Okay, so my ankle is still an issue. And it is making me feel very sad.
The conscientious reader may recall that last week I twisted or strained or sprained or did something to my ankle. I think this occurred during an otherwise pleasant 6-mile run through a few neighborhood parks; heretofore regarded as the parks of darkness, doom, and despair.
In any case, I wrapped the ankle and took care of it and a couple of days late it felt better and I ran a 7 mile run that was really fun and pleasant and didn’t seem any the worse for wear. The next day, however, the soreness returned. Not so bad, though, so when Sunday and my 14-mile long-run came up I felt okay to go for it.
My ankle did feel sore during a lot of this run; mostly when I landed on uneven surfaces or had to turn or veer too quickly. I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, though, because right after the run I had to quickly get ready for a performance thing I was doing, and then, after the performance, I had some beers, and didn’t think anything else of it.
I am, after all, a Viking.
The injury to my ankle may, quite possibly, have longer and further reaching origins that the run through Hell Park and its sequel. Many years back, I was hit by a car and bruised up my ankle pretty badly. I never had it xray’s or an MRI (my more serious injuries affected my other leg which is, ironically, holding up brilliantly during my recent onslaught of abuse). But I have had occasional painful incidents with that ankle ever since.
Or, there may be no connection at all.
For example, there is no connection between this image of drunken college girls and any of content of this blog post:
Nor is there any connection between this picture of a big butt and anything relating to my ankle owie:
The reasons I have gratuitously posted these pictures is because two of the most common search terms that direct people to this blog are “big butts” and “drunk college girls.” They seem to be particularly effective in drawing traffic from Saudi Arabia, for whatever that’s worth.
I can only imagine that this picture of lesbians kissing will push my hourly hits through the roof.
Or, considering my target audience, maybe these sexy women:
But I digress.
In any case I made it through the night after the 14-mile run with no issues,or so I thought.
Until I got home and looked at my foot and realized that I could no longer distinguish my ankle. Comparing it to my other foot confirmed that I certainly should have a fully visible ankle on my sore foot.
So, I have been back to icing it, wrapping it, elevating it, and trying to stay off of it. And I am very depressed.
Early on when this happened, I scoffed at seeing a doctor. Why waste my time when I knew exactly what they would say: stay off if it, ice it, wrap it, elevate it. That’s how these things go. And meanwhile, my dwinding training weeks and crucial upcoming long runs feel like they are slipping away from me.
After the last long run, my feeling was, if my ankle is going to hurt when I am running, so be it. I’m tough. I can handle it. Now I am reconsidering that logic.
So, I have an appointment with my doctor for tomorrow. Because as bad-assed as I am, I don’t want to be one of those assholes who refuses going to the doctor when they really should.