In my defense, I had to hold on dearly to my 3.5 in Micro and that took up waaaay too much of my time! And then I went on vacation. And the I crashed my bike, so I had to take some time off training. And then Blogger went down.
Let's start from the top, shall we? Currently I am 0.24 points short of a 3.5 in micro. I'm hoping my instructor rounds up, but just in case: I emailed her asking if there was any possible way I could do something to make up the less than a quarter of a point that I need. :::fingers crossed:::
After all my furious studying, I went on vacation (a week before finals, so I had to do all my studying in advance). I went to Disney World with my parents for a long weekend. Yes, I'm 29. It was great to finally get some sunshine after the miserable Michigan weather. I swam my laps in the outdoor pool at Disney's Fort Wilderness Resort Campground, where we stayed. I would cut off a finger to be able to swim in an outdoor pool (with nice weather, of course) all the time. This is made more funny by the fact that I was born with polydactyly and had an extra thumb cut off when I was 11 months old....
The only down side to my vacation was being verbally assaulted by some random stranger that apparently didn't like the way I looked. Now, I can call myself fat and ugly all day, but I don't ever actually _mean_ it. I'm curvy, I am not a lithe, teensy, hard-bodied athlete. My legs are rock solid, my arms are strong, but I have curves. I'm also not completely unfortunate looking. I'll never win a beauty pageant, but I'd like to think I _wasn't_ absolutely clobbered with the ugly stick. So to have some guy tell me that I was a "f***ing ugly b**ch" and a "fat f***ing slob" really got to me. Especially when I told him numerous times that he had made his point and I got it, and he still kept going. And going. And going...
So what did I do? I cried. And cried. And cried... And then I pulled myself together and went for a six mile run. First of all, any Disney Resort is absolutely GORGEOUS. They are also have well-lit and well-kept separate walking paths through most of the resorts. Which meant I could run at almost 11pm with my iPod. I blared all sorts of upbeat music and didn't have to worry about being attacked or tripping or being hit by a car. (Don't get all worked up, I wouldn't DREAM of running at night with music ANYwhere else. I also clipped my blinky light to my butt like I always do for night runs and wore my reflective ankle bands. I wasn't throwing caution to the wind completely!) It took about a mile before the endorphins kicked in and I forgot about the mean, little man. I got so many high-fives I stopped keeping track (yes, at almost midnight!) after 15! When I ran past the pool, people cheered me on. And not in the teasing way! In the "Looking good!" "Go, Girl!" "Keep it up"-way! If you ever need an ego stroke, go running through a Disney resort! And to top it off as I was rounding off my six miles, I got to see fireworks from the Magic Kingdom! What a perfect way to end an otherwise crappy evening!!
Once I got back to Michigan, where it was a balmy 45 degrees and rainy, I got back to the rest of my training. I swam and ran on vacation but I didn't get a chance to bike. It wasn't worth the $50 to rent a bike for a bike ride! So I got home, get situated, got back to training. ...And promptly landed on my ass about a block from home after a 20 mile ride.
It was bound to happen, it truly was. I'd had clipless pedals for 1 1/2 weeks short of a year before I finally unclipped my left pedal and then leaned to the right... Grand scheme of things? Not so bad. But it hurt. Lots. And it bled. Lots. And after I bled through three different bandages and onto my work pants (thank goodness I wear scrubs!), I finally figured out that three large "tegaderm" bandages on top of a 4x4 gauze with antibiotic ointment does the trick. The only problem was that I was limping. And couldn't get in the pool with a huge, oozing wound! So I didn't swim for a couple days. And didn't run for a couple days. And didn't bike for a couple days. Once it finally got to the point where I wasn't homicidal with pain, I got back to it.
It's now two weeks later and I swear I'm not being melodramatic when I say that there is no torture device that can ever compare to the absolute horrible itchiness of healing wound. Obviously, I'd rather it itch than hurt. But ideally, I'd rather have not fallen off my bike!
