Things I Never Want to Hear Myself Say Ever Again:
*"OH MY GOD, Mr. Sinatra, stop chewing on my toothbrush!"
*"After I popped the blisters under my toenails, walking got a lot easier."
*"Whadya mean, my forty dollar haircut doesn't look any different?!"
*"I've been treating without a prescription for how many months?"
*"We're discharging your daughter from therapy because she stopped making progress about two years ago. Essentially, she has the abilities of a very tall 9-month-old." (Well, okay, I didn't actually say that, because I'm not a total asshole. But it was heavily implied).
Aside from the above exceptions, I've had a rather pleasant week.
I have apparently strained my right anterior tibialis muscle--there's a sore, achey spot on my right leg just above the ankle that hasn't gone away since the marathon. I quizzed KH the physical therapist about it, and she was brisk and indulgent.
KH: So it's your right leg, right about here?
Me: Uh huh.
KH: Hurts when you dorsiflex your foot?
Me, nodding wisely: ...yeah. When I dorsiflex my foot. Dorsiflex. Heh.
KH: Yep, that's your anterior tibialis. Probably strained.
Me, abruptly impressed with myself: I strained a muscle? KH, in much the same manner your mother would say, "And what did you think would happen if you filled up on chips before dinner?": Yeah. Gee, I wonder how that happened.
I'm of two minds about Escapade, and cons in general. On the one side, I'm reading all the con reports and feeling incredibly jealous of the people who went--it sounds like a blast. On the other...if I were going to take a weekend off, fly hundreds of miles, and spend actual money on an event that turned out to be really fun, I'd want to be able to tell people about it afterwards. I am, when you get down to it, a pretty honest person, and lying or even evading with a straight face is not my strong suit. Tell people I was at a fan convention, let alone a slash convention? I'm not sure I could--my fandom involvement is one of those life fragments that aren't up for discussion. It's too personal, too dear to me; I don't think I could handle rationalizing my trip to everyone back home that I wanted to tell. And I'd want to tell people, don't get me wrong. Escapade sounds like a fabulous experience. But I wouldn't want to teach Fandom 101 to every person who asked where I'd been.
Moot point, anyway. Do I sound like sour grapes? That's not my intent.
In the same vein, I've been thinking about people I'd like to meet, in the fan con in my mind. There are tons, really. Aral, to see if she's as good a cook as she sounds. aerye, because she went north and fell in love with the cold, and I did too. LaT. Kit. I'd like to be in the same room as Kat, Te and nancy, gazing from afar. Anna. When we were in Seattle on the tail end of our honeymoon I thought of Anna, sometimes in the context of highly embarassing meeting scenarios. (Standing in line at the McDonald's/grocery/coffee stand: The person in front of me (Anna), "Blah blah blah personal conversation blah, and oh by the way, I wrote In a Dark Time: Sleepless." Me: "Hey! I read that!") I'd like to meet xen, because her stortrooper is cool. I think I'd like Ins, but I have this thing about people touching my shoulders, so I don't know if she'd like me. Interestingly, I'd love to meet Kate Bolin, even though I disagree with practically everything she's every written in her blog. If she's expressed an opinion, you can pretty much guarantee that I'm at the polar opposite of that continuum. (Except for the part about Indiana Jones. That part I can get behind). And yet, I love to read her blog, because it's like, "What will she say next?"
It'd be considerably easier to type if Mr. Sinatra wasn't plastered all over my lap. He got a clean bill of health from the vet today, and the Hubster and I have big smug grins on our faces, because he's still a total charmer. I was kind of worried the first night he spent with us after his operation, as he seemed really anxious that we'd throw him back outside or something. We let him sleep in the bedroom with us to keep an eye on him, and I feared he might be showing his true colors as Clingy Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Cat--like, "Let me demonstrate my affection by sleeping on your face!"--but he's since calmed down considerably, although he's still really cuddly. I might put some pictures up whenever I get them developed.
Think I might be going to lose a couple of toenails to marathon damage. Oh, the shame. That's one of those side effects that makes you seem really hardcore, but in fact means you're doing something wrong, like wearing ill-fitting shoes. Although looking like a hardcore runner would only cement my rep in the eyes of the buddies I made through the training group--they appear to think I'm a total badass after hearing my account of the 18-miler. Heh.
Oh: if anyone is interested in classic Atari 2600 gaming, the Hubster's "game design company" (himself and two friends from work) are set to release a brand new 2600 game as soon as we can pry Mr. Sinatra away from the soldering iron. The Hubster did about 95% of the work from design to manufacter, which I think is pretty impressive. Game highlights include: "super charged biologically engineered worms in a duel to the death," as well as the use of the mega cannon, "a cybernetic enhancement to these already deadly members of the phylum Annelida." All game variations offer the pure thrill of worm on worm battle. Let me know if you need a hook up.
Oh my God, ow. I'm in some pain right now. But I finished! Not sure of the exact time until I check the website, but I think it was just over six hours. Not bad, considered I hit the wall at mile 16 and basically had to limp the last ten miles.
