So I had this fantastic post planned about why I ran the half.
Funny how nature had other plans.
Last Sunday, I'd come in from my training run, was enjoying my frapp, and was getting ready to go some yardwork, when thunk.
I dropped my laptop on my left foot. Specifically, that place on your foot where the second toe in -- the one next to the pinky toe -- meets the foot.
It hurt. A lot. But I could move my toes. And it was swollen, but not horribly swollen.
So I went out and did the yardwork anyway.
It was still sore when I went to bed, and a bit red, but meh.
But it was still sore when I got up, and more swollen, and now with a bit of a bruise. That by the end of the day had spread to cover a good 1/3 of my foot.
I debated whether or not to go to Urgent Care Monday night. Largely because I didn't want them to tell me to not run. Fortunately -- or unfortunately -- I figured that OK, that was a sign of the eating disorder yelling, because any rational person wouldn't think that.
So I went. And they x-rayed it promptly. And then informed me that I had a displaced fracture, where the toe met the foot. And that I needed to be in a walking boot -- except not as high as the ankle fracture ones. And on crutches.
And that I shouldn't run.
I argued with the PA. She told me she couldn't tell me not to run, but that she could only advise against it.
And then they showed me how to walk on crutches.
And I went to the car and cried.
This was more than just a run. This was showing that I could do this. And that I could work hard, and that I could do something I'd set my mind to -- and that I could say "Fuck you," to all of those people who had ever made me feel less than. Or who had told me that I couldn't do something. Or who had made me feel like I didn't know what I was doing. Or that I was bad in gym. Or bad at work.
And then I cried again. And went to Whole Foods, where I hobbled on crutches to the pizza counter, and then back to my car, and kept telling people that no, I didn't need help.
And then I cried again. And got home and made a very stiff drink.
That was when I realized that this wasn't about the race. This was entirely mental. That I could lose the money, and that would hurt like hell, but that I would also lose this opportunity -- and even though it would come again, what wouldn't go away would be the knowledge that this weekend, my body fucked me over again.
And I could not deal with that again.
So I posted to my alma mater's fitness group. And got a lot of answers I didn't like. And argued back.
And I went to the ortho appointment. And finally, got relief. Was assured that the PA was overreacting a bit, and although it was very thoroughly broken, running wouldn't cause any more damage. No need for crutches. No need for taping, unless I thought it would help the inevitable pain that came with running 13.1 miles on a broken toe.
"It's going to be very angry at you," the orthopedist warned.
I told him I could take it.
Did I run the half? Absolutely.
And I blew my training times out of the water. Not only did I finish, but I ran faster than I ever imagined possible. And that was amazing to find out.
And that's how I ran a half marathon with a displaced fracture.
Sunday is my first half marathon.
I am simultaneously in denial, and excited about this. A mix of both. I think. Especially considering I'm not really a runner.
Here's what I'm thinking right now.
1. Oh shit. I, like, have to do this now.
2. Right. I can do this. I've trained for this. I am SuperWoman. I can do this.
3. I do 10 miles easily in training. That's what "people" say you're supposed to cap out at (when the PT and my GP confirm what Dietitian says, I'm inclined to think that the three people are right).
4. So I can do this. It's only an additional three miles. A 5K. Which I do for fun for weekday training runs. Well, maybe not "fun" but I do them with good times.
5. What if other people mock me for doing Galloway? The marathon recommends it, but people can suck sometimes.
6. I've got this. I've got pretty shoes, and cute gear. Feet, I know you're going to hurt, with that whole running 13.1 miles on a broken toe and all, but feet, don't fail me now.
7. Shit. What if it rains? The forecast says it's going to rain. I need a jacket. I hate rain.
8. I am so not a runner. I'm in Corral D. I'm just a poser. That explains why the big time gap between when the course closes, and the maximum cutoff time. But even with that, unless people start damn slow, I should still be fine.
9. I. Can. Do. This. I'm faster than the maximum time on training runs, and supposedly adrenaline is supposed to make you run faster.
