Facie’s Ramblings

Last week sucked. No other way to say it. It started off on Sunday morning with my making Texas chili (cooking is a rare event for me), and a couple hours later my hands felt as if they were on fire, thanks to my cutting jalapeno peppers (I guess it was a delayed effect). I tried several different things, including alcohol, lemon juice, and milk, multiple times. After several hours of intense pain, I think the apple cider vinegar finally did the trick; I was fortunately able to fall asleep to just slight heat in my hands. Lesson learned: wear gloves when cutting up hot peppers (note that hub is able to cut peppers with no ill effects). But that was just a warm up (not pun intended). My left heel continued to hurt with every step I took, and fortunately, because of the craptastic weather (another reason for my January hatred) and people cancelling their appointments, the podiatrist was able to see me Tuesday afternoon. The result of that $40 copay: plantar fasciitis. The doc gave my f...

When I turned 40, I don't recall feeling older. I was in pretty good shape; I ran semi-regularly (I think!). I was still swimming and doing Zumba. But I was not working full time then, so I could be at the top of my physical game. I gave up my pool membership and Zumba mid-afternoon class once I went back to work, and I run only sporadically now, mostly because I am lazy but partially because my body fights me more often than not when I attempt to. Ah, that body of mine. As I sit here and type this, I am feeling a slight pain in my left heel. It started over the weekend, and has caused me to limp since then. Today I finally called a podiatrist. But unfortunately they can't see me for 2 weeks. Back in October I had a similar pain in my right foot. By the time my appointment rolled around (actually about 2 weeks prior), the pain went away, so I canceled. Why spend the $40 specialist copay? The hub blames it on running. I don't know. I was never a hard-core runner. At the he...

I spent chunks of time today writing a post on this morning's Race for Pace. I would add more details and then take something way. Ultimately, I ended up boring myself, which means I would probably put most of you to sleep. So here is an abbreviated post, in a list. It was probably about 35-degrees at race time, but sunny (it was 29 degrees when I got there 45 minutes earlier). My attire of a long-sleeved t-shirt, a windbreaker, yoga pants, socks as gloves, and a knee brace (one of those flexible-stretchy things) from early this century turned out to be the right wardrobe. I was relatively pain-free the entire time (knee brace was a good call); even my feet hurt very little (though during the first mile, two of my toes were numb from the cold!) I started off strong, kept a pretty steady pace, struggled a bit near the end up the last hill, but "kicked it in" as best as I could the last tenth of a mile. Having my friend Diane there cheering me on really helped. As I ...

On Saturday, God willin' and the creek don't rise, I will be running in my first 5K in two years. I started slacking off on my running last year, pretty much all the way through the beginning of this school year. But when school started back up this year, I rededicated myself to running at least once a week, and I have done that, for the most part. So I decided to turn this running into something that "counts" at least once this year. And since I have done the Race for Pace before, and it is only a few miles from my house, it seemed like a good race to do. New for me this year is the age group I will be in: 40 to 44, which apparently qualifies me as a master. Huh?! What the what? Whatcha you talkin' 'bout Willis?! To me, 40 is not old to be a runner. I see runners of all ages. Granted there are many more younger than older runners, but just looking at the results from last year's race, I noticed that 42 out of 135 males and 32 out of 100 females were...

Before I launch into this post, telling you how I can hardly handle pain stronger than a toe stubbing (and sometimes that is too much), let me first say that I birthed my only child without the use of any drugs. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. Everyone who knew me well was shocked I was able to do that. But do it I did. Not because I wanted to experience "natural" childbirth. No, intense contractions and the actual pushing don't seem all that natural to me. They definitely weren't beautiful, amazing, or however some crazy moms describe them. The real reason I birthed my kid without drugs? I did not want a needle in my spine. I hate needles. I used to donate blood regularly, with my sought-after O positive blood and all. But eventually I got to the point where the needle bothered me too much, both when it went in and how it felt the entire time (it burned). Couple that with my being a slow bleeder and throw in my passing out about 35 percent of the time, and I had some prett...

Jordan turned eight on Saturday. At some point, I will probably break down and write a post about my failing as a parent. But today is not that day; I want to keep it light! Jordan's big thing on her birthday was getting her ears pierced. I do not have my ears pierced. My parents told me I had to wait until I was 12 or 13, which really made me sad at the time, as every other girl in my class had her ears pierced. However, I eventually got over that, and when I finally was old enough, I pretty much lost interest. Plus I cannot stand pain. (In my defense, I birthed my kid without drugs. That pain was awful, but yet I still fear pain and avoid it at all costs, which explains why I am 20-some years overdue for a tetanus shot. Also worth noting that I cried during my sonogram. Yes, I am strange.) Jordan talked about getting her ears pierced back when she was four or five, but Bri and I thought she should wait until she was a little older. We did not have an exact age in mind, but I...

I don't know if it is more age (almost 37.5) or that I am not as physically active as I used to be, but lately I have had aches and pains that I thought were reserved for people in their 60s and older. Just this weekend, while at Mom's, my left calf really bothered me. I walked alongside a bike-riding Jordan and winced with almost every step. I bowed out of a walk the next day as well. Oddly enough, while at a park, the pain went away after awhile. I have no idea where it came from and why it left. This came on the heels of my sore butt and thighs after walking in my hilly neighborhood one day last week. I finished the jaunt with a little run up my steep hill. I still would like to start running again. Of course, I have been saying this for over a year now, ever since I bought new running shoes, shoes that I took out of the box for the first time last fall, I think, just to make sure they were still there. I keep thinking back to the senior citizen I saw on TV last year who was...

But, alas, two of them made it into Jordan's head this afternoon, following an incident for which the details are nebulous. Typically on Wednesdays, my day off, Jordan watches TV while I take a nice, long shower. This morning she was playing with her dolls in her room, so I let that continue, against my better judgement as she was getting frustrated trying to turn a mat into hammock. When I had finished and was putting on my various creams and lotions, she told me that she figured out how to make a hammock in the living room. Had I been clothed, perhaps I would have followed her, to see how she proposed to do this. But just a minute or two later, she was crying, saying she hit her head. Jordan gets hurt. A lot. Sadly, she has my coordination and grace (I have none and little). I hugged her as she was crying, but did not think much of it. Brian, who was home, thank God, happened to notice the back of her hair was wet, and discovered she was bleeding. Then I got scared. Fortunately, ...

I either tripped on or missed the last step yesterday morning before going to work. I immediately cried out in pain and fell to the floor. Jordan's reaction? "Daddy better take me to school." It reminded me of when Brian and I were playing (and I use that term loosely for me) tennis on the 4th of July back in '99. I simply stepped funny on my ankle, yet it swelled up to the size of a grapefruit, and I was on crutches and in a soft ankle cast for a few weeks. Even though I have little tolerance for pain, I like to think I am tough, plus I hate medication or seeking treatment, so I decided to soldier on. Unfortunately, walking around the South Side for lunch and not putting ice on my ankle until about 4 p.m. yesterday did nothing to help it (neither did Mike spilling half a Dr. Pepper on me, for that matter). Currently, my ankle has swelled to perhaps only the size of a plum, and it hurts just mildly. But as my post title suggests, I will be fine by kickoff tomorrow. Ah...