“Well, that’s it, then,” Zack said, while audibly trying to contain his laughter. “That’s the solution. I’ll just drop a bottle on your foot every morning after you work out. Then you’ll never be sore from a workout again.”I rolled my eyes as loudly as I could. I had to make it loud because I was talking to him on the phone while I limped from to the library between classes.

I had just explained to him that, despite having worked out with Marie yesterday, I wasn’t feeling much muscle pain. Instead, all I could think about was the throbbing in my right foot.

I injured my right foot this morning when, as I was getting out of bed, I stood up and reached to grab my water bottle (a 36 oz nalgene). Instead of actually grabbing my water bottle, I simply swatted it off of my nightstand, sending the (full) bottle careening head-first towards the earth, only to be saved from its terrible floor-smashing fate by my right foot’s fifth metatarsal. The fourth metatarsal is involved, too. But the fifth. The fifth one really took most of the blow.

As an answer to his mockery, I plainly informed him, “Zack. This really actually hurts.”

“I KNOW,” he said, “I gathered that from the way you said ‘OW’ this morning.”

I could tell by the tonality of his voice that his eyes were smiling. Still. Despite my poor 5th metatarsal. Zack always laughs at me when I’m being serious. (He especially laughs at me when I’m trying to be serious about an ‘owie.’ I find this to be frustrating. Unfortunately, the only thing Zack finds more hilarious than me being serious, is the way I get frustrated when he laughs at me for being serious. It’s a vicious cycle. Seriously.)

I explained to him that I had only said OW in that loud and flat tone of voice because a.) it hurt and b.) I was trying my damnedest to keep from screaming. Since he was still asleep, I thought it might be rude if I’d have turned into the town crier at that particular moment. So I went with OW, instead. It was the best I could come up with at the moment. So shoot me. (Just not in the foot.)

But Zack woke up when he heard the crash, snapping to attention when he heard me say ‘OW.’ As soon as I saw that he was awake, and then coupled that knowledge with the fact that the OW had not (in any way, shape or form) been a sufficient outcry of pain, I decided to just go ahead and let it all out. I curled up back on the bed, held my foot, and cried. Zack held me as I cried. And then I’m pretty sure he fell back asleep, but I’m not holding it against him. It was pretty early in the morning.

Good news, though. Turns out, my lack of soreness this morning was completely unrelated to my (maybe) broken foot. It was just the trickiness of delayed-onset lactic acid build up. Because I’m plenty sore now, AND my foot is swollen and discolored. DOUBLE TROUBLE!