3 Things I Cried About Today
April 27, 2012 § 7 Comments
Does running make you happier? All kinds of bloggers, runners, magazine articles, and even researchers seem to think so. I’m no expert, but today, I’ve at least felt the converse effect, the tearfulness that seems to hit me when I’m not running. Strange things make me cry. And even though it’s only just after lunchtime on a beautiful Friday, I’ve found myself crying three times today already. Maybe it has to do with the pain I’m in. Maybe it’s because I’m just a baby. Or maybe it’s because when I run less, I feel more.
Here are the three. Prepare yourself. They’re small.
- The nurse didn’t care.
The pain in my hip, I am sorry to report, is not better. I won’t go into it, but suffice it to say, I wound up at LSU’s Student Health Center first thing this morning for triage so I could try to get in to see a doctor (who would hopefully refer me to a specialist, to get X-rays, and maybe for physical therapy). The nurse, not looking at me as I limped into the room, said, “Alright, what’s wrong with you?”
“I hurt my hip–”
I gave it.
“Are you on any medicines?”
“No. I’ve been taking two Advil in the mornings.”
She looked at me for the first time, peering skeptically over her glasses. I stood my ground. I wasn’t lying.
“What’d you do?”
I told her I’d hurt it running. She asked when the pain had started. I told her a week before I ran in a marathon and had to drop out because of the–
“Where’s it hurt?”
I showed her.
“And no trauma?”
“Well, no, it just got worse when I was in Boston, trying to run a –”
“And you’re not on birth control?”
That’s when I felt tears. No, lady, I’m not on birth control. I just have a hurt hip. That’s ruining my life. Help me out here.
2. I’m saying good-bye.
I am so crazy-excited about the next step in my life, which I’ll write more about later. But it means that I am leaving some people I love dearly behind. I was texting with one of them today, my friend Matt who has done so much for me and has been such a true friend to me even when I basically have done nothing for him. Suddenly, I found myself with full-on tears streaming down my face. I felt so sad about not seeing him anymore and not being in and out of each others’ lives (even though we don’t really hang out that much as it is). It’s just hard to say good-bye. I hate it. So I cried.
3. This American Life
On my local public radio station, they play last week’s episodes of some shows on the following Friday. Today, I caught a little bit of This American Life in the car. It was Mike Birbiglia telling a story, first explaining that he didn’t believe in marriage and then describing how he had gotten obsessed with bringing to justice a drunk driver who had hit him and totaled his car. Then one night, on a date with his girlfriend, he was scribbling on a napkin an idea about his case and how he could prove himself right. His girlfriend, Jenny, suggests he do that the next morning. From the transcript, here’s how it plays out:
I say, “This is serious. Which part of this napkin don’t you understand?”
She says, “I don’t know what to tell you Mike because you’re right, but it’s only hurting you. And I’m just so glad that you’re alive, and I think that we should focus on that.”
She only has to say it once, and I dropped the case and I pay for the guy’s car. And a few months later Jenny and I go to City Hall and get married.
I still didn’t believe in the idea of marriage, and I still don’t. But I believe in her–
That’s where I started crying. The thought of someone else giving up their case, their need to prove something to the world, because of love–it just got to me. I want to believe in someone like that. I want someone to believe in me like that.
So…there’s my sappiness. May your Friday and weekend be joyful and full of smiles. But sometimes I think tears are okay, too, in the midst of all of that. Tears tell me there’s something in me besides just toughing it out and laughing it off.
Running may make you happier–and I definitely think it makes me happier–but days without it have something to say, too.