Pain in the butt

I'm a mess. On Friday I will be heading into a foot/ankle specialist for a second opinion on my sad ankle and explore the possibility of surgery. And now, I have just sent an email to my primary care physician about the state of my rear-end. Okay, not really my rear-end, but rather my tailbone. That's right, I have further injured myself. July 3, I had the brilliant idea of renting a bike on the Madison Capital Square (after a few drinks with the husband.) The bikes are red and pretty and it seemed like the right thing to do. For those of you who don't know me well I'll share a little secret with you-I have not been on a bicycle since I was 13 years old. I am generally terrified of them. Because I'm crazy.

But on that hot sticky evening, I decided to put my fears aside, hike up my skirt and get on a bike. It was awesome. Just like they say, my body remembered what to do. In my state of euphoria, with the wind whipping through my hair,  I decided that I would purchase a bike upon my return to Oakland. I envisioned family rides and a recreational hobby that would get me in great shape. I saw myself speeding around town with a bell and a basket and it was beautiful. Until I fell. It wasn't exactly a dramatic fall. I didn't crash to the ground. I was slowing to a stop and somehow tipped over slamming my tailbone into the edge of the seat and bruising my legs up a little bit. I laughed it off and promised that this would not deter me from my bike riding fantasy.

And then there was the next morning. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. It hurts to sit up, it hurts to sit down, it hurts to stand around. One week later it is no better or worse than that first day and it bites.

So now, I can't run, and you won't catch me on a stationary bike or an elliptical machine anytime soon. I guess I just need to give in, find a comfy spot on the sofa and crack open a case of bon-bons.

I'm hopeless.