I’m sure you’re all smart enough to realize that the chunky adolescent with the broken knee was me. I did blow out my knee, smashed it back together, and went on my merry way. That day at the food court, though, I ordered a salad.
I made it through junior high and high school pretty successfully. I wore straight leg jeans until 9th grade, when Old Navy introduced a flare that I didn’t think was dumb. I had one Abercrombie shirt. I even got a boyfriend. I quit buying Lisa Frank, quit perming my hair, got my braces off, and quit eating lunches for 3 years, which seemed to do the trick.
I forgot about the whole knee situation until I started running in college. I’m not real sure what made me do it. I always loved to walk, and one day, the walking just didn’t seem fast enough. It wasn’t giving me that pounding heart that I love so much. So I took off. I ran and I ran and I ran.
One summer, I was running 5 miles a day. This was fine and dandy until my right hip started hurting, and my knee starting freaking out on me, then my back was screwy. And one day, while I was putting on my shoes, I realized that my right leg was shorter than the other. Awesome. Not much, but enough to feel it while running. I blame it on the day in the dressing room, and my love for chicken fingers in my younger days.
I still like to run, though. I can’t do 5 miles a day anymore because my knee can’t take it. I’ll settle for 2-3 mile days with a ton of walking.
Last night, I must have walked 10 miles. I went for a walk/run by myself after work. I walked with my friend Chelsea at 7. And at 8:30, I met up with my friend Denise and her neighbor for a walk. Then I ruined it all with a Piña Colada. 🙂