You guys! I'm totally leaving for San Fran on Friday to walk 13.1 miles! Isn't that bananaramas!?!
I'm really actually pretty excited for the marathon. My good friends Spo, Hammy and Amber (yet to be crazy nicknamed) are going as well and I know we'll have a gay old time. Cuz all of San Francisco is gaygaygay. Did you guys know that? (Wow, I really do say, "you guys" too much, Will & Eliza.)
Here's the thing though. So basically I got up to running 10 miles and I was on course for the full marathon training. I was so happy because honestly I'm no athlete so this was huge for me. But then one day: disaster.
It all happened when I was in Providence with I Eat Pandas. I wanted to run but didn't want to get lost on my journey so I decided to run on the treadmill instead. Mistake #1. I started to get some pain in my hip but did I stop? Oh no. I just powered through that pain! Mistake #2. Then, instead of taking a little breather on my running, I ran some more! Mistake #3. So finally I was like dude I can't run more than a mile because my hip feels like it's going to pop out of the socket thingy (it's just called a socket, right?) so I decided to take a rest and go see a sports doc.
Who would have thought Oxford would only have one sports doc on its entire plan. Oh well, I'm sure he's great right?? Right. No I mean WRONG!
First he tells me it could be a stress fracture. Oh god! That's bad! So I stop running all together. I go get an x-ray, exposing my precious lady-parts to radiation, and bring it back to him. He says, "Why did you get this? I thought you were going to try running like a chicken first?" What? Ok so fine, we've got the x-ray so let's look at it. No stress fracture! Hooray!
"Glennis," he says to me, "lay down on the table here."
(bowchika bow bow)
I lay down and he goes, "Oh god! No no no. My dear, you should not be running! One of your legs is almost an inch longer than the other."
Yeah I know tardo, you told me that last time I was here.
But still... I'm a FREAK!
"Calm down," people tell me. "A lot of people have that problem."
Ok good. Now I can calm down and the doctor tells me we can get some inserts for my shoes to help even me out, yo. I still think I'm a freak but I say, "well I don't want to NOT do the marathon so let's do it." He tells me the inserts are $350 and that it's not covered by insurance.
Shit.
At this point I'm like, "listen, G-dawg. You have two choices. Quit the marathon you quitter who quits everything. Or do the marathon and be a winner and find a puppy at the finish line."
I decide to do the marathon. I'd already raised over $2000 and honestly, there was still time to train.
So I got my feet fitted for the inserts. They come in, the doc calls me, and I go to pick them up. Let me first say that every time I'd been in to see him (like at least 4 times) he said to me, "What are you here for?? Why are we doing this?!? One leg is longer than the other! WHAT's MY NAME!!!??!?!?" so I was already a lot annoyed with him.
So I go to pick up the inserts. He tells me, "it took you long enough." LIIIISTINBITCH. If I had time to run around town picking up inserts I wouldn't need to be running! (It made no sense but it was spur of the moment retort.) So I try the inserts on and he goes, "oh no no no these are not good. We're going to have to bring the arches up more."
!!!!
Then he says, "what are these for again?"
I'm like SONOFABITCH DUDE! A MARATHON!!
And then (here's the part where I lose it) and then he says, "Oh you can't wear these in a marathon!"
I...
I...
Oh god please stop me...
THEN WHY THE HELL DID I PAY $350 FOR THEM!?!?!
"Oh they will help you out in the long run (no pun intended) but you could hurt yourself more if you wear these. AND AS A DOCTOR (HA!!) I have the duty to 'first do no harm'."
Oh you can shove that first do no harm up your first do no ASS!
I think he could tell I was pissed cuz he tried to sell me on the, "Oh just walking in the marathon shows your solidarity and support for Leukemia and..."
BULL CRAP. SHUT YOUR DUMB MOUTH YOU DIRTY SPORTS DOCTOR WHORE.
I mean, basically I just smiled and said thanks for the inserts and walked out. But really deep down inside my heart I was stabbing him with a tongue deperessor. Why do sports doctors need tongue depressors, you guys!?!
So anyway...that's my story of how I got the name "Murder."
Also, I really am very excited to walk the 13.1 miles in support of a cure. I'm going to bring my pod and a camera so I can photo blog my journey.
Have a great day alls. I will never try to stab YOU GUYS.
Love,
Glennis
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