I "might" have a Lower Body Injury

Well sadly, here we are one week after my big announcement, and I have done squat all regarding preparing for my big run. I know, big surprise, but I have a good excuse which does not involve candy, television or Ivanka's rack.

I hate doctors. Hate them with a passion. Not personally of course, but no way am I letting that person anywhere near my body, especially if they are waving a needle in my face. I realize thats highly unlikely to happen, but I am also afraid a big wind will come and blow me away one day, like on the Wizard of Oz. Can you tell I was tormented with fears as a kid? Must have been all those soccer balls I took to the head when I was younger. Now what was I talking about?

So it took every ounce of courage I had to go see the doctor regarding my faulty ankle. I hate the place, I hate how it smells, I hate the people you find there, I hate the crappy magazines that are a minimum 2 years old they leave for you to read. By the way, are any of you like me and sit in the waiting room, wondering what problems everyone else around you might have. There are the obvious ones, where blood is gushing, or people are holding their body parts in unusual angles. But then there are those tougher people, who might be sick or have more difficult issues to diagnose. Then you start to think, I'm more in need of medical attention than that guy. Look, they clearly have no pain threshold, like me, who can eat glass, sleep on nails, watch Millionaire Matchmaker. I call it the waiting room Olympics, who will win the contest for worst one off. I'd just be happy to medal.

Now I was not expecting amputation or anything, but that queasy feeling as the doc was groping my ankle in a variety of ways certainly rose. The old "does this hurt?" question 10 times, as he poked away at my leg. I always wonder what might happen if I accidently boot the guy right in the jewels, seeing as my foot was facing his groin area and he's testing my pain threshold. Now I'm not that cruel, but at the same time, I trust he's not wearing a cup, and if I did have the twitch action, I cannot be held accountable for the thrust my foot might take.

So the prognosis - I might have a fractured ankle. Might? When I hear that word in a sentence, I automatically think back to those Publishers Clearing House envelopes addressed to Master Rusty or "To Whom it May Concern," telling me I might have already won! We all know how those contests turn out. So for the last 5 weeks, as I've been hobbling around like a man twice my age, I "might" be walking on a fractured ankle. I'll need X-rays to confirm.

Using a sports vernacular, I have a lower body injury and the use of duct tape will not fix it. Nor will Windex, as some people seem to think is the magical cure for everything. Speaking of which, we used Windex to clean up a horrible colour stain on a countertop. It worked like magic, even though the stuff is blue, and does not leave a blue stain. I've started spraying Windex on my head in hopes my receding hairline will grow. I'll let you know the results, but I'm optimistic.

I had great intentions of pushing my running limit this week. Too bad my ankle is bad. I guess I'll have to watch some TV instead and I "might" eat some candy.