That's my excuse.
That, and I was feeling sorry for myself.
Sorry that I hurt my stupid ankle.
Sorry that I couldn't run for nearly eight weeks.
Sorry that when I was able to start again I felt like I'd started from square -8.
It is humbling.
Almost as humbling as finding out your fourth grader tells the nurse "Mom is going to be mad if you call her because I feel sick."
And nearly as humbling as learning your first grader walked like a robot to lunch last week because he'd tied his shoes together. And then he cried when the teacher couldn't untie them.
But perhaps not nearly as humbling as being mistaken for a grandmother, being called a housewife, or being asked to have my husband call to authorize this transaction.
But here we are. ...
Hobbling into the Thanksgiving season no worse for actual wear, which I've decided has to mean I need to take all of this discomfort and walking it off.