10. Parking. OK. Hope the road closures aren't awful. Park the car, and then run. I've got this.
I tend to take a laisse faire approach when it comes to the in-ground plants.
I figure that nature knows better than I do about what the plants need, and when it's good and safe and comfortable to blossom and maybe set fruit.
Sure, I'll take pre-emptive and protective steps like Liquid Fence and Sevin (I know, I know -- but never when there are blossoms, and only once or twice a season). But otherwise? The plants have this.
This is the time of year when I get to see the magic happen.
This? This is a sign it's going to hopefully be a good year for peaches. The blossoms were only out for a short time. I was amazed when I checked them recently, and saw that the tree was covered in all of these little miniature peaches. This is the first year I can remember seeing these. In my defense, it's also the first year I haven't been recovering from academia in early May.
The blackberry plants never cease to amaze me. They're already setting fruit -- and lots of fruit, at that.
Lookit those! Both plants are covered. Hopefully they ripen well.
And let's not forget the raspberries. Usually, they start doing their thing come later in the summer. Not this year.
They obviously didn't want to be left out of the fun. I say, bring it on!
You know the one.
The one who sits there looking sad in the instructions that show how you're supposed to do something with two people.
In my single life as a homeowner -- and pre-dating that, my single life as an apartment dweller who hated living life like it was lived in an apartment -- I've become very familiar with the phrase "Two people required for assembly."
Fortunately, I'm also well acquainted with the phrase "You really should let someone help you." As well as "You're stubborn." And "No. Really. Let someone help."
Thanks to gravity, sheer grit (a paradox there?), and knowing what my limits are for lifting and holding, I've really never met a "two people required" project I can't handle.
Although I do admit that it's still fun to see salespeople and flight attendants help someone of my size, because they think I can't possibly lift whatever it is I'm carrying.
There's a huge sense of pride for doing something entirely on my own. I've done most of the work and projects in the house on my own, and I've been able to execute a vision that is entirely my own -- something resembling what would happen if SCA took on mid-century modern.
But this chaise? Damn, I'm proud of this chaise.
After the saga with Lowe's about the magically disappearing chaise, I finally picked it up a few weeks ago, and put it together last week. The instructions were very clear about "Two people required for assembly," and the online reviews also noted that it was much easier with two people.
Meh. Who cares? I've got gravity, fairly strong limbs, and grit. I could do this.
After a few moments involving creative language, I finally got the arms at a point where it was self-supporting, and where I could let the grit takeover. The instructions said 20 minutes; it took me about 40. I'm OK with that, considering I was working with half the manpower required.
Didn't cut myself in this adventure, and no damage to the chaise. Win win.
The cushion was surprisingly comfortable -- I wasn't expecting much from a $45 Target cushion -- and I adored that despite not being available in the same pattern as the table chair cushions, it matches nearly perfectly. The reviews on Target's website say it's too large for standard furniture, but I found that it matched the size of the chaise almost perfectly. And oh, so soft and cushy.
But why am I so proud? I did it on my own, and I've wanted this chaise forever. And now, thanks to a side table, I have a place where I can sit cross-legged and have a beverage, and enjoy the space that I have created.
All on my own.
The fruit plants are definitely benefitting from the early spring.
I've never seen the strawberries bloom this early. Usually closer to mid-May or early June, but I can't remember ever seeing them in early- to mid-April.
They always surprise me with how quickly they grow back. They'll go from almost nothing in March, after it starts to thaw, to quickly taking over that patch of land where I have them. Over the course of the summer, when they start to set fruit, I'll easily have a couple of quarts of strawberries -- but sadly, then I won't have any more until the following year, since I refuse to buy them out of season. One of these years I'll hopefully have enough that I can freeze them, and maybe even make ice cream.
I continue to adore the fruit bushes, and continue to be immensely proud of them.
