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Pity party of 1! Your table is now ready!


This post was supposed to be about socks. But instead I am going to complain write about how much my leg hurts. I can hear the worldwide groan of disappointment that you are not going to find out (this morning) what I think of my new Darn Tough and Feetures socks, but bloggers are too ego-centric to care about your disappointment. Plus, my leg hurts. It hurts to move it, it hurts to walk, it hurts to sit down, it hurts to lay down, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to think.

Because it is the weekend and I have to wait until Monday morning to beg an orthopedist to see me, I took to the googles for a diagnosis. So far everything seems to point to bursitis, but because of the pain level (I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10) I fear stress fracture. Bursitis I can deal with. I can deal with a very uncomfortable cortisone shot followed by rounds of icing and stretching and foam rolling and avoiding hills. Stress fracture might make me lose my mind. In the crazy way.

I already started ticking off all the things I am not going to do now that my left leg is about to fall off (particularly the Dirty German Endurance Fest and BOMF 20in24 Relay Challenge). This annoyed MY HUSBAND because the only medical expert I had consulted at this point was my iPhone. He (in an almost nice way) told me to shut up until I saw a doctor, but having been through two sidelining injuries already, I can’t help but expect the worst.

To quell the pity party I was about to drown myself in, I headed to Duff’s for authentic Buffalo wings, shitty tap beer, and relatively good company. Because all my friends are just as self-centered as I am, they all complained that they are never featured on RFDFD. I do not include them in this blog because they call running “jogging” and buy Reebok Zigs at Dick’s Sporting Goods. But because they made me laugh until wet stuff came out of my eyeballs last night, I will grant them special dispensation today:

According to an update on my Facebook page Rich is medium hot.

Me and MY HUSBAND who no longer wishes to be shown on this blog

Plap, me, and Rich

Tawnya and Shannon

Kyle and Kelly

Together we consumed 68 of 70 wings, two baskets of fries, and one GIANT pitcher of beer. Thanks for the hilarious night out guys! And the jar of pickles, which is not a euphemism.

I was just informed by this classy guy

that the 4/8 of us drinking the shitty tap beer drank TWO pitchers.

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