This is our lot in life with Gina in the boxing gym. One crazy, intense, stroke-inducing exercise after another in her circuit training at 4 am. With Gus, it is always intense in the ring, and with mitts and bag time. With Gina, our fate is less ring time, more wing time- as in, my wings are so sore, I could die. Push-ups, pull- ups, overhead press with medicine ball, wall balls, and the like all lend to the idea that I am very aware of the muscle fibers in my back and arms today.
Did I mention it might be a stress fracture? I'll know more tomorrow when I see Georgie in the office. The blessing and curse of living in a small town is this: girl mentions in passing that she has intense and nagging pain in her lower shin that now radiates to her ankle and the back of her leg. This pain tends to intensify running down the little bridge incline some affectionately call a "hill" here (her girls in CA would KILL her if she ever breathed this out loud in polite company on the West Coast). Girl's friend, Patti, calls doctor Jim, who then calls girl and insists that she come in to face the music. Girl tries to resist, unaware doctors are in the acute business of forcing reality checks, but she is no match for bossy neurologist who likes to throw around his weight. Girl is defeated and succumbs to her inescapable fate: she is scheduled to see his orthopedic partner at 10:30 tomorrow morning.
Girl asks if doc will also consider prescribing anti-psychotics in addition to the bone scan, knowing it is not looking good for her family for the next several weeks on a no-running prescription.
Say it with me: sad.
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