Stitches to Startline

My long journey back into running shoes

617

Another year, another Boston Marathon. It’s a reminder of the resilience of runners, what ordinary folks will go through to push themselves to the limit.  And a reminder that each step they make takes the race back from the the events of 2012. I may not be able to run a marathon at the moment, but I will lace up my old running shoes, even if it is just for a few miles. Great job to all those who set out from Hopkington this morning, I hope your Boylston experience was amazing!

“I was beside myself yesterday thinking of those folks that were there watching, so proud of their loved ones for conquering such a feat. Thousands of Parents, grandparents, friends, wives, husbands, little sons and daughters anxiously looking for the right bright pink shirt, those familiar red gloves, mom’s neon spandex, dad’s funny orange shoes, a roommate’s purple hat and freckles, or a fiance’s

I was devastated yesterday not only for the loss of such precious lives, but for the lost memories of those who were running the race, especially those who were running it for the first time. They never got to experience that wall of sound, the absolute joy that is felt when making the final turn onto Boylston. For some, that last 1/3 of a mile was turned into a nightmare, and I grieve for them, too. So many of those running were doing so for amazing causes, celebrating the lives of some, the heroic battles of others. Their reward for spreading good in the world is supposed to be the joy that is Boyltson street, and it was taken away.

The irony of this whole tragedy is that when bad things happen in the life of a runner, he or she laces up the shoes and heads out the door. We process our grief, anger, sadness, joy, and everything in between by going for a run. There something about a long run that quiets the mind, allows you to connect with the outside world, burns off those anxious feelings. I know a lot of brain power was in action this morning all over the world; a few extra miles were run, the pace was a little bit slower, the finish was a little bit stronger as runners were out trying to sort out their grief. I also know that runners, by nature, are resilient. Why else would you want to train through the coldest months of the year in order to run 26 miles. So I have the utmost faith that the turnout for next year’s Boston Marathon will be spectacular, as tens of thousands of runners will be back fighting to restore that sacred 1/3 of a mile.

Right on Hereford, left on Boylston.”

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Hospital for Special Surgery, Like a BOSS.

OK, back at it again, albeit without the white Vans.

Daniel? No? Too played out?

Fine.

Anyway, back to the Frankenfoot. After we left Dr. Honkey Clog’s office, I was very uncertain about which direction I should go in. I was resigned to the fact that I needed another procedure, as walking was becoming more and more difficult. The bone spur was digging into the bottom of my achilles, so the farthest I could go was about a mile before that shithead of a tendon would swell up like a balloon. So, naturally, I contacted Rezbollah the Medical Sales Rep™.

Who is Rezbollah the Medical Sales Rep™? I can’t tell you, but just know that he is special.

In many ways. So many ways.

Put it this way – he wears these bad boys…

FlamingoSlippers

…and I still trust his medical opinion and talk to him.

What’s that? Yes, correct – those are men’s dress slippers.

Hmm? Yup, correct again, they have flamingos on them. Let that marinate for a bit before moving on.

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Ok.  Now that you have recovered, Rezbollah the Medical Sales Rep™ pointed me in the direction of a foot and ankle specialist at the Hospital for Special Surgery in New York City. Now, I know the place, and know they treat a lot of the top athletes in the world of pro sports, so I was certainly intrigued. Rezbollah tha God™ (Another one of his names. I don’t know what it’s about, ask him) let me know that there might be a considerable wait, but that he would talk with said doc and put in a good word regarding my case. Sure enough, I landed an appointment with *only a three month wait. While that sounds like a lengthy time frame, I was in no rush to be cut open again, so all was good.

On the day of my appointment with Dr. Slim Thug I…

What’s that? You don’t get the reference? Ok, well, step your rap game up as I will only explain it this one time. You see, Slim Thug is the original Boss. If you find that hard to believe, see it for yourself:

Click here like a BOSS

So, as I was saying, on the day of my appointment with Dr. Slim Thug, I gathered my now-enormous medical folder containing all of the pertinent information from my last two surgeries and hopped on the train to Manhattan. I didn’t really know what to expect, so I was a bit nervous. I didn’t know if he was going to tell me that everything was fixable, or that I would walk like Keyser Söze for the rest of my life.

200.gif

Now, I am not making fun on Keyser, mostly because he is a bad ass and one of the best movie villains of all time. That and he’s not real. Point being, I was nervous that he was going to tell me I was out of luck and that I should be happy that I was able to walk.

So, there we were, hanging out in the waiting room, one that was decked out with massive framed NBA jerseys, with nice Sharpie notes of thanks regarding one successful procedure or another. Just then, the door opened, and boom, there in all of his shiny baldness, was Michael Bradley, starting central midfielder for the United States men’s national soccer team. Now, anyone who knows me can tell you that I am a massive football fan.

By the way, that’s what it’s called, so shut your mouth with this, “but that’s what Tom Brady plays!” nonsense. Also, you will root for The Arsenal Football Club if you have even a smidgen of taste and self-respect.

Ok, so there is Michael Bradley, who played for Roma in Italy, although I will not hold it against him, because, well, Forza Juve. I am feeling much better about myself at this point because if he trusts Dr. Slim Thug to take care of his money maker feet, then so can I. Naturally, when Michael got up after his name was called and looked over at me, I was super composed and reacted normally.

Nope, not at all, really.

This was about the extent of it…

giphy.gif

You know, minus the Ron Weasley hair cabbage and the Hogwarts backdrop. But, you get the picture.

With my new found confidence, I cruised back to the waiting room after my name was called and took a seat and waited for the doc to come in. The room was covered with famous athlete’s photos, all with personal thank you messages to them. Famous dancers, Olympians, NBA players, etc. I allowed myself to dream a little bit, envisioning what my photo would look like. Probably something like this,

228537_6629856298_4356_n

I am sure he would throw that right up on the wall.

So, after a few minutes of waiting and dreaming, Dr. Slim Thug came in with a few of his residents, and shook our hands. Right off the ba, I could tell he was the man. For one, he had a totally normal personality, which I found was rare for orthopedic surgeons (to all my ortho docs who read this, I’m sorry, but ya’ll are Type-A x 1,000,000). You know, he could carry on conversations that were not 95% about him and his past accomplishments. That, and he swore, literally one or two sentences into our first conversation. Loved it. All of it. Now this is a guy I could get down with. He quickly grabbed my post-op write up from the last procedure and skimmed through a few parts. He was muttering to himself about how long and absurd it was, which I found a) hilarious and b) to be bit of retribution. When he was done, he looked up at me and my father, looked over at his residents, and said,

“Teaching moment – this is why you don’t f**k with an athletes achilles tendon if you don’t have to.”

YES. THIS GUY. Even my father, who hates swearing, laughed and nodded. Inside, I was all like,

 giphy (2).gif(for you, Toons)

Finally, a doc who gets it. It may have taken 2 surgeries and a bunch of dollars, but I had finally found my guy. If Nicholas Sparks were to ever write a book about an ankle’s search for it’s orthopedic surgeon soulmate, well, he should just holler at me.

Next time – Surgery is nice, so I’ll say it thrice.

-B

My foot: The Saga Continues

So, I guess I probably should update this thing every now and then. It’s been a full year since I last wrote, and a whole lot has happened since then. Unfortunately, not much has changed.

A quick recap: I went through a third round of surgery about a year ago, in an attempt to repair what Dr. Edward Scissorhands, the second surgeon, did to my foot. For one reason or another, this guy thought it was prudent to cut several notches in my achilles – even though I have never had an achilles injury – in order to lengthen it. Now, that procedure is usually done to aid in mobility of the foot if things are a bit too tight. The only problem is…my foot wasn’t too tight. I had great range of motion, the achilles was very healthy, with only my lateral ligaments needing work. Unfortunately, I was never prepped about this procedure, I had no idea it was going to happen. Sure enough, after a terrible casting job, part of the achilles popped, creating a 50% tear. I didn’t know it at the time, as it was another 4 weeks until the cast came off. But, I knew something was wrong when I tried walking in the boot and I couldn’t push off on my forefoot. Now, it didn’t hurt, per say – it just didn’t work. Concerned, I contacted Doc S-Hands, and after waiting for a few hours in the office, he finally popped in.

S-Hands, after taking the boot off and looking at a series of dotted scars on the back of my lower leg, said,”Did we do a lengthening?”

Um…what? Pretty sure I was not huffing glue at the time, and that I heard him correctly.

“Well, I was not awake when you were cutting my foot open, so you tell me.”

“Yep, looks like we did. OK, let’s see what it looks like with the ultrasound…I was the lead on this technology at Duke.”

Anger level: Apoplectic

What I wanted to say was, “Cool, I really couldn’t give a whole bunch of shits about your machine. You are also wearing a skull and bones bowtie and clogs and went out in public thinking that was a good look. So, shhhhhhhh, and tell me why I can’t walk, please.”

What I did say was, “What? You cut my achilles? Wait. So…wait… Why?”

I was super pissed, he knew it, but really didn’t seem all that concerned about a) me being upset and b) the state of my foot. He broke out what looked like a Mac 165 OG laptop from 1994 with a wand and lubed up my achilles. After a few minutes of mashing buttons and looking at what seemed like a bad Google Maps picture of the Atlantic Ocean, he pointed to a white streak with a big black sliver and said, “Oh, yeah, that’s a tear, looks about 50% through.”

‘scuse me?

I really didn’t know what to say at the time, as I guess I was a too stunned to react. After a bit more looking at the blob on the screen, I asked him what all of this meant. Again, with all the care of cleaning a fork, he told me that two things could happen. One, my achilles would be fine in the boot, I would just have to be in it a little bit longer and the tear will heal on it’s own. Or two, it could tear completely and that’s no problem, as they can just go in an fix it.

Yep. Just a no big deal, we can fix it attitude from a guy in a skull and bones/clogs combo. No worrrrrrries, Brian, you can just have major surgery again to fix the huge mistake I made on a ligament that was not injured in the first place. You know, the one that is kind of needed for stuff like walking, running, going up steps, playing soccer, dunking on unsuspecting fools, shredding dance floors, spin-kicking dudes wearing pirate bowties who ruin a perfectly good foot, etc.

I left the office in a bit of a state, and immediately called my father, who is a retired physician and known to go HAM on docs that are anything other than professional and competent. Sure enough, he told me to schedule a follow-up appointment so that we could have a nice little group chat.

And/or a coming to Baby Jesus sesh.

Fast forward to the next appointment and homie was over an hour late again, which is a pet peeve of my father’s, so the mood was fun and relaxed.

Nope.

I deferred to the two people speaking in medical terms that might as well have been Vietnamese. If it were up to me, or the hollywood side of my brain, I would have preferred a Jack Nicholson vs Tom Cruise scene from A Few Good Men. Alas, mature people were in the room and hashed out next steps. Unfortunately, Dr. Bow Tie McScissor Clogs didn’t really have any answers. He knew there was a tear and he knew there was a huge bone spur on the calcaneus (during the osteotomy, he cut the bone too high, so when it bled and was healing, it formed a big spur) that was jamming into my achilles causing extra issues.

So, you know, party.

His advice was for us to go and read a scientific paper he just printed out about some shit dealing with jacked up feet and then decide what we wanted to do. Funny, I’m fairly certain that’s what my co-pay was for, to see a doctor who should know a bit more than me about what I should do next.

With that, we left, research paper firmly in the garbage on the way out, never to return again.

Stay tuned for the third surgery details and why my new surgeon is 💯

-B

 

 

 

 

Third Time’s a Charm

Well, it’s been a while since I last posted on here. I guess I could have been better about it, but to be honest, not much has changed. It has been 2 years, 6 months, and 21 days since I last went for a run, but that hopefully will be coming to an end in the near* future.

I am heading into surgery for the third time tomorrow morning and my new surgeon has finally found the underlying problem. It all seems to stem from my last surgery in 2014, when I had a calcaneal osteotomy. I won’t go into the details of the procedure, but it basically involves cutting the bone and shifting it. Unfortunately, when that took place, the bone bled a good bit and formed a large callous, as you can see here:

Nice knob  The screw looks menacing, but I don’t feel a thing. That’s a big ass piece of hardware, though – certainly didn’t realize it was in there until much later. Anyway, you can see the large growth on the top of the calcaneus that has formed, and that is the problem. It is currently jamming into my achilles tendon, which is apparently why there is still swelling a year on after my last surgery. So, after consulting with my doc, I’ve decided to go in again and have that thing lopped off.

I guess things really do come in 3’s, so I should not be surprised by this. This next procedure is apparently very routine, so I am not nervous in the least. In fact, I am really excited about getting it out of the way, because it will allow me to get back out there with the rest of the running world again. Also, with the looks of it, I will have a dope new Chuck T lacing system in my foot:

The only way to get to the bone growth is to go thChuck T lace jammyrough the achilles, which is a bummer. They are going to open it up like a curtain, lop that jammy off, and sew the whole thing back up again. To strengthen the whole area, they are putting in speed bridge that will anchor into the calcaneus, which is crucial. The lacing system is made up of flat sutures, and to avoid any knots, they anchor it into the bone. The anchors get absorbed over time, leaving just the Chuck Taylor jammy, which is what they really should call it. So, that’s about that.

I should be back on my feet in 4 weeks, which is much better than the 8-9 weeks it took me over the last 3 surgeries (I had one on my left foot about 10 years ago). I have big plans in the fall, so I am hoping to be back out on the roads in time to train. You know, why wouldn’t you sign up for the NYC Marathon after the third surgery.

You’re damn right I am running.

Peace and Dilaudid 25mg all day, erryday –

B

A hero of mine

I know, I know – I haven’t written anything in a long while. That will change in the near future, I promise. In the meantime, I wanted to point you all in the direction of a blog that is a must read.

Spencer is a very good friend, one who I have known since my sophomore year at St. Lawrence University. College was a circus of craziness, as it is for most people, so it wasn’t until after graduation that I really got to know him. Since then, I have looked up to his innate ability to be a badass when it comes to endurance sports. I am super competitive when it comes to athletics, and so it has always been hard for me to admit that I am not as talented as someone else (which I need to get over since I am old and brittle these days). However, this has never been the case with Spencer, there has always been so much more to it since we began running together. I know I am slower (by a very wide margin), very much cognizant of that fact. But he has always been so graceful and supportive of me, often telling me our running means much more than a time or ranking. What I didn’t realize, fully, was that running meant more to Spencer than I could have ever imagined at the time.

Spencer is a special, special individual and I would be doing a disservice to him if I tried to do anything other than share his own words. I am humbled and honored to call him a friend, and more than that, a hero of mine who I will always look up to.

Keep going, brother – one foot in front of the other. Love ya.

https://spencernewell1032.wordpress.com/

No words needed.

No words needed.

617, 365

It’s been a full year since the Boston Marathon bombings, so I thought I would repost my thoughts from that day last year. I was injured, as you all, have come to learn, so I wasn’t able to run. It was the first time in a handful of years, something I am both thankful for and saddened about. I was safe and far away from any danger, yet I wasn’t there to help my friends at Marathon Sports, good buddies who saw unspeakable suffering and loss. While a year has passed, these following words still ring true, whether I am running or not:

I was beside myself yesterday thinking of those folks that were there watching, so proud of their loved ones for conquering such a feat. Thousands of Parents, grandparents, friends, wives, husbands, little sons and daughters anxiously looking for the right bright pink shirt, those familiar red gloves, mom’s neon spandex, dad’s funny orange shoes, a roommate’s purple hat and freckles, or a fiance’s handmade racing shirt. They were all there for nothing but good, to embrace and cherish what has become one of the most beautiful moments in sports. In an instant, those loved ones were taken away, that spirit was erased and replaced with terror and agony.

I was devastated yesterday not only for the loss of such precious lives, but for the lost memories of those who were running the race, especially those who were running it for the first time. They never got to experience that wall of sound, the absolute joy that is felt when making the final turn onto Boylston. For some, that last 1/3 of a mile was turned into a nightmare, and I grieve for them, too. So many of those running were doing so for amazing causes, celebrating the lives of some, the heroic battles of others. Their reward for spreading good in the world is supposed to be the joy that is Boyltson street, and it was taken away.

The irony of this whole tragedy is that when bad things happen in the life of a runner, he or she laces up the shoes and heads out the door. We process our grief, anger, sadness, joy, and everything in between by going for a run. There something about a long run that quiets the mind, allows you to connect with the outside world, burns off those anxious feelings. I know a lot of brain power was in action this morning all over the world; a few extra miles were run, the pace was a little bit slower, the finish was a little bit stronger as runners were out trying to sort out their grief. I also know that runners, by nature, are resilient. Why else would you want to train through the coldest months of the year in order to run 26 miles. So I have the utmost faith that the turnout for next year’s Boston Marathon will be spectacular, as tens of thousands of runners will be back fighting to restore that sacred 1/3 of a mile.

Right on Hereford, left on Boylston.

 

And restored it shall be – 617.

My achilles is still there…I think

What up, people. I know, it’s been a minute since I last posted. I don’t know what to tell you other than not much is going on. The only real development is that I am “walking” with my own two feet on a regular basis. It makes things a lot easier but A) I look like I am 90 years old out for a stroll and B) it takes me 70.3 million years to get anywhere.

