“It’s a stress fracture,” The doctor notes, after the x-ray, showing me the fissure along the bone.
I want to tell him that the season is only half over. I want to tell him that I just clocked my fastest time a little less than a week ago. I want to tell him that finally, things are working out. That I have a beautiful girl with blonde hair and a glazed forehead I can’t stop thinking about. That I have a troika of History, English and French teachers that are nothing short of amazing. That I have a cross-country coach I try to emulate by drinking coffee . That finally, after being bullied and tested incessantly throughout all of junior high things are coming together.
The doctor says it’s probably best if I miss the rest of the season.
I explode.
“No. It’s not that bad. There has to be some sort of rehabilitation I can do.”
The Doctor nods. He says he doesn’t want me running for two weeks.
“Tell your coach. He will understand. It’s probably best if you spend time in the pool working out. That you avoid hard workouts for about a week."
No comments:
Post a Comment