There was once a girl who spent most of her time in Virginia Beach…
(and Washington D.C. and Philadelphia and Charlotte).
She liked to run. A lot. Maybe too much.
When she wasn’t running, she liked to rock her inner meathead. Being strong is fun, and joking about her “huge” muscles was funner.
This girl loved the beach. She spent most of her summer days surrounded by sand, friends, jugs of skinny margaritas.
There came a day when three of her harmless-looking sun freckles turned out to be melanoma.
Although that was no fun, she considered herself lucky and tried to spread awareness. She wanted to prevent all the girls (and boys) in the land from getting skin cancer from tanning beds or not wearing 30 SPF.
Not being able to run for a while after her two skin cancer surgeries made her sad, but she was still able to run the Shamrock Half Marathon. Not at a PR goal pace, of course, since she missed a lot of training.
The girl’s second day back running, she was so excited, she sprinted out the door. A few miles in, she went “splat” on the sidewalk.
She got the bandages back out and sported them for all the land to see.
Eventually, the girl was good to go. Free of bandages. Free of exercise limitations. She could try and get strong again. Life was good.
A few weeks later one Sunday morning, the girl noticed a small pain in her ribcage… almost like a bruised around her ribs.
This “bruised” feeling turned into a searing pain. Trying to breathe, yell, laugh, sneeze, and move her torso felt like getting stabbed in the ribcage.
One school nurse consultation, two doctors visits, a prescription for tramadol, and instructions to not exercise for at least a week later, the girl found out she had a rib-cartilage separation, or a “costochondral separation”. Her rib was torn loose from the costal cartilage and detached from her sternum.
Let’s get serious. I’m obviously just trying to find an attractive doctor husband. Trial and error, folks. What can I break next?
Just don’t make me laugh with your comments. It feels like I’m getting shanked.
P.S. My gym buddy Justin Timberlake (still not letting that go; never will) has a brand new design site called HomeMint. If you sign up on the waiting list now, you get free credit towards his designs! Click here to join me on HomeMint.