Generally speaking, I'm in obnoxiously good health. Just not the fanatically good health that I've maintained the past few years. That whole job and career thing have gotten in the way of my leisure activities, so I'm having to relearn my training schedule. But I digress.
I was more than a little anxious when I showed up at the doc's office. They give you an inordinate amount of time to think about life, family, career...and the invasive portions of the examination. Which, in all honesty, isn't a big deal. Or not as big a deal as most guys would have you think. Hell, ANY woman on the planet would laugh in your face if you tried to complain about it. That whole child-bearing angle they bring up is a trump card that's hard to beat. Not to mention any conversation involving a speculum. I shudder to think...
So anyway, we did height (I'm exactly average, if by average you mean better than average), weight (below average, but only because I'm better than average), the standard life history questionnaire (drugs? no...sexually active? ummm...yes...alcohol? as much as possible...), and then I was told to undress and put on the gown, open in the back. Deep breath, slow the pulse...
The doctor comes in, and it's pretty anticlimactic from there: stethoscope, eyes-ears-nose-throat, reflexes, and then it's a short fondle, roll over and exhale (moooonnn riivvvveerrr), and we're done.
She looks at my left foot, and tells me it's not a wart, but a corn. What the hell? Put some acid patches on it and it'll be good in a week. Run away.
Right foot-toe isn't dislocated, possibly fractured (doubtful), but tape it and ice it, and as long as the pain doesn't stop me, I'm not going to be doing any long-term damage by running on it. Baby, I'm back!
Sister's birthday is tonight. Time to get my drink on, do a little dancing, then it'll be up and back on the road in the morning. See Dog run.
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