Heads Or Tails

I freely admit it.  A couple of weeks ago, I felt like this.

Whatever it is...no.


After my last visit to The Man resulted in a big KO to my running career, I understandably went into my own special state of pissheadedness. (Yes, that is an actual state of mind.  Swear. Look it up.)  Coupled with the fact that I could no longer visit my lovely state of calmness, calorie burning, mind numbing, pavement pounding, was the fact that after more than four years – yes, YEARS – the hubby finally sought a third opinion, (courtesy of The Man), on his ongoing foot problems.  One visit to this new foot guy and VOILA!  He can run!  AGAIN!  Now, by NO means get me wrong here.  I am THRILLED beyond belief that he can run virtually pain-free after so many years.  It’s the damn IRONY of the friggin’ situation that gets to me.  Why, after all this time, is he suddenly able to start running again at the same exact moment I have to stop?!?  I truly believe that somewhere, in some cosmic karmic hell, some little bratty demon, who most likely got beat up on the playground when he was an even smaller little bratty baby demon, is laughing his dupa off at all of this.  You will pay one day you obnoxious little brat.  Oh yes, you will pay.  Once I go all Maleficent on your dupa.


Until that moment though, I am patiently – okay, not so much – waiting for the day that I can get back into these.

Like the wind.  Really.

Hi babies.  Mommy misses you.  A LOT.

I don’t mind plopping my happy dupa on stationary bikes, recumbent bikes, or walking the dreadmill.  Wonder Mutt is thrilled as she’s getting in even more quality sniffing time as the Mom Person is taking her for a lot more walking than usual.  How is that even possible?  Hmmmmm……

Let's GOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Can we go? Can we go?  Can we? Can we? Huh? Huh? Huh?  Let’s GOOOOOOO!!!!!!

But.  Let’s be honest.  If runners were patient people, then we probably wouldn’t BE runners.  We want to be crossing that finish line already.  Even if that finish line is at least three FREAKING MONTHS AWAY.  But.  I will get there.  One way or another.

Just. Gotta. Stretch.

Just. Gotta. Try….

In the meantime though, I know myself well enough to know there will be moments of absolute insanity, pouting, tears, and possibly even some intermittent throwing of inanimate objects.  Which may or may not include said Brooks Ghost 7’s.  But I’ll get over it quickly enough, put on my big girl pants which hopefully will not get any bigger, and do what I have to do to heal.  Of course, being the oh-so-patient girl that I am, (N-O-T), I may not even wait the requested three months and end up going back to The Man and tell him to just slice me open and let’s get this crap fixed.  The thought of surgery scares the crap out of me, but if it will get me back on the road again, (anyone else hearing REO Speedwagon music?), then I’m all in.



So let’s hear it people.  What’s your opinion?  Should I be patient and see how it goes, more than likely to end up right back here again?  Or should I just bite the bullet and get it over with?  I’m curious to see what people think.  Please, weigh in!  We’ll consider this the first official unofficial BDRD opinion poll.  Winners will win a year’s worth of free Moose Tracks.  You’re welcome.


Enjoy the ride.

What do you think?  Should I try to be patient and see how it goes, or go back to The Man and go the surgical route instead?