I keep feeling like I should be disappointed. It was really not a good run at all--I crapped out at mile sixteen, for crying out loud! But you know, I feel great. The last two miles, when I couldn't even jog anymore and people were passing me right and left--men in their seventies were passing me, people pushing baby strollers were passing me--even when my feet were screaming and I could feel my blisters squishing at every step, and people coming up behind me were commenting on my visible limp, even then I couldn't wipe the grin off my face.
T-10 hours until marathon start time. My stomach's decided to get a head start on the nervous leaping around it usually does right before a race. Everything else feels decent--the physical therapist at our facility worked on my back, and that problem seems to be resolved. Still a little worried about the hip, but there's nothing to be done about it now. We'll just have to wait and see how things go.
I'm split between frantic anticipation and total psyche-out. And I have to try to sleep.
My first goal is to finish the race, preferably uninjured. My second goal, if number one looks to be easily attainable, is to finish in under six hours. Please, wish me lots of luck. I'm gonna need it.
It's probably a good thing I don't have those livejournal icons. I can't imagine anybody would want a visual of how I'm feeling about now. Current mood: in pain and mildly panicky. The right side of my lower back hurts kind of badly--I don't know if the chiropractor messed me up, or if he just tweaked something and I'm reacting badly or my muscles are overcompensating or whatever. But my back hurts just sitting here, let alone moving around or--God forbid--bending over, and the marathon's in one week and I've been training for six fucking months and I'm scared I'm not going to be able to finish it.
Okay, crying now. The Hubster just pulled up a list of Central Texas-area marathons and found me two in March, because, "I'm really hoping your back will be better next weekend--I mean I'm really hoping--but if it's not, I'll take you to one of these..."
He's a good guy.
Please, people, wish me luck. I really want to do this.
Mr. Sinatra continues to be a prince among felines. He's back from an overnight at the vet, where he got fixed and had his leg wound cleaned out, and he's currently managing to be charming even while licking his genitals and looking affronted. Okay, I'm gonna gush for a minute here--he's so cute. I think he's bonded with the Hubster after the trip the vet, because he's following the Hubster around the house and leaning on him at every opportunity. The vet thinks he's about a year old, and possibly has some flame-point Siamese in him, as he's whitish with a sort of light orange wash at his points. He's just sweet. I can't imagine why anybody would give him up.
A little concerned about my hip. All day I've had a sore spot on my right lower back, about at the top of my hip and near where the chiropracter cracked some joints. I ran for about half an hour this evening, and the soreness is rather more pronounced now, even after I iced the area down. I really hope he didn't hurt me somehow. I'm guessing that it's probably stress on muscles that aren't used to carrying as much weight, but it still worries me a little.
Spine: not yet realigned. The guy took some x-rays and made me another appointment for tomorrow, which apparently is SOP. Ran all of his jargon by KH, the physical therapist at work, and she said that so far everything he's told me sounds pretty reasonable for my symptoms, so go ahead and let him pop my joints and we'll see what happens.
The downstairs bathroom has been taken over by the stray cat who's been hanging around C and S's place. They pimped him on us this weekend after a couple of beers, and we caved pretty easily. So far it looks like a pretty sweet deal--he's the friendliest, most well-behaved, sedate cat I've ever seen, to the point where he almost seems stoned. He's clearly a house cat that some asshole "set free," and he looks a little ragged, but he's utterly charming. C and S dubbed him Mr. Sinatra, which I think will stick. He reeks of urine right now, and his left back knee is messed up, so the Hubster's going to take him to the vet tomorrow and see what they can do. Plus he's not fixed yet, plus he almost certainly has parasites. But right now he's sacked out on a bathmat purring his head off, so we're all feeling pretty pleased with ourselves.
Mildly annoyed, because I just cruised through a fandom blog with the exact same template as mine. It looks like a fun blog; like somebody I might want to link to, but now I'm feeling like I ought to make my page more distinctive or something so our pages aren't identical. I have absolutely no interest in personalizing this page. Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll spiff her blog up first, and then I won't have to.
Big Monday plans: 7:30am chiropractic appointment. The Hubster is sceptical, but I'm kind of looking forward to it. I enjoy doctor's appointments, in the low-key way of someone who has never had a serious illness or injury--my body is so often such a mystery to me, and I welcome any insight into its workings. This particular appointment I made on a whim after our run yesterday. My right hip bothered me a fair amount on the last half of the 21-mile run last week; the joint ached continually with little flares of pain extending to the outside of my right knee as well. Nothing really sharply uncomfortable, but enough to worry me in terms of the marathon, especially as the race is almost entirely on asphalt instead of trails. I figured I'd see how I felt after a few days recovery, and then judge what the next step should be. The same pain developed about 2 miles into yesterday's run, so back at the parking area I spent a few minutes chatting with one of the doctors who hang out after the runs to pimp their services to the marathon training group. He felt a couple spots on my back, had me march in place, and decided that my right hip joint wasn't rotating properly. I didn't actually realize until he gave me his card that he was a chiropracter and not a physical therapist, but hell, my running group membership gets me an enormous discount on his services, so I'm going tomorrow morning to get my spine realigned. I figure it's worth trying once, at least.
