The Newbie Diaries, Part VIII
May 01, 2003

My car’s Check Engine light went on last week, and because my car and I have a close, personal relationship, I pulled out all the stops to get him fixed. That is, I left my car on the side of the road at work, taking my life in my hands to commute for several days via the potentially SARS-infested Red Line, until I thought my car had probably forgotten that the light was on last time and drove him home. You might be surprised to learn that this strategy worked.

My car is very easily outwitted by my “let’s just pretend this isn’t important”-type scheming. For example, one time I thought the absence of any electricity to the dashboard was unimportant, since I could calculate more or less what speed I was going along I-80 by looking at the other cars, and then I ended up stranded in Michigan City for the night, eating sorry-looking roadside guacamole with my mother. In the rain. Ha! We had margaritas, though! The battle but not the war, Car!

Actually, the Check Engine light had been on that time, too, until the dashboard stopped displaying. As of my most recent drive today, though, the gauges on the dash are still wiggling occasionally and there has been no sign of the Check Engine light for several days, so I am officially claiming victory.

This is generally the same approach I use when I am in intense pain, which is more or less the physical manifestation of my own personal Check Engine light. Intense pain can happen for any number of reasons—a pulled a muscle, a loose tooth, or as the result of a head that has been banged on the quarter-inch handle of a bathroom stall causing four hours of non-stop bleeding, just to pick something at random with which I have no personal experience.

Most recently, I have had several wicked cases of plantar fascitis, in addition to a not-so-wicked-but-definitely-somewhat-evil bout of shin splints. My team of doctors and I came up with a three-pronged plan to combat my series of injury, a plan which I will call “Operation: Lose the Bruise” and which I am happy to share with you here.

Operation "Lose the Bruise: A Three-Pronged Plan" (for me and potentially for you, too)

Prong 1: Sophisticated, high-tech solution
Switch to wearing gym shoes to the office. Even with skirts.

Prong 2: Lighten the load
Complain loudly and constantly to others, until you feel better and/or people start to avoid you in the hallway, whichever comes first. When your pain (P) becomes their pain (p), you have less pain (P – p < P)*.

Prong 3: Faith healing
Now, luckily this is just a Humor Column, because I am about to say something that, were I in the Advice Column business, could get me sued or, worse, permanently engraved on some faith-healing potential client list: Operation "Lose the Bruise" worked out pretty well for me. It probably helps that I own sixteen gym shoes, so I can usually find some to match my outfit. (Why, that pink sweater would look perfect with those gray Nikes. And are you planning on wearing pom-pom sockies over your pantyhose?)

With the exception of Prong 3, which I included just to cover the bases, I stuck by Prongs 1 and 2 with the resolve of a newly inducted nun. And I got better. Maybe my body has finally acclimated to the stresses of running, or maybe I just ran out of people to complain to, but things have been getting better in the injury department.

With my first triathlon right around the corner, that is a scary thought. I mean, at this rate, I am going to need another really good excuse. Maybe my Check Engine light will be shining again. I mean, there’s always hope.

* We assume, based on mathematical axioms and theorems far too complicated to go into here, a zero-sum gain.

Alix Weisfeld is a world-renowned triathlete who has won Ironmans on three continents--no, wait, that is someone else's life.  She
enjoys baking, talking to her grandmother, and Latin declensions.  You can contact her at alix@triathlete.com.  No cranks, please.