Friday night I cried myself to sleep. You see, a few years ago, I signed up to walk a half marathon with my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law. I climbed on the treadmill a few times in preparation, but I never put forth much effort. One sunny morning, I agreed to meet them to walk 8 miles together for our training.
Mind you, my mother-in-law can walk faster than I can run. (In fact,she finished the Nashville Half Marathon in '08 just a few minutes shy of BigDaddy and Myself - she walked. We ran. No lie.)
I nearly died that morning. Or, at least, hours after we finished that morning - and for a few days following. My hips hurt so bad it brought tears to my eyes.
But not one to chicken out of a challenge against the in-laws, I kept saying I was going to walk this half marathon with them.
Four days before the blessed event, I ran into the twins' room to grab Pookie a hairbow before preschool, and I WHACKED my foot accidentally against the post of her bed.
The pain was excrutiating. But it wasn't just painful. When I looked down at my foot - you know, in that moment when you hope it looks as bad as it feels cuz DANG does it hurt --- I about threw up.
My toe was dangling stiffly - off. the. side. of. my. foot.
Yes. I had dislocated my pinky toe. Completely. We're talking, I crawled to the phone and called my dearest friend who came to get me, took me to her doctor husband who gave me one look and sent me to the ER where I experienced THE WORST pain of my life...until they gave me the drugs. And even then, those made me sick...but that's a different story...
You can suppose that I got out of that half marathon.
But even that's not the point of this story.
To be continued...
