Ease her pain.

On Friday, I was pushing a cart of books down the hall when it went rogue on me and, instead of going forward, went sideways. My knee somehow also went sideways, causing a sharp pain. One of my students was walking by and as I braced myself from falling, I made some kind of joke about being a klutz. And then I spent the rest of the day trying to avoid the stairs.

This made the 5K I was supposed to be in on Saturday somewhat problematic. But since I am stubborn and didn’t necessarily think it through, I attempted the run just the same. I didn’t even make it half a mile before the pain started shooting down my leg. So I was relegated to walking the rest, and, I have to tell you, it hurt my pride quite a bit. I am not a fast runner or even an especially good runner, but I do take comfort in the fact that I am never at the back of the pack. But we were actually stopping traffic with how far behind everyone else we were.

Especially mortifying were the water tables. They weren’t just being manned by volunteers. They were being manned by Marines. In their fatigues. No way was I taking a cup of water from someone who put his life on the line for our country when I couldn’t even run three miles without complaining of leg pains. No way, no how. I politely declined all the water they tried to give me.

At the end of our trek, I was again mortified when people cheered us on to the finish line. The photographer yelled, “Sprint, sprint!” which I really couldn’t do. Though I tell my middle school students that no one is thinking about them as much as they are, I was convinced that everyone was thinking that an able-bodied (looking) person such as myself really should have been able to do better. It made me feel defensive and grumpy. Also, my leg really hurt.

After the race, Mike and I went to Smith Street Diner, where I drowned my grumpiness in a biscuit the size of my face. (It turns out my grumpiness might also have had something to do with low blood sugar.) This photo is from the fall, when we went to Smith Street Diner after the afterparty and the afterafterparty of Alisa’s wedding. Please note the size of the biscuits.

(Picture shamelessly stolen from Brandi.)

Those are obviously biscuits worth drowning all kinds of feelings in. I drowned my biscuit in gravy. It hit the spot.

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