I woke up Monday morning totally ready to hit the day like Beyonce and sing, “I woke up like this, #flawless,” but instead I fell to the ground because of the unexpected, searing pain in my heel. Guess who has plantar fasciitis? This girl right here. As if I wasn’t not exercising enough already, I’m now on another running verbot, indefinitely.
Surprisingly, I am not yet insane from the lack of sport. Instead, I am, as mentioned on Twitter, spending more time at the gym again, watching the young naive ones throw themselves at the resident muscleman trainer who will turn them down because he’s not all that into women half his age who page through fashion mags while pumping their feet up and down on the elliptical, careful not to sweat up their neon-pink sports bras and bright red lipstick. I’ve started carrying Kleenexes with me for the inevitable tears in the locker room to come but cannot wait to get back out onto the cold, snowy trails where the only asses in the air I see belong to the swans.
That gym membership was the only thing adding regularity to an insane week in which I changed my plans every fucking hour of every damned day. At one point, someone mentioned that I have to at some point sometime soon be in Milan but no one’s really sure yet just when or where or how but maybe definitely I will some day need to be in Italy for something. All week this went on, and not just with Italy and not just with one client. This was every conversation I had with every person I encountered this week and I realized I need a damned agent to handle those kinds of conversations. Or an assistant. I have zero patience for the wishy-washy and I am too important to be bothered to keep my own schedule. I don’t get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day. I’ll be in the sauna if you need me.
On a more serious note, a friend’s husband died, which puts me now solidly in mid-life. I will write more about the feelings this brings up, about the crises everyone around me are dealing with, but to help me cope, I broke out my copy of “Tiny Beautiful Things” again and downloaded the Dear Sugar podcast. Cheryl Strayed sure does know how to say the true things that will make you cry and so I did a bit of crying this week, too. No shame in that. Especially since I can recover from the tears more quickly than in the past, and recover I did, thanks to keeping this tune on rotate.
Enjoy your week! And let me know what keeps you moving… it’s going to be a long, crazy month in the Lederhosen home.