Oh, you need help moving something? Sorry, beat it, I am fragile and sad looking so you get no help from me. I will stand over here in the corner and watch you struggle said heavy object by yourself. Do you want my completely torn achilles tendon on your conscience? I didn’t think so; keep on dragging that thing by your damn self. Apparently having a partially torn achilles tendon makes me act like a toddler – who knew. On the real, though, I can’t do much of anything at this point. I am usually upbeat about these types of these things, but I am getting pretty frustrated. Now that it is getting nice out here in New England, runners are pouring out of the woodwork in their brand new gear. I want so badly to throw on my poom poom shorts, lace up the over priced kicks, and head out with my long distance homies. Now all I can do is shoot mind bullets from my window as the happy runners cruise by. Look at those smiles, all those intact ligaments working to perfection. I bet none of them have a Quasimoto foot like this:

One of these things doesn't look like other

One of these things doesn’t look like other

Look at that sucker…I don’t know what the hell was done to my achilles, but that does not look normal to me. The frustrating part is that I didn’t have this injury to begin with, yet now all of my physical therapy is focused on fixing it. Forget ankle stability or worrying about the osteocondral talus lesion that clearly didn’t get fixed. Nope, I am going to sit out the next 6+ months because my achilles now looks like a Sochi Olympic run.

I have no doubts that I will have to have another surgery. The OCD lesion is still very painful and they do not heal without a surgical procedure. I don’t know what it will all entail, but at least it will only be arthroscopic. I will seriously spin kick someone in the face if I have to be on crutches for another two months. That sounds like an absolute party…

“Hey, Brian?”

“Yes, surgeon who won’t call me back because he knows he screwed up?”

Mogul section anyone?

Mogul section anyone?

“So, I was thinking…how about you try and nance around on these crutches here through the hottest months of the summer. I mean, I know you totally should be at least jogging right now because there was ZERO wrong with said achilles. But I thought you could use the daily triceps workout while melting in the sweltering sun.”

“Yeah, that sounds super!”

Spin. KICK.

Meh. Who knows what the immediate future holds, other than hobbling and looking like a weirdo wearing one compression sock. I am hopeful I will be able to run sometime during this calendar year, or at least a subtle awkward jog. Until then, I will continue to talk semi-anonymous smack to my care providers and posting odd anatomy pictures.

Until next time, go on and run. I will stand here, watch and may or may not throw a stick in your path out of spite and jealousy.

 

Sincerely,

 

-B

 

Soooo Ray LaMontagne

Take this number in, because the chorus sums up how things have been feeling over the last two weeks. I will let you all marinate on the soft and super awkward Ray LaMontagne…

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OK, Ray, time to take some uppers and let me get back to my blog post.

So, about 6 weeks ago, I had that monstrosity of a red cast put on my foot  as I mentioned in a previous post. I will give you a few seconds to scroll up and look at the pictures,

annnnd scene.

OK, so apparently sometime during surgery (I don’t remember when, I was high and asleep), my bomb-ass surgeon lengthened my achilles. I didn’t know such things were possible, but apparently it happens and it happened to yours truly. I found this fact out today, but more on that later. So, I am guessing when you F with an achilles such as cut it and lengthen it, said achilles gets pissed off and aggravated. This information should be readily available to, I don’t know, say the dude that is in charge of putting casts on people who have achilles work done. Maybe it was and homeboy wasn’t up on his reading or he thought I was lying, but the cast technician pushed me to the absolute limit before slathering on the plaster. I tried to explain that my achilles felt like it was stretched to the limit, that it was quite painful, but he said that was normal due to swelling. So, on went the cast and off went Brian out the door. It felt fine, maybe a little tight, but nothing I was worried about. That was until I went to bed, rolled over to stretch and…

Pop.

I let out a short yelp, grabbed the cast and as fast as the searing pain came on it was gone. I held my breath for a few seconds as I had heard horror stories of torn achilles, how they roll up to your calf like a window shade. Worryingly, I wiggled my toes, first slowly and then with a bit more urgency as I realized I felt no lasting pain. After checking my calf for any gruesome looking lumps and contusions, I calmed down, went to sleep and thought nothing more of it for another 5 weeks.

