Here I am seated at the doctor’s office, trying to curb my wandering mind. What will be the outcome. It terrifies me that I am sitting here waiting, feeling hopeless and helpless at this moment. I want to walk away and not look back, but maybe sitting here will ease my mind.

I finally get called to the back and sit back there waiting again. The doctor walks in and I explain everything and we talk and we talk and we talk. Where does it hurt he says, pushing on the spot that I point to him. I cringe and wince in pain.

Eventually he suggests an X-ray and comes back to the room and sits down. My heart is racing wondering what news he bears. I can’t stop running, is the thought that  is literally running through my head. He puts my mind at ease by telling me that everything looks good. However, he says, I should curb the running till the pain subsides. I look at him in disbelief, with my mouth agape, trying to explain to him, how running keeps me sane and that I have already signed up for races that I cannot back away from.

Despite his words of suggesting I cut back, all I hear is there is no fracture and everything looks good.

I sigh with relief, knowing that I can go home and put on those running shoes again and continue pounding the sidewalk or maybe just jogging.

In earlier posts I mentioned the excruciating pain I have had when running. I am typically the person who ignores it and hopes against hope that it will go away. But 2 days after running 13.1 miles, I was unable to walk without some pain, which made me want to pay a visit to a doctor. Google and Web MD suggested, tendonitis, but I needed to put my mind at ease, could be a hairline fracture someone said, sending my mind spiraling out of control.

I race back to work from the doctor’s office, to tell everyone that I can continue running and planning to go for a run and suffer through the pain once I head home.

However, when it was time to put on the running shoes the rain comes down putting a damper on my plan (pun intended). Therefore in order to celebrate the fact that there was no dire injury, I head to the kitchen and indulge in a little kitchen therapy.

Curry is always my comfort food, the smell of the spices wafting through my apartment makes me happy, as much as running outside with the wind in my face. I chop, dice, sauté and get it all ready for a semi-elaborate dinner.

The chicken curry

What is dinner without a dessert to go with it. I stare at the fridge and all I see is a bottle of strawberry jam snuggled in with the rest of the pastes, sauces, and endless arrays of bottles I have lining the shelves.

I eventually settle on what I shall call a duffin (a doughnut and muffin = duffin). I make a muffin mix, dollop a little into the muffin pan, then dollop that with the strawberry jam and another dollop of dough and that’s how the duffin was born.

I brushed the top with some melted butter and dusted it with sugar.

The rain continues to come down, while I continue to bake. The smell of the duffin, along with the curry reminds me of being back in Sri Lanka and for a moment I am transported back and I miss everyone.

However, for now I am here stuck in my kitchen, but knowing that I can continue running, is what I will celebrate.