Turkey Trot

Here’s a turkey for you! Happy Thanksgiving!

This is my Turkey Trot medal from last year. It was my first and I’m off to try to get my second one.

Running the trot last year was a friend’s idea. I had never in my life run that distance and didn’t think I had it in me. But I decided to give it a try anyway, mostly because I knew it would make Thanksgiving dinner taste even better.

My friend ended up hurting herself a week before the race and I ran the turkey trot alone. I managed to complete the five miles, had so much fun doing so, and felt like such a champ that I decided to become a runner.

After the Turkey Trot I joined the New York Road Runner’s club. My new year’s resolution: to run at least nine qualifying races in 2009. Done. I’m thankful for that, but that was mostly under my control.

It has now been a year of running; a year of heart pounding heavy breathing as my feet strike the pavement. A year of pursuing strength and finding it in running. But best of all, it’s been a year of friendship.

Somehow, as the year went by, friends collected around running. I ran a half-marathon with one – the first time doing that distance for both of us. A dozen friend have cheered for me as I pass them. And a few more have run random races with me and others keep meaning to run races with me (you know who you are). There's one who has gone on Sunday morning runs with me even though he barely breaks a sweat keeping my pace. Another has waited by the runner's path on Ocean Ave with a glass of water to help me complete long distances.

I’m heading out to try to get another turkey medal. But the best part about today’s race is the company: I’ll be running with six other friends, and I didn’t bribe them to run this.

Thank you for friends. Thank you for running. Thank you for being there. Thank you for feeding me turkey.

And thank you, friends, for supporting this blog. Thanks to all those of you who know me, and thank you too, anonymous readers in Canada, Norway, India, and Japan! And thank you, google analytics! You make my day everyday!

Zombies!

This morning I woke up feeling the effects of last night. There were the usual ones that come after a good dinner party. I was both still full and hungry again, thirsty, craving coffee. But there were other troubling signs: my wrist was stiff and achy, and there was a dull throbbing pain in my thumb.

Thanksgiving is upon us, and with it, the perilous holiday season starts. For many years I have been systematically attempting and failing to holiday-proof my life. Though I have been able to avoid the worst of it by not going home for Christmas, I still find myself listening to jingly tunes and baking cookies around mid to late December.

But Thanksgiving is much more dangerous, and it started last night with round one of turkey centric let’s gorge ourselves and celebrate gatherings. The danger is that after eating good food in large amounts, everyone is happy, and things can take a mushy turn. Last night, with two new babies in attendance, the risks were even greater.

Careful planning was on my side. I wore an outfit without a waist and I packed my plate in such a way that I successfully hit that sweet spot where you’ve eaten enough to make motion difficult, but not enough to make you feel sick in just one serving.

But even the best-laid plans can go wrong. I volunteered to do the dishes. They had already been soaking for a while and were easy to wash. I thought I’d do a dozen or so to make way for more soaking. The plates were stacked on the left. I grabbed the sponge and soaped them as I stacked to the right, planning on rinsing them all at once before moving them to the drying rack.

The sponge slid smoothly and I was enjoying making quick progress. I was holding a plate in left hand, scrubbing it with my right, when the unthinkable happened. The plate cracked as I was holding it, attacked my left thumb and killed it.

Rescue workers rushed to the scene trying to stop the blood that now flowed from my thumb and spilled on the plates. They assessed the situation and dashed in search of emergency supplies. After leaving blood on several paper towels, I was able to apply antibiotic ointment and make butterfly stitches to place on the flap of skin that was left on the cut.

I thought that was the end of that, but this morning when I woke up to the pain in my hand I realized it was just the beginning. The pain in my thumb, hand, and wrist were symptoms of something larger; something my mother had not prepared me for. My thumb had turned into a zombie.