Woe is my toe...

I might have done some damage to my toe... it's black and blue. What's most amazing about me hurting my toe, however, is when it DIDN'T happen. I didn't hurt my toe during kickball. I didn't hurt my toe while dancing around a bar. I didn't hurt my toe during a night of drunken debauchery hosted chez-moi, and I didn't hurt my toe while doing anything exciting at all. When did I hurt my toe? Walking from my couch to the refrigerator during a commercial break on hulu. I wanted to hustle the 8 steps to the fridge because hulu's got such fabulously short commercial breaks. Let me describe the scene in excessive detail:

It's Sunday, and I've foregone any sort of activity since picking up my father at the airport in my PJ's and going on a junk food run to the grocery store. I have been lying down on my couch watching every possible episode of TV I can find online, including giving in and watching Cougar Town... *shudder* The only reason I'm getting away with this is that my father has taken the car for the rest of the afternoon and is convinced that I am either making jewelry, writing job applications, or working on a project for work. I assure myself that those will all get accomplished by the end of the day, and cover myself in a blanket as I wait for Psych to start. All the sudden I realize that Psych is perfect with junk food... and decide to wait until the next commercial break instead of just hitting pause. The commercial starts... and I'm off!!!!! I "gently" toss my computer towards the other end of the couch, violently punch and kick at my blanket, and hop up off of the couch with quite impressive lift. As I head for the turn around the island in the kitchen... I finally meet my match: chair #2... this chair sits right next to the pathway, and apparently in my reckless abandon, I swung my left leg a little wide and BAM!!!! The equivalent to the ring finger on my foot smashed against the leg of the chair, and I went down in a ball of pain and heavy breathing. (Anyone else get the feeling this was some sort of cosmic punishment?? I'm pretty sure it was, but perhaps will have to spend another day on the couch to test out the theory.)

So, this morning when I put on my tennis shoes to run... because I had done that "starting Monday, I'm totally going to become a fitness junkie and cut out junk food" thing... I realized that any slight pressure against my little toesie resulted in a nice shock up my leg. I refused to call it quits - since I'm pretty positive that my dad has noticed my lack of workout enthusiasm, and my pants are yelling at me every time I put them on - and make my way to the gym for my 6 am workout.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I lost all interest in working out. I ran an awe-inspiring 0.5 miles before deciding that the rare "ouch" moment... or really the threat of said moment... was sufficient to cancel the run altogether. I made my way into another room where no one could see me, especially my dad, and sat there for 25 minutes playing with equipment until my dad's walk was over. Did I tell him I did nothing?? Hell no, I didn't. Nobody needs to know.

Tomorrow I try again... yoga Tuesday! My thought is that as long as I just keep going, I'll wind up getting in good workouts somewhat often just out of sheer probability. That makes sense, right?

Love,
Katie

On a side note: Today on my way to lunch, two old people that I passed on the street tripped each other and landed on our stone sidewalks. Both wound up bloody. I have never had a meal so completely ruined.