WEATHER: Over 50!
MILES: HOW MANY? 11 on the elliptical. Which I equate to…oh, 8 miles running, as calculated by the “because-I-flippin’-say-so” calculator.
MILES THIS WEEK: 74.5
MILES THIS MONTH: 132
WHERE TO: The gym at work. A little 2-foot by 3-foot space therein.
I’ve been icing the knee so much that I have a couple spots of mild frostbite popping up. I know, I know, the ice pack says “do not apply directly to skin,” but it just won’t WORK AS WELL, DAMMIT, if I do it the WUSSY way. Plus, this gives me an added feel-all-better benefit…you know that old joke where the guy goes to the doctor…
GUY: Doctor, my finger is broken.
DOCTOR: <stomps on Guy’s foot, shattering several bones>
GUY: <through tears of anguish> Why did you do that?
DOCTOR: Your finger doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?
Well, I am both the psychopathic doctor and hapless patient in this scenario, in the sense that the frostbite rubbing against my pants all day makes me wonder if it’s actually the joint that hurts or if it’s just the skin. Which is strangely comforting, because if I can’t tell, the injury couldn’t be that bad.
Anyway, the knee feels strangely not-that-bad right now and didn’t even twinge on the walk home from work, even when I jogged across a couple of streets to avoid homicidal DC drivers. Hoowah! Hope!
Oh, and UPDATE!: The Bear ran her half-marathon on Sunday in 3:12, after which, I understand, she ate many bagels and then screamed, crumbs of bread spewing from her mouth, “RAAAWWWWR! I AM A GOLDEN GOD! I AM A BEAUTIFUL ANIMAL!”
Good job, The Bear.