Stitches

So, The Brother is painting his room, and that means things have to leave the room and go somewhere else so they aren't ruined.

His computer is in the dining room / TV room and his desk and bed are in the living room. His bed is parallel to the path we all take to walk across the house and the desk is at the end of the bed. I tried to make a picture:

 

It is an ugly picture, but I made it. Our floor is not really empty space, but I forgot to add the carpet. Also nothing is even close to scale, and I forgot some major things like the windows and doors. And I forgot to put in lamps. And I didn't draw The Brother because I couldn't remember how to make a circle using Microsoft Publisher. Basically I just filled text boxes with colors that weren't really all that close to the real colors of things, but you get the idea.

We have been navigating this room for several days with no problems.

But then Dad woke up this morning, got a glass of milk, and set off back to his bedroom so he could do his devotions, as he does every day. This happens very early. He retrieves his heart medicine, takes it with the milk, sits down in an armchair that creaks for no apparent reason, and reads, prays, and sometimes writes things down.

Here is what the living room looked like this morning when Dad got up:

This one was a lot easier to draw.

Dad walked through the room, caught his foot on the end of The Brother's bed, teetered around for a moment, and then went down. He fell forward, and luckily, he managed to hold out his face and stop his fall before he ended up totally on the ground.

Unfortunately, he caught his chin against The Brother's desk. His chin responded by bleeding a lot.

The Brother woke up to milk spraying everywhere. Milk and blood.

Dad was very concerned about cleaning up the milk. The Brother had to try to convince him that the milk was less important than all the bleeding Dad was doing on the carpet and kitchen floor.

The Brother said that if the police showed up, they would have been convinced there'd been a murder at our house, because of all the bleeding.

Dad dealt with this by going to work as normal, except the bleeding didn't really stop at all, so he gave in and went to the doctor, and that is how he ended up with three stitches. I told him stitches were plenty manly, and that all the other kids on the playground would think he was tough. I also told him it was lucky he hadn't broken his jaw, because that would have really stopped him preaching. He also would have had to stop eating food. Since preaching and eating are two of Dad's favorite things, it would have cramped his style.

I wonder if his face will swell up like a balloon.

If it does, I will take pictures.

Day Seven: Why I Need New Shoes

I worked out. It feels like someone has jabbed a screwdriver (flat head) through the top of my skull. This is because I had a sinus headache when I turned on the DVD. This is a present Jillian gave me.

I was talking to Mum this morning, and I said, "I think if I stick with this, I will get new shoes for working out!"

Mom replied, "Those ARE new shoes! I thought you bought those when you started that running thing a few years ago. Then you put them in your closet and never wore them!"

I nodded. This was completely true.

"They are covered with bloodstains," I said. "I cannot get the stains out."

Mom stared.

Here is the story.

A few years ago, I decided that my constant run-down feeling was due to a lack of physical fitness. Yoga, I thought, was doing nothing at all. I was a wreck, and I needed to work out harder. Then I would feel better. Really the reason I felt sick was because my gallbladder was slowly dying inside me. But that is beside the point.

I decided I would become a runner. I had always admired runners. I still do.

I see them out and about in town, and they are in cute running clothes, and they are moving at a good pace, and they have ponytails and iPods and they look like they were in a Nike ad, and they just ran right off the billboard and into real life. And they don't seem to care what the temperature is, or that they're running when nothing is chasing them. They just run.

I have a friend, Jaren, and she ran for like 22 miles for FUN. It was her thing that she did! And then she saved me from falling of a mountain.

I bet the running helped her reflexes.

And then I was driving today, and I saw this girl out running. And then I ate lunch and an hour later, I saw her on my way back to work, and she was STILL RUNNING.

That is pretty impressive.

Anyway, I wanted that for me. I would have a runner's physique. I would have a running playlist. And so I ran.

First, I got shin splints. I get them whenever I try any workout that involves impact. But I kept going and tried all kinds of stretches and massage techniques that were supposed to help prevent shin splints. And then a giant semi truck almost mowed me down on the road, and I decided it was a good idea to be a cross country runner and stay far away from traffic of any kind, except maybe geese or fish swimming in the river alongside me.

Usually, geese or fish, they do not crush you under their tires.

So I ran. And after a week or so, I decided that washing all my socks repeatedly was cramping my style, so I bought new socks. I thought they were the same as my old socks, but they were not. These socks were shorter.

No biggie, I thought. The socks would not take away from the sheer awesomeness of my running shoes, which were clearly epic in every sense of the word. Plus they were narrow enough for my feet, so less chances of ankle injury! I was thrilled.

Then I went running.

I noticed after the first lap (I was running a course around my family's property that amounted to around two miles), I noticed my Achilles tendons felt a little tight. So I stopped and did more stretching, and I kept going. I was hard core. I could take this. When the tightness didn't go away, I told myself I was being a wimp. And I kept running. When I'd finished my course, I stretched more, did my cool-down, and I went inside.

"Hey," I gasped at my father.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEGS???" Dad asked. He looked horrified.

When I leaned over and looked, I noticed my shoes were covered with blood. And filled with blood. And my socks were soaked in blood. My blood. Because my shoes, my adorable running shoes, had basically scissored open my skin where the back of the shoe ended at the top. Right where my tendon was. Right where it had been feeling tight.

I was forced to toss the new socks and I tried with all the stain-fighter stuff I had to get the blood out of my shoes. And it kinda worked...but there was this trendy mesh stuff, and under that, there is still a stain. My DNA, folks. So if you ever need to clone me, you know where to look.

And that is why, when I finish 30 Day Shred, I may just invest in some trendy new running shoes. Or I will take my shoes to a hospital or CSI unit and ask to borrow some industrial cleaner of some kind.

It is also why I will never be a runner. I cannot handle that sort of thing again. I looked like a Quentin Tarantino move.