lack of social responsibility those at the top, whether in the media or in congress, have than to anything religious. I'm lucky that I have had a few opportunities to surround myself with passionate people who tend to give my sagging motivation a boost when needed, though.

I'm horribly out of shape, but I can't get over how sick I was. For two months, I was dragging myself around, and, during one of those months, I had some kind of super flu/cold thing that left me coughing, feverish and wanting to sleep for 18 hours a day. The tests from the hospital came back negative, but I heard other people with this same illness were out of commission for over a month, too. Just as I'm feeling better, I'm facing round three with my foot. Fortunately, the procedure I will get this week is not full surgery, more of an out-patient affair that won't leave me down for too long. Maybe once my foot is in working order, I can begin to train again. In the meantime, jogging 44 or 55 minutes has been my super-duper long "run" maximum. Sigh.

Even though I probably "shouldn't" feel this way, I hate asking people for favors. Even asking for my shifts at work to be covered was an effort, not because anyone wouldn't consider working but because I simply hate asking anyone for anything. I have also decided to take a cab home from the doctor instead of asking anyone for a ride. It makes me realize that part of the reason I was struggling so much with this illness was because I couldn't seem to get people to understand what I needed. Guilt is a bitch. I felt guilty for admitting that I really needed to stay in bed, so I didn't. There's this weird feeling that I don't want to owe anyone anything, too. I ended up fighting my desire to rest and went to work, met with people and tried to go on with my life as if nothing was wrong. I should have just said fuck it and slept for three days straight, taken a week off work and been done with it. A few times I got sent home, because I looked terrible and my fever was showing. Clearly I need to work on stating what I need more clearly and adamantly.  

Because I'm struggling with what I want to say and how I want to say it, I will just offer another video. This one is strange, no doubt. The animation is fantastic, though, and it's packed with all kinds of symbolism. Look closely at background images. It's a total trip.

One last thing, Boulder Youth Body Alliance will be ceasing operations later this year. This is very sad news.

Whoops

I'm not dead; I'm just sick. 

Hopefully soon I will be back with something more interesting to report. In the meantime, enjoy these hand selected videos. I've always been more of a ..cover girl, but I'm starting to get into mashups a little bit:

And of course, the best mashup evah: