I feel like a real athlete now! My opening ceremony on the eve of the London Olympics.

Fifth metarsal. Casse. Broken. I’d like to say the injury was doing something interesting, but on my way to the gym, I kicked a curb that was too high. Derr. Landed on my foot hard, and maybe the stress of running 5 or 6 miles on the in-between swim days, took its toll. I’m in good company, I guess. Black Swans and David Beckham’s are prone to them and Beckham had to sit out the 2002 World Cup.

In bed, with no excuses not to write…until the Olympics! My son, dear athlete, has set me up with his old crutches and compression bandage. Iced me up all night on a tower of pillows. Movies in place. Pinkberry and pizza, too. Lila’s been a real comfort, too.

Pass to the right, I say.