Katie and Megan organized a wedding shower for Martha for today. Katie has been hosting the most pleasant of events like this, starting with Megan's baby shower earlier this year. There's something to be said for the calm, pleasant, enjoyable showers like this, compared to the awkward, uncomfortable, riotous bachelorette parties that include a stripper.

A stripper? Yeah, we talked about that. I mentioned how one I went to had a stripper and how awkward and uncomfortable it was for pretty much everyone when he came. The party was during the day, the stripper was icky (read: drunk and oiled up), and all of us were uncomfortable, including the guest of honor who was invited to touch - she declined).

Martha was relieved we didn't invite a stripper.

About as relieved as i was.

Megan brought some tasty, tasty desserts. Mmmmmmmmm.... I could get fat on those desserts....

Oh, wait.

At one point, before we had all settled outside at the gorgeous table Katie had set for us, Megan stepped away to get her camera. She took three steps, then turned around and walked back outside. "What do I need my camera for?" she asked. "Kitt's here."

I wonder if I should take fewer pictures.

Nah.

I wonder if I should subtitle that one More Fist Pumping!.

I did, however, take so many of the flowers at the table that Megan was forced to ask, "You are going to take pictures of the people, too, right?"

I did.

No, really.

I even managed one of the lone interloper:

But, yeah, the flowers were so pretty I couldn't really resist.

Well, and the babies. The babies were cute, too.

I drink a lot of protein shakes.

I've never been a particular fan of lots of protein in my diet, which is why the protein shakes became much of a necessity for me. A nutritionist I went to a few years ago commented on it when I brought my food log in. "Do you eat protein?" she asked, looking over my journal, finding maybe one entry of meat in the week.

After recovering from a depression later determined to be triggered by a low-protein diet, I started drinking protein shakes regularly. And in the drinking of the shakes, I started looking for good protein supplements to eat.

Whey protein is the cheapest and usually of the lowest quality (read: digestability). Since I have a wheat allergy, whey protein is out.

Soy protein adds too many estrogens to my diet, and I'm happy with a low estrogen level, so soy protein was out.

So, I went looking for alternatives. Egg whites as a protein source are supposed to be the best protein: easily digested, no hormonal side effects. All good, right?

Tastes like crap. Couldn't get through the one container I purchased.

Okay, so I tried others: rice protein and hemp protein being the two recent trials. I like the rice protein a lot, finishing that one up fairly quickly. The hemp protein I wasn't so sure about.

Especially when I mixed it this morning.

Really now, green I could handle.

Protein settling to the bottom I could handle, too.

I couldn't handle the taste, though.

Ended up dumping out the last third, after choking down the first two thirds.

Ugh.

I think I'll go back to rice protein. Maybe try soy again.

Went to the local farmer's market this morning. I went to buy fruit for a wedding shower for Martha this afternoon. The market is along Murphy Street, where our offices used to be. I head downtown very little these days, and very rarely to Murphy Street in particular, so the trip brought back lots of memories.

Memories, and a lot more emotions than I was expecting.

The office was a good office. It had plenty of space for the 3.5 (hi, Katie!) of us. It was located with easy access for the three of us most of the time (until Mike moved away). There were lots of food places around (even if Doyle did complain about going to Firehouse once a week).

I don't want to romanticize the time we were there, as it certainly wasn't all rosy. I will, however, comment that I really, really, really wish that the time there, with the company, and with Mike and Chris, hadn't coincided with one of the worst depressions of my life.

Unfortunate timing there.

Yeah.

You know, I've had my share of injuries over the last decade and a half of playing ultimate. I've rolled my ankles more times than I can count (and enough times that I don't donate my crutches, even months after I've healed). I've had discs thrown at my face. I've been crushed by male players, and broken my ribs under some. I've had my knees crushed, my hands kicked, my feet stomped on, my shoulder broken, my back seize.

This one, however takes the cake.

Early in this season (you recall, the season I "took off" by becoming a practice player so that I could concentrate on my confidence, my skills, my fitness and my health), I started having problems with my left achilles heel. I didn't think much of it, to be honest, having had pains with one or the other achilles tendon off and on for the last few years.

Lisa purchased an ankle stretching aid for me four or so years ago. It was one that Ben thought was dumb, given that it was only a piece of nominally unneeded, shaped plastic, he thought. "Just use the wall to stretch your achilles!" he'd say, but I loved it. I used it regularly that season, and ended the season with some other bizarre injury.

You know, I think it's to the point that people I've known for years will meet me on the sidelines and ask, "So, what is it this time?" with the understatement of, "why didn't you retire when it was still fun?" I can't say I'd think differently for anyone else.

