Saturday, October 8, 2011

In which I am still lame

So yesterday I injured my ankle in the least-cool, most-lame way.

I was incredibly bummed last night, the thought of not running Monday's race making me tear up just at the thought.

Then, overnight, all I dreamt about was running the race, but I couldn't get there, obstacles in my way at every turn.

I woke up frustrated from the dream and in need of Motrin.

I RICEd my ankle all day Friday, so when I woke up and unwrapped the ace bandage this morning, I was really happy to see the swelling nearly gone and no bruising anywhere. Phew, that ruled out a severe sprain.

I gave it a test walk, gently, and I could walk relatively normally given the stiffness from the overnight compression. I continued to RICE all day today, switching to heat this afternoon.

Everything seems to be progressing well, except I have little flexibility from the ankle bone back through to my Achilles' heel. If the race were tomorrow, I would not run it.

Many of my friends and family have been very supportive, leaving messages on Facebook or calling me to see how I'm doing. The undercurrent is, with nearly all of them, "There will be other races."

And I know that, I really do. And I will not race Monday if I feel I could do any major damage to my ankle. I don't want a Pyrrhic victory - getting through this race at the expensive of having to sit on the sidelines for any physical activity for weeks.

I've come to accept the fact that if I can't race Monday, I can't. I know there will be other races, I just really want to run this one.

I did have one interesting experience Friday that I forgot to mention. Right after I hurt my ankle, I took the kids straight home and got them settled before getting an ice wrap out of the freezer and wrapping my ankle.

I was standing in the kitchen, almost nauseous at the reality of my situation. Fifteen weeks of training. 72 hours before the race. Injured. Possibly not racing. Then I heard it in my head: "I want something."

Then I got scared because "something" means "food" - and not an apple.

I hadn't heard that all-or-nothing voice in forever - months even - and there it was, trying to take advantage of the situation.

In a microsecond the rationale was in my head, "Well, if you can't run this race, why not have something to cheer yourself up?"

It was frightening how quickly it appeared and rationalized itself.

I thought about it for maybe 5 seconds, but thankfully reminded myself that if I felt bad about injuring my ankle, I would feel really bad about overeating junk to make myself feel better.

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