Ugh. So, yesterday, I set off to allegedly attempt to run three miles to test out my ankle again (with the secret agenda of trying to run at least four or five miles so I could return victorious and re-establish my Viking credentials).
So, where do we decide to run? The same two parks of terror and doom
It was a beautiful day, and we’re running in the second park which is, theoretically, a fun park to run in. Nikki says “Kathie, slow down,” because my speed had been creeping up and I am supposed to take it easy. I can’t help it — when I am having fun, I start going faster. But then:
Agh! My ankle starts killing again!
Like, where the ankle hits the shoe and the whole thing just hurts and I ask Nikki, “How far have we gone?” and she says “3 miles.” Yow. I had to stop and walk the rest of the way home (although the worst of the pain subsided after about ten minutes of walking). So, I did the three miles I set out to do except, of course, I really, top-secret, set out to do four or five.
Friends, this sucks. I am supposed to run in the Chi-Town half marathon this Sunday! How am I going to be able to do that if I can’t even run 3 miles right now without developing serious pain?
Well, tomorrow I am going to the physical therapist. I don’t know what to expect but I do know it is looking increasingly unlikley that I will be able to run the half marathon this weekend, and who knows what that means for Prague. And how frustrating! My conditioning is great, my mental space is great. It is just a motherfucking twisted ankle that is holding my back for cripes sake!
Only seven weeks left to go.