1. Take on an assignment for a running magazine that involves interviewing a sports psychologist about how he helps injured athletes cope.
2. After an hour-long “interview,” realize that the psychologist was basically saying that I really need to get a life.
3. Feel relief that I didn’t pay for therapy.
4. Contemplate what getting a life really means, when I live in Saylorsburg, PA.
5. Book a trip to Vegas with college friends.
6. Consider writing a training plan to prepare for the debauchery in Vegas. Start with a half a beer and vow to gradually increase volume over the next six weeks.
7. Slip into delayed-onset depression, answer the door in my pajamas for the FedEx man at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday.
8. Convince myself that cross training on a Nordic Track, circa 1987, is a fabulous idea.
9. Nearly fall off the Nordic Track, realize that I should probably work on some balancing skills, and hope that cross training doesn’t result in additional injuries.
10. Does my Achilles hurt?
11. Suddenly realize it’s been raining for about eight days straight and the wildlife outside seems to be walking two-by-two , heading directly toward the row boat on the lake.
12. Come to the conclusion that it’s time to see a doctor. Shouldn’t a strained hamstring be healed by now?
13. Fight with health insurance company.
14. Reminisce about childhood that included being the daughter of a doctor and a nurse, as well as a granddaughter of a dentist, then become enveloped by bitterness that adulthood and self-employment often result in crappy health insurance.
15. Become a new fan of universal health care.
16. Head to Philly for a night out with friends.
17. Eat my weight in guacamole and gulp down three margaritas while waiting for cheese-laden enchiladas to arrive.
18. Proceed to a bar to wash down Mexican night with a glass of wine.
19. Laugh. A lot.
20. Wake up the next morning without regret. It was part of the training plan (see #6).
21. Travel to Hershey to visit mom on Mother’s Day and go to the doctor.
22. Realize that no visit with mom should last more than 48 hours, but stay for three days anyway.
23. Eat Sorrento’s pizza, drink wine, and watch American Idol. It’s a party.
24. Buy expensive new cell phone as a personal Boston Marathon consolation prize and play with it. All. Day. Long.
25. Finally see the doctor, who says I’m well on my way to recovery. Four more weeks and it’ll be time to ease back into training (of the running variety).
26. Resist urge to kiss the doctor.
27. Wait patiently for medical bill to arrive, while contemplating if the new cell phone is more or less valuable than my left hamstring.
28. In a wave of optimism, book trip to Flagstaff for a summer Running Retreat.
29. Hope that I don’t die in Flagstaff in a desperate search for more oxygen.
30. Realize that I kind of like the life I had six weeks ago.
31. Give up trying to find a new one. It’s exhausting.