I planted them just about two years ago now, and had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
I knew that I wanted something in this side yard so I didn't have to mow the lawn up there (because while I am passionate about urban agriculture, I am also lazy). And I knew I wanted fruit. So blackberries and raspberries it was. I didn't want to call the landscaper for an easy job (ha!), so I excavated the side yard, mulched it, and planted them.
And admittedly, then called the landscaper to take out the mulch and put in the limestone, with a warning to be careful around the bushes.
I figured I'd be doing well if they survived the first winter. I figured they'd be doing well if they not only survived that first winter, but actually made fruit by the second summer. I harbored no such illusions that they'd fruit the first summer -- three months after they were planted.
So imagine my surprise that first summer when that little raspberry plant on the end started setting fruit. And then ripening fruit.
And my surprise was even bigger the first spring following -- 2016 -- when I looked out one day and saw that the blackberries were taller than I was. And then I got nearly a pint of fruit each week from all the bushes combined during the summer.
This year, I got smart. Once I realized they were big enough, and were only going to get bigger, I bought trellises, and staked them up.
Last check, they were almost four feet tall.
And this is April.
I'm very proud of the quality of life that my plants have.
Gardening is Very Serious Business at the CollectingBlues household. Seedlings get planted early on, and then the garden planner comes out once I have a better idea about what I can reasonably grow.
But the really exciting part is when it gets warm and bright enough out in the sunroom for the seedlings to move...
And then for the seedlings to be transplanted.
The seedlings really tend to take off once they get natural light, even though the electric set up is pretty adequate. So this year, I was thrilled when after having to move them early, I came back from my vacation to see that the cucurbits -- the squashes, the watermelon and honeydew, and then the cucumbers -- were outgrowing their little pods, and needed a new home.
I'm pretty sure that the eggplant, tomatoes, and pepper are not that far behind. They're doing well with their true leaves, and I think they just need another week or two to get a little more established before I transplant them to the bigger pots.
Then they'll all hang out in the sunroom for a few more weeks to harden off. The Farmer's Almanac says that the last frost will be around May 1 or so, and I'll be off on May 8, so I'm thinking planting in the garden may happen that day -- or by the following weekend at the latest.
Of course, this time of year also involves the "Be nice to the plants" conversation with Cat.
For this time of year, she has to sacrifice her sitting spaces so that mama's plants can grow big and strong. (She's a cat. We talk in toddler language.)
She manages, though. She doesn't get the benefit of the plants, but she gets the benefit of a happy mama.
This tree is definitely in the list of "stupid things that I love so much."
One of my fantasies for as long as I can remember as an adult has been to have whatever I could get close to an orchard in my back yard. So when I bought the house, and it came time for landscaping, I asked my landscaper to take out a pole that was randomly in the backyard (I don't understand the previous owners) and replace it with an apple tree.
And then I waited. And waited.
Nothing happened that first fall, but I figured, OK, that's normal.
And then nothing happened the next spring.
I am not a patient person.
So I Googled, and saw that apple trees won't blossom and set fruit for typically three to five years after being planted.
Three. To. Five. Years.
An eternity for a not-very-patient person.
So I waited. And waited.
A few weeks back, I had a sense that something different was coming. I could tell that the tree was doing something, but wasn't sure if it was leafing, or if it was blossoming. It looked different than previous leafing years, but at this point, I'd accepted that the tree wasn't on my schedule.
I was out doing some work in my yard, and my neighbor mentioned how nice everything looked when it was up and growing. I made a comment to her that the tree looked different, and she gave me the "Crazy Neighbor Lady Is Crazy" look, and said that no, she thought it was just leaves.
I felt vindicated when this happened a week or so after that conversation:
I was right! (There also may have been some creative exclaiming when I walked into my yard and saw this.)
Almost three years to the dot, the tree finally felt comfortable and confident enough to bloom. I don't know if this is a harbinger of apples for this harvest season, but I love looking at it from my patio at night, and knowing that for once, my patience paid off.
Five short days later, the tree had burst into full bloom.
It was worth the wait.
