One week down, five more to go.

On my way to work this morning, which is located about a half-mile from my home, I got stopped by a strange woman in a Land Crusier with Arizona license plates. She pulled off a busy road and into a parking lot, rolled down her window and asked me if I wanted a ride to wherever I was going. She said I appeared to be in pain (I wasn't).

I explained to her that I was simply tired but that I only had a few blocks to go, so I could manage the rest of the trip on my feet. She told me her destination and emphasized that she would be happy to drive me. Again, I said no thanks.

Yesterday, an older Italian man coming out of a building startled me when he exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! What happened to you?" When I told him that I suffered a stress fracture due to running, he cautioned, "You have to be careful!"

Tonight at L.A. Fitness, a woman commented on how she thought it was great I was working out despite my injury. She's a fellow runner and could empathize with my desire and need to keep up my fitness level. We talked about injuries for a while, and then I went on my merry way to the stationary bike. 

This morning's situation might have been unusual, say, eight days ago. But ever since the doctor ordered I use crutches, strangers stopping me on the street, at the gym or in the locker room has become common place. Strangers are offering me rides and opening doors. They're asking me about my injury. They're concerned. Colleagues and friends are offering to take me to the grocery store or run an errand for me. As my friend Emma predicted, I'm getting a peek at the human condition.