Wurstzehen

I learned a new word! Wurstzehen. Meaning: Sausage toes. You might be asking why, and I have a very good explanation. Because I have them. But only on one foot. The right to be specific. So Wednesday night I was faced with the decision of playing volleyball or going for a run and then early bed. To be honest, I wasn't really motivated to go running but I got dressed accordingly and then, while stalling, decided to go to volleyball instead. While I was driving there I had that feeling that something bad was going to happen. Sometimes I just make things up so I figured I'd let it go and find out. I did the "what's the worst that could happen" with myself. I could get a speeding ticket... Or I could just not speed. Problem solved. I could get there and it's cancelled... In that case I got a nice drive in. No harm done. I wasn't even through the first set when I realized that I hadn't thought of one other possibility. I collided with someone else and twisted my foot. I don't think it's supposed to make those noises. I got up and after a couple steps I'd walked it off. It was mildly sensitive for the rest of the night (not that I would admit it), but once I changed into my normal shoes I realized that my shoes being a half size too small was a lifesaver. Apparently it stabilized my foot and kept the swelling down. By the time I got home it was easiest to hop from the car to the house. It progressively got worse that night until it hurt even to touch the ground. We just happened to have a surgeon in the house that night who took a look at it and said I should probably get it X-rayed in the morning just to be safe. And after a rough night I decided to see if I like going to doctors any more in Germany than I do in the US. The doctor, of course, said it wasn't broken, wrapped it, and gave me a bunch of ibuprofen. It was like being back home. But if the wrap had been tan rather than hot pink my little toes would have looked exactly like pigs in a blanket. Moral of the story: Listen to that little voice inside. But I have to be honest: After making the winning serves of two sets that came down to being won by two, and actually successfully spiking (that's what I'm calling it at least), I do not regret two days of hopping. Plus I'm going to have a darn nice left calf and quad after this.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.