Thursday, March 22, 2012

Resting the flat tire – or – footgate 2012

I obviously didn’t run the LA marathon, but I did make sure to carbo-load the day before because I love pasta and the pasta makes the sad go away. But only for so long. I woke up race morning and hobbled up to McDonald’s for an egg and cheese McGriddle but failed. It’s a long story.


Int. McDonald’s Morning

An unremarkable McDonalds except for GREG – handsome, mid 20’s, handsome - steps up to the counter to order from a smiling GRISELDA – latina in her 40’s.
                                                Could I have an Egg and cheese
                                                McGriddle, please?
She stares.
                                                An Egg and Cheese McGriddle?
Nothing. She stares through him like he is a ghost. A white ghost.
                                                Could I have a bacon egg and cheese
                                                McGriddle, please?
She snaps to action, punches keys on her touch screen.
                                                (THICK Hispanic accent)
                                                Meal or Sandwich?
                                                Meal, please.
                                                Coffee or Juice?
                                                Soda, actually. Is that ok?
                                                What kind Soda?
Even more confused, Greg turns around to obviously look at the soda machines near the tables.
                                                Dr. Pepper?
She punches more keys on the computer. He pays. She gives him an empty cup, he fills it with diet coke, smiles to himself, gets his McGriddle, leaves.

Please hold your applause until the end of this post.

So that obviously made my day start off in a very weird place. I figured since I had to cross the marathon route to get to the McDonalds, and I told a few people I’d be there that I’d stay and be there like I said.
Plus there was an annoying 40ish dude spectating who would yell at you if you tried to cross because “you’re going to mess up their strides!” which would be true if we were crossing an indoor track race, but if we can get across quickly enough so that the runners knew they wouldn’t hit us thus not altering their stride, it was a non-issue; especially when there were fifty yard gaps between runners. That guy drove me crazy and I made sure to cross twice, pretending not to know where I was going to settle down and cheer. Watching him squirm was great.

Then I got to play asshole when a darling toddler and her dad came to watch the race because they lived in the area and she just wanted to look. The problem was, we were at mile 18(ish) and they were chanting “five more miles!” which was an inconsiderate thing to do on the off chance someone wasn’t exactly aware about how wrong they were. I don’t know if I snapped or not, but I do know that I felt like shit right after I got done speaking so I went home and went back to sleep, since I planned on sleeping the afternoon away back when I had the marathon on the books.

I weighed myself Monday morning, back to the pre-training weight of 217.0 but with a higher fat % (now 23.9). I decided I had to get into something else or risk blowing up again and all the inconveniences that added weight gives me and my health both in general and acutely related to my colitis and depression. I went back to the slow carb diet and bought swim goggles. I’m sticking to the diet but still haven’t touched a pool – going to go for my first swim in years on Saturday, so look for me to get addicted to that and turn this into a swimming blog or maybe I’ll get a bike and start a triathlon blog.

Speaking of triathlon, it turns out I’ve only typed it once (now twice) in my entire life. And it’s not spelled triathAlon. My mind is blown. I’m not sure how the spelling will affect my attitude towards the sport in general, but it does feel like I was just kicked in the gut.

I finally went to the doctor again today to get results of my x-rays. After 10 days of waiting between the urgent care and the appointment with the specialist we uncovered the following truth: the X-rays weren’t exactly done right. Apparently there is a different protocol to x-ray for stress fractures than there is for normal fractures and while there were no fractures, there was insufficient indication of a stress fracture, so bottom line is: I don’t know. My foot pain decreases with rest, increases with activity, does not respond to ice, came on over an extended period of time and hurts when you apply pressure to it directly.

So naturally an orthotic will solve this problem.

What?! An orthotic? Are you mad? I got hurt because I didn’t move properly, why am I being allowed to continue to move improperly?! Why is equipment the answer? Is this equivalent to someone almost drowning in a pool and responding by prescribing them a boat? Shouldn’t I learn how to do it right? No? just pay $30-$300 and continue to do it wrong? WHAT?!

I also got a coupon for 10% off at a local shoe store. I will use this coupon to buy minimalist shoes to spite the system. I know it’s a scam because the doctor didn’t make a diagnosis, yet prescribed a catch-all cure AND gave me a coupon. Now I’m not saying my doctor is shady. I’m saying maybe the medical establishment should reconsider how they approach running. It seems to me to harken back to a bit of a snake oil science, especially considering the last time I tried orthotics and motion control shoes was because of the way my body wore down after using stability shoes and the expensive motherfuckers made me worse instantly. 

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