I tore my calf muscle about a month ago. During a trail run. I resisted seeking medical attention until a Phoenix Fire Department Captain who I adore looked into my eyes and said, "Promise me, you will call your doctor tomorrow." Eh, I did.
Turns out I tore my left gastroc. Whatevs.
Except...
I have been laid up for four weeks in an air cast. It's summertime in Phoenix. The insides of my air cast now have white salt lines up and down them from the sweat.
The cast slows me down. I don't do slow. I am chomping at the bit.
The cast drastically affects my wardrobe options (any type of denim is a no-go, far too hot), so it's been dresses and skirts all the time. Except I have to bend over to get the wheelchairs out of the van, so the skirt has to have shorts underneath. Which means I wear golf or running clothes almost everyday and the ironic part is I would so like to golf or run everyday and I'm already wearing the uniform, but I can't. UGH
I hate it. Hate it all. Well, I actually love everyone at my physical therapist's office, but I hate the sitting down all the damned time. And that's my attempt at a joke because I never sit down.
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