To prepare for my 24-minute running adventure, I carb-loaded. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t necessary but I’m a born-again runner and I’m relearning the rules.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve started to run again. Like outside. On the ground. Not on a special space machine.  I’m pretty appreciative of this development.

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Last Saturday I rode my bike from my apartment on the West Side, through Central Park and then all the way down Park Avenue to the Brooklyn Bridge. And back.

How was I able to do that? Because I am a biking goddess! And because the NYC DOT closes Park Avenue to car traffic from 7am to 1pm the first three Saturdays in August in a festival called Summer Streets.

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It’s been nearly two months since my last post.

Cycling 22 miles to Coney Island was pretty much a mic drop as far as this blog and my fitness life are concerned so I’m okay with the dramatic hiatus.

I am certain that questions of my whereabouts crowded web forums in similar style to chatter about Tupac’s disappearance. That is unless you follow me on Instagram. From my millennial-esque oversharing, you know exactly where I was. (#ButWhereisTupacREALLY?)

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I was in Washington last week and saw my old orthopedist. Ahh first loves! (I lived in DC for nearly 6 years before moving to New York.) I’ve become the sort of traveler who packs her MRI next to her travel toothbrush so I was ready to go when he had a last minute opening.

sunset in DC

Sunset in DC from Union Station. Union Station > Penn Station

After my first race (the Broad Street 10 miler) I wound up with a hairline fracture. Without much fanfare, I found a doctor who took my insurance… and then quickly fell in love with him. He actually solved my ailment immediately! He prescribed orthotics and physical therapy and eventually my ankles were back in business. After all the rigmarole, this time around I was excited to return to someone who had proven he knows what’s up.

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I received a cortisone shot. After 5 months with no change to my ankle, my doctor (the second one) suggested a cortisone shot.

This wasn’t a surprise, he mentioned it as an option a few months ago should the pain persist, which it did. Currently, I’m of the belief that any action is better than the months of inaction, so nervously I agreed. I can be a little finicky at the doctor’s office. I never refuse treatment or cry or make a scene. But I’ll make about 20 nervous jokes in the span of 4 minutes all of which are directly related to my fear.

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