It's that time of year, folks.
Nope, I'm not talking about May sweeps. I'm talking about two (slightly less) significant events: (1) learning (finally!) the location of Chris' next rotation and (2) the inevitable annual disintegration of my right tibia (a.k.a. stress fracture).
It all started innocently enough. I convinced Chris that, instead of just going to the gym and working out with no real purpose other than to burn off the excessive calories we consume whenever I have one of my emotional baking episodes, we should both train for a half marathon. That way, we could eat whatever we wanted (including brownies made with two entire sticks of butter) and still stay in shape (more or less). Plus, we'd have a GOAL. Very important, these things.
Well, training went well for the first month or so. Then, when i started hitting the 8-mile mark on long runs, I felt that old familiar feeling - a really annoying and persistent twinge in my right shin bone. And all I could think was "Nooooooo!" (Just like on Lost, when Jack looks out at the ocean after losing three of his beloved fellow castaways and weeps in frustration at the pointlessness of death, life, and the end of the series. Curse you, Lost producers! Curse you! What am I going to DO with myself after this Sunday?)
Anyway, the last time this stress fracture thingy happened, I was in the middle of training for the Boston Marathon. Treatment involved hours of physical therapy, pointless bone scans, hours in the pool with a floatie around my waist "running" in the water and looking like an idiot, and stupid conversations with stupid doctors who really didn't know anything (for which I paid a $50 copay per visit, by the way), and a bone stimulator. That's right. A bone stimulator. And at the end, when I'd finished the marathon without any pain, I thought, that's it. I'm healed! I ran 26.2 miles without pain in my right shin! Granted, I won't be able to stand up from a seated position unassisted for weeks, but that's normal!
Guess I wasn't healed after all. Oh well. The good news is, after waffling for months about going to the doctor to get it looked at, I finally sucked it up and went last week and got a diagnosis. This week I started going to PT. And guess what they did? The first day, they sucked me in by just doing a little massage and whatnot. The second session - well, in the immortal words of Naughty by Nature, "that's not that simple." Check it out:
They stuck pins in me! I have officially been acupunctured. Pretty cool. I have no idea if it's going to work, but it sure looked impressive (and kinda hurt). I'll keep you posted.