Enjoy the ride.
Happy Hump Day everyone! And for those of you keeping track, 17 days to Wine and Dine!!!!
So in an effort to be proactive about finding out exactly what keeps causing this…
I decided to take myself off to the experts. Seeing as I conveniently live within a reasonable distance of a major league football team, I figured why not avail myself of THEIR medical miracle workers? BUT, of course, one must go to one’s own doctor first, because heaven forbid one just take oneself off to said experts without permission. This lovely jump through the hoops excursion landed me in the exam room yesterday of a doctor I had never met. An hour past my appointment time. After sharing the lobby with some germ-emanating woman who actually sneezed in her hand then used that same hand to write her name down on the sign in sheet. E-GADS.
Here’s where my aggravation factor multiplied exponentially. I simply want to jump through the appropriate insurance company hoops to get a referral to see The MAN about my ITBS. Next thing you know, I’m laid out on the table for an EKG (normal), and given forms to go get my blood supply sucked dry. (Actually, more like just getting my iron level checked, but it sounds so much more dramatic when there’s a vampire connotation involved, doesn’t it?) Then, as if I wasn’t already aggravated enough, I have to explain to THEM (as in the office staff – you know the ones who deal with the insurance hoops EVERY DAY), what THEY need to do with the insurance company so I can go see The MAN. Me. The PATIENT. Am I the only one seeing the horrible dark comedy of errors in this whole situation???
So instead of actually having a productive day, I will be spending it on the phone
arguing with my, playing intermediary between my doctor’s office and insurance company, all in an effort, to – here’s a novel idea – TAKE CARE OF MYSELF.
So let me take this moment to apologize dear readers, for the momentary lapse in sanity and rant against all things medical. Hopefully though, the light at the end of the tunnel will be that I DO actually end up getting to see The MAN, who will then proceed to tell me in the first five minutes of my visit that he knows exactly what is wrong with these blasted IT bands, and can fix them in 20 minutes or less. Or even 30. I’ll take 30. Maybe there will even be some hot, retired football player waiting in the lobby when I get there. Nothing wrong with a little bit of eye candy to brighten up the wait.
Enjoy the ride.
Do the hoops you have to jump through for insurance companies make you absolutely insane? Have you ever just wanted to scream unintelligible curses at your doctor? Have you actually done it? Did it get you anywhere?
Hey! Hey you! Make sure you check out the weekly linkup at http://www.rungeekrundisney.com/2014/10/disney-parks-moms-panel-round-2-mickey.html! Sometimes it’s great to be a geek!
So by now you guys know I’ve been in the middle of a major pissing contest with these buttheads.
Actually, it’s more a little to the outside of the noses, but you get the idea. This battle has been off and on for the past two years and brought my shot at a Disney PR back in January to a screeching halt. Literally. Screeching, screaming, crying….you get where I’m going here? Anywho, I thought I finally had a handle on it until last week when it got ugly again HERE.
However, after a couple of weeks of therapy – for the knees, not the head, which I’m actually starting to think really are connected – after switching up HOW I run – thank you Mr. Galloway and my new-found somewhat longer attention span – things are starting to look up.
As I was chugging my way CAREFULLY through an 8 miler this weekend, I suddenly got hit by lightning. Not literally. More like a little hit. Maybe more like a tap. Can one get tapped by lightning? (Sorry, Dug-Squirrel moment there). In a brief moment of runner clarity, and after the accompanying smack upside the cranium, I made a sudden runner-life-altering decision. In a flash, gone was the single-minded goal of a Disney PR at the Wine and Dine in three weeks. In its place, in all it’s luminous glory, was THE NEW DECISION. I’m no longer going for a Disney PR. Instead, I am – wait for it – going to run it —— FOR FUN!!!!! CAN YOU FREAKIN’ BELIEVE IT????!!!!! Neither can I!!!!!
And the best part – I decided to go the FUN route because I am finally getting the chance to run it WITH SOMEBODY. Somebody, who runs like ME! (That would be the non-speedy type, BTW.) Actually, TWO SOMEBODYS!! (Well, one non-speedy like me and one speedy. But she loves cupcakes as much as I do, so she’s in). After all the excitement when runDisney released the corral assignments last week, and finding that Accountabilibuddy Kellie was only one corral behind me, it was an easy decision to jump in with her. And THEN, Nicole jumped in too!!! Oh happy, happy runner moment!!!!
So the self-imposed runner pressure is off. I’m still going to run the best Half that I can, but the priorities are now this:
1. Have FUN. FUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUN. FUN.
2. See exactly how many times we can sing the entire version of Let It Go from the start to the finish line. And yes, Vegas is setting odds.
3. Stop, drop, and #NardiChallenge with the Green Army Guy.
4. Thank the Phoenicians as we fly by the Geosphere. If you have to ask, I don’t know you. And you should be ashamed of yourself.
5. Did I mention? HAVE FUN!!!!! (And shooting for this look with my sister Accountabilibuddies far and wide at the after party. Plus cupcakes.)
