Trippin'

It was November 1. Our 10th anniversary!

J is so supportive. She understood having a mediocre day at work and encouraged me to get my run in before we headed out to celebrate.I thought it would be short and sweet. My usual four miles from work up Kavanaugh and back. And actually, a little over three miles of it was just that...

Crisp air, dusky light, good pace, fall color, people burning incense somewhere in the neighborhood, good mood, exciting evening plans. Mind free.

Coming down Woodrow, though, I fell over. Just fell over. Tripped on absolutely nothing. My left ankle rolled right out from under me and I felt my weight go onto the side of my foot. That was b-a-d, because my 5th (outside) metatarsal has a big screw in it from an old soccer injury, with the head sticking out just enough to hurt like hell when weight is put on it from the side like that.

I didn't quite hit the pavement, fortunately. Hop-walked a few feet, turning onto the sidewalk at Markham. Walk it off. Walk it off, Farrell. Come on, let's go.

I tried to run. Wasn't happening. Big pain. I made it to a tree in the yard of the School for the Blind and leaned on it. I thought I might throw up, it hurt that bad.What's crackhead about this is that I was not all that worried about still being a mile from my truck in the dark. I was pissed that I might have seriously injured myself and that would cut into my future running schedule.

Deep breaths. Stretching. More deep breaths. Walking.

Finally, after what seemed a long time, I tried a little hop-run. Within a few yards I was back regular running. It hurt to turn or wobble, but running straight was relatively pain-free, strangely. I was very glad to be back running. Very. It felt amazing.

The last mile went quickly, as did the obligatory stretching. Got home, promptly forgot about the only slight remaining ankle pain, and headed out with J for a wonderful dinner at Acadia. (Which we highly recommend, by the way. We are also new fans of red zinfandel).

So today I woke up and put my feet on the floor. Pain. Well, that's normal. Between the screw in my foot and the plantar fascitis that almost every distance runner gets, it feels like I have heel spurs for the first ten minutes of most of my mornings. I didn't think anything of it until I tried to go downstairs.

Ankle screamed, "Hey big dummy, you sprained the heck out of me last night and not only did you then run another hilly mile on me, you then failed to ice me or take any medicine. Instead you drank wine and had a big time. You will pay." I looked down at it and saw the swelling and discoloration. Dammit!

I am not very good at being injured. I can deal with self-induced achy pain from long mileage. Sharp pain does me in though, and not only does it just plain hurt, it makes my mind nuts. Grumpy day. All day I kept thinking about how screwed up my training schedule might be. And not so much because I feel obligated to the schedule, but because I have really gotten to like running and don't want to miss out on it.

Ate Aleve with breakfast and it helped some. Had a good phone conversation with Coach Tom and got good advice for my ankle and spirit. He always makes me laugh.

After a lengthy search this evening, I found the brace Tom recommended for runners (he got his from his doc, whom I called but they wouldn't sell me one outright without an office visit). This one is by McDavid from Sports Authority. Most ankle braces are either nearly worthless (slim neoprene sleeve), or are entirely too bulky (resembling aircasts or astronaut boots). This seems to be a good in-between solution. Haven't run in it yet--took today off and probably tomorrow too--but will give it a shot Saturday morning at the team run.

Next week is NAI national conference in Albuquerque, followed by a week of vacation with J in Santa Fe (happy anniversary to us). Hope to report on some rave runs from the mountains and deserts of New Mexico.