You are probably just reading this because you aren't allowed to leave your house and have exhausted every other entertainment option you can think of. That's ok.
A captive audience is still an audience, and neither of us have anything better to do.
It's the perfect time for a new batch of random thoughts. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back.
Why is it that I start to get restless after a day at home, but my cat hasn't left the house in like 16 years and she is doing just fine?
So is it the Corona Virus, the coronavirus, Covid-19, SARS-CoV-2, or something with the word "China" in the name? If just naming the virus is this hard, no wonder we don't have a vaccine yet.
Instead of getting a stimulus check from the government, can I request that they send me an equivalent amount worth of toilet paper?
Lots of people are watching a new documentary about a guy with a mullet haircut and his own pet tigers. In 5 years, he will probably be our president.
Why didn't I think to buy a gigantic, tricked-out house that I couldn't afford right before the banks were ordered not to foreclose on people?
At what point does flying actually become safer than staying home, because there are fewer people on the plane than living in your house? Plus, you can swipe some toilet paper from the lavoratory.
Do police officers now have to sanitize their hands before putting people in handcuffs?
If you don't have the virus, is it insensitive to play R.EM.'s song with the lyrics "It's the end of the world as we know but I feel fine"?
Why did toilet paper become the thing people decided to lose their minds stocking up on? Why not, say, oranges?
Why are police, medics, and firefighters all referred to as first responders when one of them got to the scene third?
One thing I know: when we all emerge from this thing, there are going to be a whole lot of people who need haircuts.
Another thing: tickets for whatever the first live sporting event is on the other side of this are going to go for like a thousand dollars. Or maybe that amount worth of toilet paper.
I feel really bad for people who live alone and have birthdays while under quarantine. If you know anyone to whom that applies, drop them off some toilet paper.
Here's to all those who are, or have a loved one, fighting against this thing. Stay safe, keep fighting, and don't give up hope for a day when you have something better to do than read this blog.
Tuesday, March 31, 2020
Sunday, March 1, 2020
It Wasn't Supposed to Be This Way
Today was supposed to be my day.
My triumph. My victory. My proclamation of overcoming MS, my social anxiety, and a long-fought intractable battle over a personal goal.
It certainly wasn't supposed to be like this.
I was going to run the Atlanta Half Marathon. After ten races over 7 years, I was finally going to hit the 1:45 mark I've been working towards since I started running. I was going to feel triumphant, having scored a victory over both multiple sclerosis and Father Time. Locally, this is the biggest race of the year, and I imagined running through the streets of my new city, absorbing the support of the crowd and feeling the affirmation that I belonged here. Moving is hard, and this was to my first heartfelt connection I was to forge with my new home.
I was looking forward to basking in a lazy afternoon satisfied in my accomplishment, reflecting on what it took to get here.
I broke my knee three years ago, and it was inexplicably slow to recover. My orthopedist gave up on me, and my physical therapist told me that I'd never walk again without a limp. He thought my knee was mostly healed but my nerve connections just didn't work anymore, what with the MS trying to destroy them. I refused to believe him, because I just couldn't. And eventually, he turned out to be wrong.
Today, I was going to not only prove that, I was going to be faster than ever.
And the thing is, I was actually going to do it. I had run up to 11 miles and was already hitting the times I needed a month before the race. By race day, today, I was going to be trained and ready to own the course. I was going to blow my goal away, having overcome MS and a debilitating injury to do it.
But that today didn't happen. I got this today instead.
A month ago my ankle turned in a bad direction and I fell to the ground. I completely tore my ligament off the bone, and I've been in a walking boot ever since. I was able to ditch my crutches fairly quickly, but the doctor told me I would take three months to heal.
I'm going to miss a whole lot of races until then, but none bigger than today. The race is all over the papers, and the local streets are mostly shut down. I was supposed to be out there as part of Atlanta's annual weekend running festival, not inside on a computer.
Life while injured is hard. I've been mostly stuck inside, unable to do much except get overly worked up about the latest political news. It's been rainy and gloomy all winter. February is the worst month of the calendar, with little excitement and lots of cold, and this year it even had an extra day.