I was allowed to slowly start bearing weight on my foot last week, easing into an odd looking gate as I made my way up the progression scale. It definitely didn’t look pretty, but I was happy to finally be back on my own two and have some freedom of mobility. It was not long, however, before I started to notice a good amount of pain in my achilles as I tried to transition for heel strike to toe off. Thing was, I couldn’t get to my toes without feeling as if my achilles was going to tear in half. There was zero strength, and so I chalked it up to atrophy, the typical loss of strength associated with immobilization. I was hoping to feel some progression over the week as I worked my way to 100% weight bearing, or at least more comfortable walking in the boot.

Unfortunately, things just seemed to go in the opposite direction.

I got in the shower one morning (Calm yourselves DOWN. I know, I know, just the thought is almost too much to handle but contain yourselves), and when I pushed off to step in I just about about fell over. Forget about walking, I didn’t have the strength nor the ability to even push off my toes in the slightest. I sat down to investigate my foot and sure enough, I felt a defined ridge running across the back of my achilles tendon. I have had a number of friends either partially or completely tear the tendon in the past, so I sort of knew what I was looking for. So, I got out, toweled off, got myself looking fresh to death per usual, and put a call in to my surgeon.

Fast forward to this morning, sitting on the examination table, a little bit of warm jelly, and…

What? You think what? Ew, no! Get your mind out of the gutter and follow the story. Gosh…

As I was saying, I was sitting on the table and my surgeon was …lubing…up my achilles with jelly to get a clear ultrasound image. Now, I think my surgeon is the bomb, and he is world renowned for the work that he does. I mean, the dude designed a tiny portable ultrasound machine, the one that he was using on me, the very one you see in US armed forces commercials during NFL games. Yeah, he’s pretty rad. So, he’s looking at this dope little screen and things seem A-OK.

“Oh, wait…let’s back up for a sec…yeah, you see that gap there? That’s a tear. It’s not a full tear, about 50%, but it’s a tear.”

MOTHER#%@$%@$

So, there you have it folks; add to the list of injuries a partially torn achilles tendon, which I certainly didn’t have after the initial injury. That cast tech, while I feel bad, definitely has the focus of my ire at the moment. I am sure he is a nice guy, but know your ish, homeboy. My surgeon said that I do not need further surgery at the moment and that I can’t baby my foot anymore, that I need to start building strength back up. So, I am clear to start rehab even with half an achilles. As he said, “If it goes, it goes; we can always fix that.”

Awesome.

I am not sure if I should explain to my surgeon what I think happened or just let it slide. What do you all think…(if anyone reads this, that is)?

More to come later when rehab starts.

-B

 

OOOOOOOOOH Snap!

Is that two pairs of kicks?

Is that two pairs of kicks?

Hell. Yes. Those would be matching shoes. Now ya’ll might not have been as excited about the concept since you were in kindergarten, but this is a big news event for Brian Hetzel. These two haven’t been reunited for 2 months, and while it still feels like I have a bruised pork chop dangling from my leg, at least it looks proper now.

I know I am a long way from running, or at least running while not looking like I just stepped on a piece of glass, I can’t help but day dream about getting back out there. It is taking everything in me not to head over to the local running store (oh hey, Fleet Feet West Hartford ) and start buying the place out.

“Oh, I need those poom poom running shorts in a large. In every color.”

“Sir, you are still on crutches and are wearing a walking boot.”

“And? I am only 4 months from running, I need to get ready. Large please, and  include the ones that look like they are meant for middle school modified XC teams, thanks. As much knuckle as possible, that’s what I say.”

Well, that got inappropriate…

Anyway, I will not be running anytime soon, even if I tried. Most of that is due to the fact that Mother Nature is being a huge B and is clearly pissed off at the whole your-killing-my-polar-bear-homies thing. Yes, I agree, the situation is FUBAR, Mother Nature, but cool it with the polar vortex nonsense. I mean, really? -24 degrees? Stop playin’, that’s not even funny. What can you do in that weather other than literally freeze? Exactly. So go ahead, talk to Al Gore, work something out, and bring us Spring. Oh and talk to China, too. That pollution nonsense is redic, surgical masks are not a good look.

Ever.

Ok, maybe during surgery but nowhere else.

Anyway, I am hobbling a little closer every day to the start line in 2015. I know it may seem like a long way off, but…ok…yes…that is a long way off. Still, progress.

Have a splendid one.

-B

BTW, this is how I feel now being able to wear two matching shoes. Get your Cartlon on, ya’ll.

Animated Gifs

A short letter

Dear right calf,

Please come back, I miss you.IMG_5319

Your pal,

Brian