Just when things are going great… I mean, I have been feeling so strong physically. I'm just a few weeks into my training block for my April half marathon, but everything's felt good. I'm making progress in the gym too, which is even better as in the past I've found it very hard to balance both the running and the weightlifting. I took it easy on Monday, after the 10K race, but then was really ready to get back after it. On Tuesday, I did hill repeats: 8 75-second pushes up Cat Hill in Central Park. On Wednesday, my deadlifts felt good: 4 x 119 lb for my top set. I had my second appointment with my therapist on Wednesday afternoon, and I didn't leave in tears. Indeed, we talked about ways that we could end our session with a positive reflection about Isaiah; and I've tried every day since then to write down one positive memory in my journal. On the way home from her office, I stopped at the Oakley store and bought the most stereotypical pair of runner's sunglasses. Then on Thursday, I opted for a bit more hill-running, knowing that Sunday's race (and my half marathon) would be better for it. One loop of Central Park is 6 miles, so by the time I ran to the park and home, it was a longer mid-week run than I normally do — but like I said, I have been feeling really strong. It was a beautiful day; I was wearing those badass sunglasses. And then. And then. And then.
About three blocks from home, as I was barreling down 57th street, a man stepped into me — quite intentionally — and shoulder-checked me hard. I went flying. The palms of both hands were ripped up and bloodied; my left hip and knee badly bruised. He didn't even stop or turn around to see what he'd done. He knew what he'd done — he'd sure shown me, I guess. I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and jogged the rest of the way home (trying not to leave bloody handprints when opening the building door), where I burst into tears, not just because I was fucking hurt but because I was fucking enraged.
I'm on the mend, I think. But I cannot go to the gym for a while longer. While my left hand has mostly healed, my right hand is still raw. There'll be no barbell lifting until it's scabbed over — probably next week at the soonest. And while the road rash felt like the worst of it on Thursday, by Saturday, I realized that I might've injured my knee as well. It's still sore — so much so that if resting it today and tomorrow doesn't change things, I'm going to have to see a doctor. Because I am an idiot, I ran on it on Saturday and raced on it on Sunday. I shouldn't run, I know, I know; but fuck — my training. And because of my hand, I can't cross-train in the pool instead.
One of the dangers, I've known, of putting all my mental health eggs in the workout basket, was something like this happening — something that prevents me from working out. Everything is so fragile. All the hard work, such a tenuous and temporary accomplishment.
On Saturday, Kin and I visited the Tenement Museum in the Lower East Side, which was great. You can only access the museum via a tour, and there are several different ones, thematically organized based on oral histories of the building's occupants and neighborhood residents. (Ours was on Jewish-American women in 1902.) Then we walked over to the Two Bridges neighborhood and ate dinner at the Golden Diner, where I'd taken Emmett and Amelia when they were in town after Christmas. I am in my pancake era, and I ate the best pancakes in NYC, along with the best sausage-egg-and-cheese sandwich. Kin ordered rice pudding for dessert. Disgusting.
Reading: I'm still reading (or listening to) You Are the Placebo; I finished He Who Drowned the World; we're still listening to The Shaping of Us (we don't love it); I started Keywords for Capitalism.
Viewing: we finished season 3 of Slow Horses, which I have really enjoyed despite hating Gary Oldman with pretty much every bone in my body — he killed Nancy Spungeon, right? We watched the latest episode of Death and Other Details, which isn't as good as I wanted it to be. We started the latest season of True Detective, starring Jodie Foster, who I'll love forever and who — unlike Oldman — I can forgive for terrible roles and problematic personal history.
Cooking: I made the very disappointing chewy Earl Grey cookies, which needed much less time in the oven to actually be “chewy”; I made Ali Slagle's recipe for baked rice with leeks and lemon and beans; I made beef stew; I made maple ice cream; I made another Ali Slagle recipe: sweet potato hash with tofu (along with Mark Bittman’s biscuits and fried eggs); and another Ali Slagle recipe: cheesy green chili bean bake; and from Ali Slagle's newsletter, a Sarah Jamel recipe: gooey lemon cake; and to end the week, a very disappointing chana masala with cucumber yogurt (and brown rice and store-bought naan).