I went to church this morning, because I had some free time that opened from the race I couldn't run. In an act of defiance, I left my house without my walking boot, a day before I was scheduled to be done with it. I drove to church and then hobbled from the parking lot to the auditorium. If I couldn't run the race I wanted, I could at least limp toward God.
It was a good service--one that spoke of counting our blessings even in seasons of loss, and making sacrifices to help others, rather than the empty gestures that come more easily. As we took communion near the end, I remembered that Jesus was once physically broken just like me, and modeled how to do it. Eventually, he got back up again, and he overcame.
I will too.
I fell, but I will get back up. My ankle, my knee, and my fiberglass body will all hold up for another shot somewhere down the line. MS will let me will run another race, and if I got to my desired pace once, I can get there again. It will feel ever better having overcome one more thing to do it. I will feel settled and at home someday, somewhere.
My day will come. I just have to believe that it will.
I wish it were today. Instead, I settled for a slow but successful walk back my car after church had ended, one day ahead of my recovery schedule. I smiled a little smile at the small victory. It was all that was in store for me today, but a victory nonetheless.
And I noticed the sun had finally come out.
My triumph. My victory. My proclamation of overcoming MS, my social anxiety, and a long-fought intractable battle over a personal goal.
It certainly wasn't supposed to be like this.
I was going to run the Atlanta Half Marathon. After ten races over 7 years, I was finally going to hit the 1:45 mark I've been working towards since I started running. I was going to feel triumphant, having scored a victory over both multiple sclerosis and Father Time. Locally, this is the biggest race of the year, and I imagined running through the streets of my new city, absorbing the support of the crowd and feeling the affirmation that I belonged here. Moving is hard, and this was to my first heartfelt connection I was to forge with my new home.
I was looking forward to basking in a lazy afternoon satisfied in my accomplishment, reflecting on what it took to get here.
I broke my knee three years ago, and it was inexplicably slow to recover. My orthopedist gave up on me, and my physical therapist told me that I'd never walk again without a limp. He thought my knee was mostly healed but my nerve connections just didn't work anymore, what with the MS trying to destroy them. I refused to believe him, because I just couldn't. And eventually, he turned out to be wrong.
Today, I was going to not only prove that, I was going to be faster than ever.
And the thing is, I was actually going to do it. I had run up to 11 miles and was already hitting the times I needed a month before the race. By race day, today, I was going to be trained and ready to own the course. I was going to blow my goal away, having overcome MS and a debilitating injury to do it.
But that today didn't happen. I got this today instead.
A month ago my ankle turned in a bad direction and I fell to the ground. I completely tore my ligament off the bone, and I've been in a walking boot ever since. I was able to ditch my crutches fairly quickly, but the doctor told me I would take three months to heal.
I'm going to miss a whole lot of races until then, but none bigger than today. The race is all over the papers, and the local streets are mostly shut down. I was supposed to be out there as part of Atlanta's annual weekend running festival, not inside on a computer.
Life while injured is hard. I've been mostly stuck inside, unable to do much except get overly worked up about the latest political news. It's been rainy and gloomy all winter. February is the worst month of the calendar, with little excitement and lots of cold, and this year it even had an extra day.
I went to church this morning, because I had some free time that opened from the race I couldn't run. In an act of defiance, I left my house without my walking boot, a day before I was scheduled to be done with it. I drove to church and then hobbled from the parking lot to the auditorium. If I couldn't run the race I wanted, I could at least limp toward God.
It was a good service--one that spoke of counting our blessings even in seasons of loss, and making sacrifices to help others, rather than the empty gestures that come more easily. As we took communion near the end, I remembered that Jesus was once physically broken just like me, and modeled how to do it. Eventually, he got back up again, and he overcame.
I will too.
I fell, but I will get back up. My ankle, my knee, and my fiberglass body will all hold up for another shot somewhere down the line. MS will let me will run another race, and if I got to my desired pace once, I can get there again. It will feel ever better having overcome one more thing to do it. I will feel settled and at home someday, somewhere.
My day will come. I just have to believe that it will.
I wish it were today. Instead, I settled for a slow but successful walk back my car after church had ended, one day ahead of my recovery schedule. I smiled a little smile at the small victory. It was all that was in store for me today, but a victory nonetheless.
And I noticed the sun had finally come out.
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