A month.

I spent the whole day with doctors today. Met with a sports med doc that was recommended, and he ordered a whole bunch of tests. Went from his office to an x-ray place, got that done and took the films back to the doc. Bones are good (no shit -- I KNOW this is muscular). The nurse at the doc's was trying to set up an MRI, but that won't happen till next week. From the doc's, I went to a hospital in Camden for an ultrasound to make sure I don't have blood clots. I don't (NO SHIT! THIS IS MUSCULAR!). Then I spent the next 15 minutes on the phone with the Physical Therapy place, where the doc wants me to go 2-3x's a week (as if $ is growing on trees for me with all these copays) for therapy that includes Graston stuff and other things. He thinks I may have torn something and then overused it or something and the scar tissue is wreaking havoc. Or something like that.

I broke down in tears when he told me he doesn't want me to run until he sees me again. In a month.
I did. I broke down in tears right there in the office.
He said, "I know, this is hard. I understand."
I told him, "I appreciate that, but you don't understand. This has been the hardest year of my life. I've dealt with death, a broken relationship, criminal behavior against me, screwed up work stuff, and a failed marathon -- just to name a few. I need to run."

He didn't know what to say. He handed me a tissue.

So, that's it. I know I should look for the good. I know I'm not terminally ill, my family's ok, and I can still bike/swim/whatever.

But I need to run.