Some Black Dude Voodoo'd Me

Ya, I know. Weird fuckin story. But it goes something like this...

Friday after my morning run (Friday is my 2x run day), I headed to Baja Fresh for lunch. Along the way I got stuck behind some older black dude who moved about as fast as legislation gets passed through Congress. It was taaaakiiiinnnnggg ffoooorrreeevvveerrrrr. Not that I'm entirely impatient, but my choices were limited as he was occupying the only ramp to get to where I needed to be. He seemed almost intentionally slowing his pace as to impede my progress. Hesitating for dramatic effect.

He then made a hard-right turn into the ABC liquor store. Harking back to old C's ways, I spouted out something. I probably shouldn't have. Ok, I know I shouldn't have. But let he who has sinned cometh forward and repent and he hath been forgiven. Right? Anyway, the truth is, before I had a chance to say anything he quipped, "Why you breathing down my neck, maaaaaaan?" And I said, "Maybe if your ass wasn't spending money on booze and instead buying a treadmill I wouldn't be." He then said something else  and I was walking away at that point and couldn't process it fully. I loudly said, "Get your ass a gym membership and then we'll chat about your slow movin and me breathing down your neck!"

Granted, I'm not happy I said this. Not now at least. At the time I was riding high on some cardio endorphines and no one gets between me and my Baja Fresh. I can be a bit like Lance. Need to exercise! Need to eat! All else is obstacles! Lesson learned for this prick though, right?

I glance back one final time and he's stooped over leering at me as if casting a spell of destruction like the witch in Snow White. I just chuckled and went inside to eat my veggie quesadilla. I had another run later, time to get some fuel. Wasn't gonna let this guy lecture me on the merits of alcoholism. Not today.

My second run of the day (the easy one) went without fanfare. No problems, not difficult, not easy. Basically my LSD pace for 4-5 miles. Feeling good.

It wasn't until later when drunken voodoo bastard came creeping back into my life. Although I didn't figure it out until just now.

I'm in Tyson's Corner watching Django (pretty awful for a Tarantino flick...well the first hour and a half is good....then drags on....and...on....and..on...) And as if to add some odd confluence of black-white race relations I'm seated next to an interracial couple. The black dude has his headset on and his white submissive girlfriend was getting them popcorn. Not that I give a shit. People can date whomever they please. I just thought it was funny to be watching Django sitting next to these two.

What irritated me was black dude was wearing a headset. And it was loud. Fine, fine, it's just previews, it's all good. But 15 minutes into the film, I'm hearing beats blasting (remember my hearing is absolute shit) like he's making a mix tape. This movie highlights overt physical torture of blacks during civil war days, so I had some inhibitions saying some shit to this guy. He's got his white girlfriend. I'm with my white girlfriend. Shit would look bad. It's Django, not Harry Potter. Plus I spouted off earlier and came to regret it by then. Didn't need any deja vu.

So I keep quiet and this dude ruined a good portion of my evening. Karma?

But that's not what the voodoo guy was after. Oh noooo. He wanted my foot.

About middway through (so maybe 2 hours in), my foot starts to ache. I figure it might be asleep so I stretch it out, but the pain remains. In fact, it's throbbing! I thought I must have kept my foot in an awkward position for too long unwittingly. But it wasn't centralized in one point. It was the ENTIRE foot. Toe to heel. Top and bottom. Really bizarre, right? I'm not even moving. And had no pain or discomfort whatsoever in my runs earlier in the day. I'm seated in a movie theater!

Around six hours later, or whenever the movie finally ended, I tried to get up and could hardly stand. Much less walk. Any pressure on my foot felt like another hammered nail splitting the bone. How...the....fuck???? That's what I was thinking. The pain with each labored step increased to the point that I was almost reduced to crawling/tears through the parking lot. Thankfully, white gf had some pain pills I could take and I downed four and went to bed while icing it. She was quite helpful in this endeavor and for that I am much obliged.

I thought I fractured my foot. Thought I'd be out weeks. Months even. Shit, I almost went to the emergency room to have it checked out.

The pain the next morning was still pretty fierce and taking a day off is as common as leap year around these parts. So I hobbled down to the weight room to lift a little bit but did take the entire day off cardio. First time in weeks. Feeling guilty about it.

Today, the pain abated almost entirely. I walked without much discomfort (a bit tender) and swam without compensating. I'm hoping to bike a bit tomorrow to test it out, and run Tuesday....maybe it's my shoes??? They are getting a tad old.

But if I run Tuesday without pain in my foot from the shoes....it was voodoo. Without a doubt. And there's one lesson to be learned here. Don't cross a black guy and his booze. No matter how long it takes to get your damn quesadilla. Shit just ain't worth it.