Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer

Thank you, you beautiful weather, you. Yes, I’m pointing at the sun and laughing. It’s Friday, gorgeous out, and I’m losing my mind.

Since the weather appears to be behaving today, I will not let the little things get to me today. I refuse to bitch about the following: it’s wonderful out and it’s so cold in my office I’m wearing my crew team hoodie from college, I finished my lunch at 12:05 PM and I’m still hungry, I have nothing to do at work, and I had a woman fall on me when I HAD to take the subway due to my damn foot.

If the sun weren’t out today, I would whine my little heart out. But, if it was crappy out, this would be my rant. I’m not realllly ranting of course, this is all just a hypothetical whine.

Because of my club foot, I am reduced to taking the subway. I take the PATH into the 33rd St. station, then I limp over to the F train platform, where I can hop on either the F, V, B, or D, to Bryant Park, then TRANSFER to the 7, which pulls me right into Grand Central, a block from my office. Annoying, but I’ve done it so many times I know how far down to walk to get into the car that will open directly in front of the subway exit I want. When you can pinpoint that on a subway, you know you are a regular on that line.

Clad with bags because I’m going home to dog-sit this weekend, the extra weight was making my foot whimper, so I HAD to take the subway, though I really craved to walk in the beautiful sunshine. All is well, you know, as fine as the subway can be, until I hop on the 7. I usually stand, but I had to sit because of my foot (no whining, just commenting). Along comes this herd/family of sweatpant-wearers and they slowly climb into the car, where they just stand in the middle of the car, speaking in a language I couldn’t quite place. Fine fine. Whatever. I’ve traveled in other countries too, and I could tell their cautious looks and hesitant entrance into the car was just because they were hoping they got on the correct line to get to, oh, I don’t know, possibly Rockefellar Center or something. But generally, when the doors close, that typically means that the subway is about to take off. This isn’t always immediate. But I’m fairly certain that it is general, universal knowledge that once you step into a subway car, a train, a cab, etc., once the doors close, you will soon be on your way to your destination.

This family didn’t quite get the memo, and so when the subway started down the tracks, this family was left to fend itself against science. As I learned in high school physics, according to Newton’s first law of motion, every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it. That’s why WE SHOULD HOLD ONTO THE BARS IN THE SUBWAY OR SIT DOWN. I assume it was the mother of the family, but for some reason she didn’t remember her Newton’s laws or F=MA (force equals multiplying the mass of the object by the acceleration of the object) and so I became the external force that stopped her from sailing down the remainder of the car, meaning, she FELL ON ME, complete with a three year old child in her arms. OOOF.

She was apologetic, so I’m not going to say anything cruel, but it’s incidences like this that make my commute all the more colorful, like the time I had to grab on to the escalator railing when I used to use the Port Authority bus terminal.

I don’t really have a great ending for this story, but at least if this were a rant, I’d feel much better documenting it for entertainment purposes.

61 degrees and sunny. 61 degrees and sunny...

Oh, how frequently my lunch breaks turn into shopping breaks. At least most of the clothing stores in my office’s neck of the woods in Midtown basically consist of H&M, Banana and Republic, Zara, and Lord & Taylor. And Sephora. If I were near more expensive stores, that would be potentially disastrous/depressing. At least I can find good deals at these stores, most of the time.

Today was definitely a shopping break, rather, a shopping excursion. Every once in a while I will click around the internets to look for sample sales. I found one that was actually close to my office, and the blurb said something about $80 scarves going for $10. Sold.

After about 40 minutes (most of that time spent waiting on a ridiculously long line in a teeny, hot and stuffy room, then waiting another 15 min for someone to break my $20 bill) I ended up with this pretty thang to wrap around myself:

It doesn’t really go with my dress or coat that I’m wearing today, but I can’t wait to pair it with my non-patterned tops. The scarves are by Bindya Lula, who makes a line made and sold out of NYC for stores like Nordstroms and Anthropologie. This is from her Lula line, the more “downtown” version of her upscale (uptown?) Bindya scarves.

The scarf I came to work in was actually a really pretty blue pashmina, that I got for an even better deal: someone left it at my apt. after my St. Patty’s shindig. After a month of it sitting folded in my kitchen with no claims, it has officially been brought into my rotation of accessories. Just another reason to throw a party: people leave crap at your apt. that you get to keep.

