Note to Self: Do not humble-brag on the Internet about your running milestones. The Universe will hear you and get a good giggle out of splintering your heel bone just for funsies.
Vanity and Pride y’all, they weren’t kidding when they named them Deadly Sins. #Proof
I wrote my previous entry on Monday and posted it Tuesday morning. Entitled “In which I shamelessly self-congratulate my running progress,” the post was all about how super duper happy running makes me, from the Zen-like quiet it creates in my mind to how I have finally vindicated my gym-class avoiding elementary school self as I now run a 12-minute mile.
Blog posted, I headed out for my run. My ankle felt a little twinge-y and I figured I hadn’t stretched enough. By the time I was running, I barely felt it and knocked out my 2.5 miles in no time. On my return up the driveway though, the twinge-iness returned. I went inside and took off my shoe.
You know how when you twist-pop the can of Pillsbury crescent rolls, this happens?
Yeah, that’s what happened to my lower ankle area when I took off my shoe.
I did not trip, step on anything, or run differently than I have this whole summer.
I guess my number was just up.
A week of RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation) and nearly half the bottle of ibuprofen later, the swelling continued.
In a purely coincidental chance of events, my mom has been seeing an orthopedist for an injury she sustained to her ankle/foot in July. They very kindly added me as a +1 to her appointment on Friday, where my newest doctor declared this:
“Well, I’m not saying your running career is over, like, forever, but you definitely need to hang up your shoes and cancel your gym membership because the only thing you should be doing for the next 6 to 8 weeks is to walk from Point A to Point B.”
I apparently have stress fractures of my calcaneus, a.k.a. my heel bone. It’s a repetitive motion injury caused when a bone can’t handle the force acted out on it, common in runners.
So wait, even my injury validates my status as an actual runner?
All I could do was laugh.
Hysteria does strange things to people.
So now, instead of watermelon-colored running shoes, I am confined to a rather cumbersome, rather boring, black boot-cast.
It just so happens that my mom has one too, and so I have joined her club (membership tally: 2) of left-foot boot-cast rockers. If one must wear a boot-cast, one must do their best to be fabulous while doing so. *SIGH*
Thankfully, we have a fabulous sense of humor to match, because as we hobble to and fro, it is impossible not to giggle- whether it is us laughing at ourselves, or laughing along with the multitudes who have decided to giggle in our general direction. (We heard you, Orthopedic nurses! Turning a corner does not make sound vanish.)
So, yeah. This is where I am now.
Not exactly where I want to be/thought I’d be/would have ever considered being, but I am here, boot-cast and all. I guess now I can focus on the upper-body strength training I was neglecting in favor of using all available energy for running. Or I can choreography my own Zumba routines from a seated position.
Or I could just given in and eat my feelings…