An Injury and A Story

I pulled a muscle in my "inner" thigh area. I'm trying to be all ladylike and not say the groin word. But yeah anyway . . .  it hurts. It really hurt on Saturday and Sunday. Today, it's slightly less painful, but it's still bugging me. So I'm not working out. I don't think I hurt it running. Actually, I think I hurt shoving full laundry baskets around with my right leg. Laundry basket injury. I must now abstain from doing laundry (as if), but I do know I need to rest. I tend to be the crazy type of person who takes three ibuprofen and goes for a run in spite of the pain. That's how I crippled myself last spring and ended up spending six weeks limping around. This time, I've decided (read forced myself) to go ahead and rest up front. I'd rather not be crippled all the way through Christmas. Remind me of that will you?

I'm also, trying to figure out how my running is going to work now that it's getting dark earlier. A while back I went running, and it got dark faster than I had expected. Our little subdivision is on the edge of town, and in order to get to the entrance you have to run down a stretch of road with few houses and almost no street lights. Talk about creepy. My time was really good that night probably because I was afraid the boogy man was about to grab me. My point is, I'm glad it's cooler, and I'm really glad it's fall, but this getting dark at 7:30 thing is messing with my running. And you all know I hate the treadmill. Just looking at it hurts my head. So I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Because you know next to war, poverty, starvation, and famine my running schedule is a real problem. Shallow much?!?

So I keep meaning to tell y'all a story, and then I keep forgetting. Week before last, I ran (drove) to San Marcos to do some birthday shopping for Andrew. While I was over there, I decided to run in Panda Express and grab something to eat. Not everyone's favorite I know, but I like it. So I get in line behind two elderly couples. And I wait . . . and wait . . . and wait as they sample everything (I mean everything) on the menu. One of the men kept saying, "Let me try some of that there meat". The other couple didn't speak English so I don't know what they were saying. So while I'm waiting, another older couple comes in behind me, and the wife stands there for a minute and then proceeds to flip out. I mean she starts having a spaz attack about the food. She looks at her husband and says, "They're eating all the food. They're gonna eat it all, and there's not gonna be any left for us. Look there! Did they just take the last of what I like?". Her husband doesn't answer her. He doesn't even look at her. She then turns to me and says, "Well, he can't hear a word I'm saying. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get my food?" Lucky me. Y'all at this point I'm trapped between three couples, all over the age of 70, two of which are making a meal out of samples, and one of which was comprised of a deaf man and his overly dramatic wife. I was speechless which I'm pretty sure most people thought was an impossibility. I really wanted to laugh, but maintained my composure as best I could. Thankfully, the couples in front of me finally ordered so I could get my food and make my escape. And for the record, everyone got everything they wanted. Because once again next to war, poverty, starvation, and famine, getting what we want at Panda Express is what really matters.

So there you have it. I promised you an injury and a story and you got both. Almost as good as prime time television . . . or not.