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Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Update -

No. The Gyno did not look at my toe. In fact, she told me to stop talking about it because it was making her blood run cold.

Instead, she gave me my very first prescription for a mamogram.

Some how she found out I was going to be 35 in February. Some one told her. I'll find out who and they'll be sorry.

As if I needed to be reminded I'm getting older.

I'm still not sure how it's going to help my toe, but I'm sure it will be loads of fun just the same.
It just so happens I decided to start off the New Year with more exercise.

Yes. You heard me. More.

In addition to going my classes at night, I wanted to do something in the morning before work. Nothing too exhausting, nothing to make me look like a sweaty mess before work because I definitely don’t have time to shower before I leave, but something to get my heart rate up, something to kick my metabolism into gear. I will leave the hardcore stuff for the night classes.

So for Christmas, as you know, I got a treadmill and a heavy bag. The heavy bag is still looking for a place to hang, but at least the treadmill, which sits in the middle of the living room, is being used.

You know what if feels like to have a plan for months and months and months, only to finally come to the day where it can begin? It’s a very exciting time. And I was in my glory. I got up at 5:30am, ran on the treadmill for 25 minutes, then did crunches, push-ups, yoga stretches and some brief meditation. It felt wonderful! I was so awake for my horrible commute and I continued to feel great for the rest of the day. I had so much energy and really looked forward to going to the night class, which I did. And the whole time I was there, I kept thinking about the head start I gave myself. The next morning, I did it all over again.

What a great feeing. I felt in control, I felt healthy, I felt in shape…

Then the weekend came. I was so tired Saturday morning that I slept right through class. When I finally woke up, I wasn’t disappointed. I realized if I needed rest, than that’s fine. After all, I have a treadmill waiting to be used when I’m ready.

However, within minutes of sitting up in bed, I started to ache, sweat, and cough. Turns out, I had the flu and it lasted about two days. I tried to work out, really I did. It wasn’t working. By Sunday I was much better, and finished up the night with beer drinking and cheese eating. Naturally.

Monday, we got home from work a little late but I still had time to get to class. I got dressed in my workout stuff really quickly, got the hair pony-tailed up, got the contacts in (cause working out in glasses sucks), and the only thing left to do was go downstairs and put the socks and shoes on.

At the last minute before heading to the stairs, I decided to give the pits a quick shave. After all, I was wearing a sleeveless shirt…

I went to step into the tub to grab the razor – but instead – I kicked the metal bar that the shower door slides on…

Downstairs, Earl heard this horrible clatter and a screechy “OOOOOooooo I HURTTT MYSELFFFF…” He came up to find me holding my toes, jumping up and down on one foot. I took my hand away only to find my big toe nail had lifted and torn a nice ¼” from my precious, never seen the light of day, flesh.

Of course, it couldn’t have torn cleanly off; it had to almost reach the end and just hang there, laughing at me.

As much as I argued with Earl, he was right. I knew what I had to do. If I cut it, there would be a square piece left behind to catch on everything. So I reasoned with myself. I mean, how much more pain could I possibly be in? I grabbed hold of the nail... and yanked that son of a bitch off.

Oh the blood. It just poured and poured. At least I was still standing in the bathtub.

Earl was very sympathetic, as he had done this stunt many times in the past.

He wrapped my toe up in first aid tape and band-aids and helped me down the stairs.

The messed up part is the whole time I’m thinking – It’s just a nail. Its not like I broke my toe. I’m not a wuss… I can still go to class…”

I put my sock over the big white bandage, loosened my laces up and slipped my shoe on.

I stood up.

I winced in pain.

I sat back down.

Ohhh the throbbing. I stood up again and took a step. Earl’s just looking at me like, Oh and you want to go kickboxing now. Frustrated, I sat down and took my shoe off.


Why couldn’t it have been my finger? If it was my finger, I could walk. If I can walk, I can go to class…

As the hours went on, the throbbing got worse. It stung, it hurt, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t help knocking it on something or avoiding the blood from rushing into the tip. To keep from pressing on it when I stood up, I had to walk on the outer side of my foot –

Which hurts like a MoFo today.

WHY. WHY. WHY. WHY. I was just getting started on my routine. My very own, personal training routine. I have been waiting for months. I finally got the equipment. I was willing to give up 30 minutes of sleep. I WAS READY TO DO IT and KEEP doing it. I mean, dont get me wrong. Just because I love working out and love the feeling it gives me, it's not easy and still takes will power and decipline to keep motivated. Once you get going, it becomes more of a routine. Stop that routine, and you've got to psyche yourself back up again - because being lazy is so MUCH easier.

Well. I should be used to things like this by now. Something always gets in the way, doesn’t it.

Today I am wearing my slippers to work to allow room for the bandage. Ironically, I have my annual appointment with the Gyno at 1:45. Hmm, what would look better - a slipper in the stirrup or a naked foot with a fat bandage poking her in the eye? I wonder if she knows anything about toes. She is a doctor after all and it’s not too far from her area of expertise…