(Continued from yesterday; starting here would be baffling.)
Toddled off to urgent care, violated a plastic cup, and confirmed I was toxic. Because I'm allergic to all the usual drugs, Doc-in-the-Box gave me a prescription for an exotic antibiotic that has the perverse side effect of weakening joints and musculature. And turning me green if I go out in the sun. "Stay inside," he warned. "And don't exercise for 10 days." Then he looked at my ugly surgical scar. "And stop breaking bones. Forever."
Ever obedient, I did what the doc said -- except for the breaking bones part.
A few days after starting the antibiotic, I was hiding from my husband, hoping he wouldn't send me to the store, when the phone rang. I gamely ran to answer it, and crashed into the side of a door. And broke two toes.
Yes, I did. Thank you. Thank you very much. Hold your applause, please.
So now I have a taped-up foot, I've finished the course of antibiotics, my husband has had the staples removed and can get his own Oreos, and I'm finally back at the gym.
If only because it's safer there than in my own house.
And my medical experiments have been conducted.
What I've learned:
1. I've lost my slug trail. Cheese will kill me.
2. I'm too old to run out in the street (or the doorway) without looking where I'm going.
3. I need to drink more water.
4. I need to find a new hair color.
Also, I did not win five grand. But five Benjamins is better than a kick in the backside.
So yesterday counts as day 91 in my quest. I'm back, slightly broken, with strangely discolored hair, but back at the gym and far away from Mexican restaurants in the middle of nowhere, fully committed to raw eating and daily workouts.
Ah, it's good to be home.
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Today's sound track: Marmalade from the best decade: Reflections of My Life. A live performance, too. Doesn't matter if you like the song; you'll definitely love the clothing.