Freaky Friday

I’m not superstitious by any means. Okay, perhaps the 1666 bib number, followed by temperatures of 6-6-6 made me a bit nervous in Montreal. And when a student tells me his/her birthdate is October 31st, I raise my eyebrows to determine if I’m looking at the Devil’s Child.

On Monday, when I realized that Friday the 13th was two days before the Goodlife Marathon, I found my mind wandering. But Friday the 13th has never raised alarm bells for me so I simply put today’s out of mind. However, when I got to school this morning, it quickly became obvious that today was not going to be my day. Rather than spare you of all of the other details that made my day frightful, I’m going to jump right to the punchline.

At recess this afternoon, while walking around and supervising students in the unfamiliar sunshine, I caught a glimpse of a shadow nearing me and I heard a “Look out!” I shrieked. I almost dropped the F-bomb. The grade 7’s – big and strong male 13 year olds – missed the football; my right calf didn’t. That’s right, the calf that I’ve spent 6 weeks of physiotherapy and careful training on so that I can run this little 26.2 mile jaunt down Yonge Street got hit.

My calf immediately swelled and I sent the boys for ice – lots of it – but not until I yelled at them about being more careful. About 30 minutes later, it tightened. I wanted to cry.

Tonight, I did cry. My calf is still tight. I’m hoping that sleeping in compression socks will help. Tomorrow morning, my chiropractic appointment to unlock a few tight bones is now one when he is going to work at loosening that bruise.

I haven’t come this far for nothing. I will carry on.

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