Forrest Gump (another great runner) opined that life was like a box of chocolates, but mine is more like a piñata. When my life is full of good things and I’m swinging festively in the breeze, something (or someone) will come along with a metaphorical baseball bat and … WHACK! Sweetness explodes through the air and scatters on the ground. Bev still swings in the breeze, but now is broken and empty with little bits of damp crepe paper in her hair, wondering what just happened.
Thus it was yesterday. Dashing through the kitchen in bare feet, I caught my little toe on a chair leg and … snap. I thought I was going to throw up. But ever the optimist (and embracing pain like a disciplined marathon runner), I toughed it out, waiting for it to stop hurting. Eighteen hours later, it’s still hurting, sending ache all the way up my leg. The bitty toe is also limp and a lovely shade of purple. Putting my shoe on this morning was an exercise in masochism and futility.
So I didn’t go out this morning to run. My training, going so well, has taken a hit. It’s okay. I’m glad this happened NOW. I’ll deal with it. And it’s early in training. No mere fractured bone is going to keep me off the starting line of the New York City Marathon. I’m filling my piñata back up and getting on with it!
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