Sunday, February 12, 2017

The Disappointing Significance of 38:44

A couple of disclaimers before we get to the meat and potatoes of this post. First, I'm going to update the status of my injury. This will be, hopefully, my last blurb on this particular injury (a bit of foreshadowing, perhaps?). Partly because I am personally bored in thinking about it and partly because I don't want to bore you on the subject anymore. I've got other stuff I'd like to bore you with.

Second, I was talking to some people who have read some of my back work. Anytime I put in some historical or societal references, I research them first. It helps out with the creative flow. See, I like to learn the facts before I completely distort them to benefit my needs. It's so real that Fox and CNN are currently in a bidding war for my services. Having said that, I'm going to do you a favor and advise you to NOT research the numbers 38:44 on your own, just to see if I'm telling the truth. What you'll find is a lot of information about guns. Then you'll get put on a list. You might get a visit from an undisclosed government official who "happened to be in the neighborhood and just checking things out." Let this be a lesson to you youngsters out there- Incognito Search is your friend.

Now, on to the story...

Do you know how long it takes a strain to heal? I do. It's roughly 5-7 days. If you're unlucky (which sums me up pretty nicely), it'll take 10-14 days. Therefore, an injury that took place on, say, January 26th would, even under the most dismal of circumstances, would be healed by now.

Do you know how long a hairline stress fracture takes to heal? I don't. You know why? Because the darn thing ain't healed yet. There are rays of light on the horizon (metaphorically speaking since the sun is afraid to show it's head in these parts of the country at this time of year). This past Friday, I went 75% of the day without a noticeable limp! Sure I was still the slowest person in the building. One of the snails that inhabits one of the other science teacher's room escaped and said, "Excuse me please," since I was blocking it's path in the hall. I'm also pretty sure that that stupid gastropod gave me a virus because I had a roughness in my throat and a tickle in my nose for the rest of the day. Still, injury progress is progress. I anticipate it being at least another week before the discomfort is gone and another week after that before I attempt running again.

So, what's a guy to do with all of this free time? Ideally, whatever he wants. In reality, it's whatever the Wife wants. Thank goodness that she always has brilliant ideas and wants to do things that are Banter friendly!

On Saturday morning, she suggested that we pack up the dogs and head down to the Keuka Lake Wine Trail. I like dogs. The dogs like the car. I like wine. I like the Wife. The Wife likes wine. She tolerates me. I was immediately thrilled. I didn't even flinch when she suggested that we go to the outlet mall on the way back. (True foreshadowing here-I would grow to regret this lack of flinching.)

The day went exactly as you'd hope. We drove into wine country with the intentions of tasting some delicious vintages along with a few undesirables. Hey, take the good with the bad.

Here's the Wife doing a handstand in 40ยบ temperatures on a picnic table with Keuka Lake in the background. She's a fine specimen and I'm a lucky man.

Here are the dogs. Different winery. Same lake. They absolutely refused to do a handstand. My dog is the one on the left side of the pic. The Wife's dog is up on the rock. The dog on the right is the dog-in-law, which came over for a play date with the Wife's dog.

As far as visiting the wineries went, the harvest was good. We got roughly 1.5 cases mixed between whites and reds. That should last us through the weekend.

We stayed on the wine trail until they kicked us off. I'm typically not the kind of guy who appreciates closing down a joint. But, we drove 2 hours and they closed at 5:00. Stepping up to a tasting table at 4:45 isn't nearly on par with walking into a restaurant 15 minutes before closure. We are efficient drinkers and could easily sample everything on the list before the clock runs out.

Having collected our spoils, we headed towards Waterloo. The Wife had a $5 coupon to use at one of the stores. It makes sense to spend $30 on gasoline just to save $5 on a hat, right?... Right? ... We couldn't just hit one store. Well, with the doggies stuck in the car, we rescued them from their 4-wheeled crate and took them around. I hung out with the pups outside while the Wife went in. This is another version of win-win for me.

Until it wasn't. I lasted only 1 additional store. Even though I have no idea for how long I was out there, I am quite confident that I developed a minor batch of hypothermia. Sore foot from before? Check. Sore throat from before? Check. Runny nose from before? Check. Brand new full body vibrations? Check. (<-- Not as sexy as they sound.)

As you can probably predict, I didn't wake up in good shape. The shivering had long since stopped. The nose faucet, however, went from a slow drip to a steady stream. The voice is so deep that I actually sound like a male. The foot is marginally better.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm kind of an idiot. In case you need more proof than what's already contained in the posts of this blog, I'll toss at you some more evidence. A person of near average IQ would take some medicine, drink some soup, eat some crackers, and take it easy with a book, movie, or nonsensical gibberish on the Internet. A Banter-caliber intellect will try and exercise.

In a normal world, I would have gone for a run. The foot said, "Nope," so I headed out to the, um, bikey place. At least I had the foresight to bring a snot towel with me. Knowing that I wasn't going to be able to put forth any impressive numbers on the bike (duh), I was hoping for an easy ride of about 60-90 minutes. Despite the lack of, um, smart stuff in my head, I have learned that there's healing and therapy in exercise. Not today.

As a life-long athlete(ish) guy(ish), most structured workouts that I've encountered end at a highly predictable and recognizable number. Almost always, those numbers are in multiples of 5. Sometimes a 2. If I was adhering to a plan, I would have ended my ride at 30 minutes, or 40 minutes, or 45 minutes. Here's my ride data:

As I was riding, my energy systems did not improve. Nor did my mood. Or spirits. Or overall well-being. Not once would I have ever predicted of getting off the bike at 38:44. It's disappointing on multiple levels.

Oh, just in case you were wondering, if a guy shows up to check your browser history, here's what you do: open the door, blow your nose with an old tissue, offer to shake his hand (with the tissue still in hand mind you), give off a cough, and invite him in. If experience holds true, he'll turn and run without ever stepping foot into your house. And then, apparently, he'll call Fox and CNN to cancel the story and they'll rescind any job offers.

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