So with my new-found Wine and Dine outlook and attitude, I’m no longer going to freak if I’m not hitting the times I was previously shooting for in training. I am a true believer in everything happening for a reason. And I truly believe I was meant to slow down, (even if it DID mean by getting re-injured), tripping across the hilarious, where-the-hell-was-I-looking-for-humorous-outlooks-on-life before I fell into the blogs of Kellie, Nicole, Lisa/Lindsey, Rae, and Jenn/Moon, and finding an alternative to painkillers and constant cursing in an effort to beat back the pain monster, (repeat after me, “lasers are your friend!”).
Sometimes the planets align just right, your dog kisses you with non-stinky breath, and your hubs brings you a cup of Moose Tracks just when you need it most. And this is one of those moments. Except the ice cream is vanilla and Calypso’s breath stinks like the fish she just ate. It’s okay….I’ll take it.
Enjoy the ride.
What’s the last “aha” moment you had? Was it during a run? Did you run into a tree or a swarm of bees when it happened? Did you even notice?
I know you guys typicaly stop by for a laugh, giggle, or somehwat skewed outlook on life. If that’s what you’re looking for today, you ain’t gonna get it. I’m pissed. REALLY PISSED. I’m not going to get up on my soapbox about this ass and a half, as that would end up in this little blogspot becoming a blog novel. Suffice it to say, I’m pissed, thankfully alot of people in my neck of the woods are also, and hopefully this guy will get exactly what’s coming to him.
Take a moment, watch what this a-hole did, and if the mood strikes you, please, PLEASE, pick up the phone and make the call that could help save this poor animal’s life. Then go find your dog, cat, whatever critter you may love, and give them a big loving hug and an extra biscuit. Or a steak. They deserve it. Thank you.
Enjoy the ride.
Would somebody PLEASE explain to me why people find it so necessary to abuse a loving, helpless animal? PLEASE?!?
Like most responsible bloggers – not that I claim to be one of them, mind you – I try to have a list of topics I’d like to cover at least two weeks out. I found it’s easier than letting my dollar machine brain spin out of control and sadly, end up with squat. More often than not though, as I start writing in earnest about the day’s chosen subject, the tornadic activity kicks into overdrive and the inevitable brain vomit follows, resulting in a side trip to whatthehellisshetalkingaboutand how thehelldidshegetthere-itis. Bear with me. There actually IS a point I’m trying to make.
As I laid on the
torture massage table this afternoon, staring at the ceiling and cursing under my breath, (not so much), my synapses started firing at full force as I wondered how, after two FREAKIN’ years, I was STILL dealing with IT issues. Why, just when I thought I finally had this cursed pain in my ass knees licked, it showed up yet ONCE AGAIN. And here I am, in the chiro’s office ONCE AGAIN. Getting my muscles, tendons, ligaments, and whatever the heck else is in there, stretched, mushed, and beaten into submission. ONCE AGAIN. Are you sensing a pattern here?
Seeing as the only way I can keep from hurling my shoes at my massage therapist’s head is to breathe deeply, I was happy to find that it also helped quiet the noise in my head that kept screaming, “IS ALL OF THIS WORTH IT? DON’T YOU WANT TO JUST THROW IN THE TOWEL, PERMANENTLY ATTACH YOUR BUTT TO THE COUCH, AND EAT CUPCAKES? ALL DAMN DAY???” Yeah, that’s really what my head says to me. Doesn’t everyone’s?
Thankfully – once I got over the whole cupcake fantasy thing – I was able to calm down and put things back in my favorite place. Yeppers! Black Dog is back on the PERSPECTIVE train!
I COULD actually permanently affix my dupa to the couch and eat cupcakes all day while watching a Criminal Minds marathon, but that would only result in larger sized sweatpants, frosting mushed into the couch, and uncontrolled drooling over Shemar Moore’s abs. While that in itself wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, it wouldn’t exactly help the original problem of getting these miles run with a tolerable amount of pain. And that track always leads me back to the same place. A little land I call TRUST THE PROCESSville. Land. WHATEVER.
As runners, we all end up there at some point. A pain or ache that simply refuses to go away and makes our running life a living hell. We stretch, foam roll, grunt, groan, and occasionally scream our way through every possible mode of therapy we can think of. We wonder if it’s all worth it. And then we see this.
And suddenly, all our aches and pains, pulled muscles, sore feet, lost nails, and yes, even our ITBS, suddenly doesn’t seem to matter so much. Our complaining becomes tempered, our tears dry up quicker, and we look at things just a little bit differently. We’re thankful we have our eyes to see, our lungs to breathe, and our legs to run. That long, slow run we’ve been dreading all week doesn’t seem quite so scary come Saturday morning. And instead of quietly sneaking out before dawn to get our miles in before work, we take a moment and kiss our significant other on the forehead, even if it wakes them up. Because we realize that life is a precious gift. And one that should never be taken for granted.
So if you’re battling a chronic injury like me, and feel like giving up, DON’T. You WILL beat back the demons that seem to thwart your attempts at victory. You WILL be able to look at yourself in the mirror and be proud of what you see. And you WILL emerge victorious on the other side. And all the anger, tears, and pain will have been worth it. So go ahead and wrap your head around THAT.
Enjoy the ride.
Ever get so down in the dumps about an injury that you thought your running days were over? Were you able to overcome it? Who or what inspires you or helps you keep things in perspective?
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