well, this is different...

The Chicago Marathon was exhilarating, life changing even.  People lining the streets of Chicago proper screaming for my success, causing all the hairs on my arms to (please) stand up.

Crossing the finish line with my mom was epic, I mean we didn't hug or cry or anything (although we did cheers our 312's), we're not really emotional people. But I could feel it, I knew we shared something we would never forget. I couldn't have done it without her, she said she couldn't have done it without me.  It was like team building, real cheesy momentous shit.

I was feeling awesome for the rest of the week, if I had enough balls I would have bounced around the University of Iowa campus all day, everyday with my medal on, bling blingin'.  Enough people told me how crazy I was to have done it that my pride was fulfilled.

Until that dangerous Saturday night that went a little somethin' like this...

12:15- I leave work. An Italian restaurant called Basta where I (used to) wait tables.
12:20- Met my roommates, Nicole and Kaytie. We head to Summit, a typical dirty college bar (also known as scummit)
1:30- We left the bar, headed home.
1:34- We were about half way home, nearing the finish line.  A group of ehh maybe five young guys noisily fumble around behind us, they invited us to a party.
1:35- I declined the offer, I insist I'm too exhausted to walk so far, which apparently is not an acceptable answer.  A scrawny guy picked me up like a baby and began to run with me insisting I "don't even have to walk!"
1:35.05- I looked back at my room mates and squealed "I am SO scared."
1:35.10- Scrawny guy lost hold of me and his own feet and we fumble, he fell on my foot, and I knew, immediately, I was doomed.

I think I blacked out a bit from the shock or the pain, right after this moment.  Or maybe it was just too difficult to pay attention to the passing events over my own sobbing and wailing.  I found out later Kaytie ran down the street one way and Nicole the other while they attempted to stop traffic and find me a ride to the hospital.  One crabby cabby eventually picked us up and drove us to the student health hospital, where we would remain for far too long.

Five hours and an x-ray later the doctor walked in with an ace bandage and told me to go on home, I would be fine in a week.  I couldn't walk, I could barely move, and this lady was sending me out with nothing but a little spandex.  I asked a nurse for crutches, she got me a solid pair for children under 12, and I made my way out the door.

When I called my mom at 7 am, right after the hospital escapade, she was fine with my plan to go see a specialist in Coralville, Iowa, the next day.  It wasn't until he mentioned the possibility of putting screws in my foot that this Coralville medical team didn't quite suffice for my mother. She hopped in the car and drove nearly 8 hours to bring me back to Chicago for a second opinion.

No surgery was needed, but i'll be in this cast for 2-3 months. Long story short, here I am....

one cast, a pair of crutches, and one kneewalker later. living life as one legged, newly awkward, college kid.