My last run was ten days ago, and I’m starting to get a little twitchy. But after several visits to my sports doctor and a sports massage therapist, I am cautiously optimistic that my knee has improved. So Tuesday night, I really really wanted to go meet my training group even though I knew I should give the knee another day or two of rest.
I texted K, my virtual training partner, and floated the idea. Her responses were so insistent that I’m pretty sure I saw actual smoke coming through my phone. She even brought out the big guns: a video from her three-year old telling me “No!” and a picture of Bobblehead Jobu ordering me to sit down.
The Jobu reference sparked an exchange of (completely inappropriate) Major League quotes that didn’t solve my problem, but I could make them apply to my knee situation and it made me laugh.
I mean, really:
“Jesus, I like him very much, but he no help with curveball.”
“You may run like Hayes, but you hit like shit.”
“I’m pissed off now Jobu. Look, I go to you, I stick up for you. You don’t help me now. I say, ‘Fuck you’ Jobu. I do it myself.”
All that’s left is for me to
triumphantly hit the game-winning home run anxiously cross my fingers and try a 20-minute run around my neighborhood tomorrow. Then I’ll either bring home the World Series be able to run-walk 13.1 on Saturday, or get sent back to the minors doctor.