By the way Mike, I still have your sunglasses. They don’t frame my face that well. You’re lucky.

My foot post inspired a gchat conversation between myself and Ms. Ball O’Sunshine about a $50 co-pay to her doctor. Maybe we should just move to Europe and not have to pay for healthcare. Best line from the convo:

me: $50 copay!!

Ms. Ball O’Sunshine: just stab me in the empty pocket

We’ve all heard it a million times: pain is essentially weakness leaving the body. Well, that’s all nice as far as motivational mantras go, but what happens when pain occurs as a sharp, stabbing pain  in your left foot every time you put weight on it?? Somehow, I didn’t think this was pain just leaving the body, but a pain that would end up putting a kink in my fitness routine.

Avid readers of my blog will know that I do not belong to a gym. I refuse. As the season has started to change, more and more I would either jog around Hoboken on the weekends or in the evenings after work, or opt to power walk from my office building in NYC down to the farthest PATH station stop, giving me about an hour of calorie burning, which I supplement with ab and arm exercises, and some yoga thrown in for variety.

About four weeks ago, as I was finishing a lovely run on a warmer day in March (there were about three warmer days) I came around the last block of my jog to feel this quite unpleasant stabbing pain in my left foot. Annoyed, I jogged a bit further hoping it would pass. Obviously, it didn’t, and I was left to limp for the remainder of the day.

Thinking nothing of it, I went about my business, not bothering to ice or elevate my foot or take Advil. Whatever it is will just resolve itself by tomorrow, I figured.

Next morning, OWWIE! I couldn’t even walk to my kitchen from my room without having to limp. Annoyed as hell, I opted for a 4 mile power walk instead of a jog. Take that foot! I’ll show you how I roll, or limp. As it turns out, that was my last power walk for the past four weeks.

I like to think that I have maintained a pretty good level of fitness over the years. From dance lessons when I was little, to yoga and my desire to join the crew team in college, I know the importance of staying fit for my health and well-being, and for my ability to feel confident in my little summer outfits. Knock on wood, but I have never really had an injury that has prevented me from doing any workout at any time.

Stupid foot! Pissed off, well beyond annoyed, I took it upon myself to look for a self-diagnosis. After some Googling of “top of foot pain” “stabbing pain in top middle of foot” and the juxtaposition of other terms I deemed scientific, it turns out that I most likely have tendonitis and the best treatment is to ice, elevate, take anti-inflammatories, and to stay off my foot as much as possible.

Oh crud.

Stay off as much as possible?? How is that even feasible? I walk everywhere. Everywhere. No car. No scooter. No bike. My feet are my window to the world. Who knew that walking for almost 3 or 4 city miles in non-supportive flats could cause tendonitis? Actually, I knew it probably wasn’t the best idea, but I didn’t think it would become my ticket to gimpville.

In my fourth week of “staying off of it,” I have finally, completely succumbed to my foot, which means no more jogs or power walks or staircase workouts, and taking the subway as much as I can to work. Up until last week, I still struggled giving in to my foot, as I wore stiletto boots one Saturday night out and a pair of incredibly high heeled, Louboutins on a date last week, though I sure heard about my dumb decision all the next day from my foot, through throbbing and stabbing pains.

How cruel. What a cruel thing to do to a Splenda Stealer in the midst of her mission to get in shape without a gym. But, I am still remain determined to stay in as much shape as I can even though my cardio must be deterred for now. Every other day I’ve completed classes on Yogadaily.com and have kept up on my arm and ab workouts from my Jackie Warner workout DVD. So far, so good. I was even motivated enough to completely re-arrange the furniture in my bedroom one Sunday afternoon to create enough floor space so that I could practice yoga in the comfort of my own room, rather than wait for my roommates to be out so I could use the living room. It’s been a fairly successful alternative, despite sometimes losing my balance and landing on my injured foot once or twice.

At first I was angry and stubborn, but I realize, I don’t want to further injure my foot for the future, so fine. You win, foot. Go do your thing and get better while I pop a lot of Advil and keep you snug in an elastic, supportive sock. All I can say is that you better be rearing to go by the time sandal season come around.