So, this season, I've been struggling with my achilles. I figured the problem was with my shoes. When I originally purchased the style of cleats I wear now, the heel cup was so high that it pressed against my achilles tendon and caused some horrible pain. I figured out that issue fairly quickly, and cut a V into my cleats, removing the achilles hot spot. I do that with all of my cleats now, so I knew that wasn't my current problem.

After a few practices having the pain in my achilles, I started putting topical analgesic on my achilles, and kept playing. Clear case of "ignoring the problem and hoping it will go away." I mean, haven't all the other problems eventually gone away? Ribs heal, bruises heal, ankles heal, it all heals, just give it time, why not this one, too?

I gave up last week, and decided to have it looked at. I described the problem to my doctor. A few pushes here, a few prods there, and I was diagnosed with a crush injury to the ligaments and tendons around my achilles. "So the decision to continue playing on it was probably bad, eh?" I asked. "You could say that."

Since the problem is recurring, over many years actually, the doctor suggested I consider different shoes (since the thought of stopping playing ultimate wasn't even suggested, even by the doc). Originally, he told me to lay off running for three or so days, and start again after that. That was last week. When I couldn't walk at all the morning after this Tuesday's track workout, he told me that all running was out.

So, here's my recovery process, what I'm supposed to do to heal my achilles, given that ligament healing takes longer than muscle healing and this is going to take a while:

1. Stop running. Stop sprinting. Stop jumping. Stop all ankle impact exercises.

2. Keep the cool looking kinesio tape on as long as I can (wondering what kinesio taping is all about?), probably three days.

3. Heat my achilles for 30 minutes every 2 hours. That's a lot of heating.

4. Walk. Swim. Exercise in ways that not only don't hurt, but also don't aggravate my achilles.

5. Lots of vitamin C.

6. Wear sandals.

7. And stretch, as long as it doesn't hurt and doesn't aggravate the injury. Any discomfort at all and I'm supposed to stop.

That, and in 3-4 weeks, and I can try running again.

Three to four weeks.

THREE to FOUR weeks.

That's 21 to 28 days from now.

No running.

No, this isn't going to be hard, why do you ask?

I've been trying these last few months to go with the flow of life. Instead of forcing things to be the way I want them to be, I've been trying to accept things for what they are, to make things as good as I can given the way things are outside my control.

For the record, I need to say I've been trying this without much success. This injury is an example of how I just couldn't accept that I was done for the season, this time in June. I didn't want to believe it, I refused to accept reality, and managed to make my injury even worse.

And now I have to accept it, because I can't walk from my bed to my desk in the morning to get to work. I struggle to the bathroom in the middle of the night, knowing that any step in going to wake me up fully with a rocket of pain up my leg. I need a long time to get going after sitting for any time greater than fifteen minutes, as my ankle stiffens up so quickly.

Sandals. Like my feet aren't already cold enough.

Doyle once left his truck in front of my house. I don't recall why, but I do recall it was there for a few weeks.

During that truck stay, I began accumulating notes that had been left on the truck. They all pretty much said the same thing:

Hey, if you want to sell your truck, give me a call!

I handed the first couple to Doyle, who told me that, yeah, he received a lot of these notes, too. He received more when he left the truck sitting in one place for too long. Our truck has been sitting in front of our house for a while now, so, yeah, I can see how someone walking along could think that it's not being used. Having that truck is pretty great when you need it. Fortunately, having it when you don't need it isn't too bothersome.

Andy has a truck, too, and once casually proposed sharing ownership of our truck, too. Given that we're not exactly neighbors with Mike and Kate, I thought it was a grand idea, as he'd be more likely than the two of our families to use it regularly.

I think he was kidding, though.

When Doyle received the notes, he just crumpled them up and threw them away. They were a nuisance and not much else to him (more so, when you realize it's not littering for someone to put a note or ad or flyer on your vehicle, but it IS littering if you pull it off and just toss it over your shoulder in disgust - they can place it there without your permission, and YOU have to clean up the mess. I despise this type of advertising, in case you didn't know).

To me, they're a puzzle. I mean, sure, everyone wants to get a good deal on a vehicle. Going directly to the owner means you'll get a better deal than going through a middleman or used car dealership. And I can see why a third vehicle, one left parked in the same place, could be construed as not wanted.

But to leave a note?

Of course, I'm not above leaving a note myself. It's how Mike and Kate became my neighbors. I've mailed letters to the current owners of houses I like, ones in my past, perhaps in my future. My mom left a note on the doorstep of the house that she and my dad later bought, that my dad still lives in.

I've never left a note with a car, though. That's the thing I find fascinating. At what level does someone decide that a preemptive strike is better than waiting until the "for sale" sign goes up?

Not sure.

I am sure, however, that our truck isn't for sale.