One Race Down…by which I mean, down…

Tonight I set out for a very optimistic 4-miler, fueled by earfuls of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Hole and Lady Gaga. It would have been my longest run since early March. I’ve tried. I went through PT. I stretched and did things with the band (wow, that sounds much more…intriguing… than it actually was) and did those weird specific PT exercises.

See, this year I got into not one but two hard-to-get-into races, two weeks apart. The first one is a half marathon whose registration closes about 20 minutes after it opens. The second is by lottery. Somehow, I got into both.

I underwent a few Graston sessions by my trusted PT, who apparently thinks I have no pain boundaries (um, dude, we need to talk). It helped a lot (though it brought me to tears at least once).

I wasn’t fully better, but things were much improved.

Then I stepped on broken glass. Barefoot.

I did my best to remove what I could, using a clean razor blade. My brother tried (very briefly) to help get the last bit out. Then my mom insisted I go to the ER (it was a Saturday night).

The first doc couldn’t find it so she went for “the pro,” as she called him. He couldn’t find it, either, and wanted to send me for X-rays.

We had a little chat about the realities of our current healthcare system for self-insured people, after which he agreed that I could skip the X-rays and go home and would be able to tell in a few days if the remaining bit was still in there or if I had, in fact, managed to get it all out.

I think it’s all out. I’m quite certain. But the ball of my foot does feel as though four different people were fishing around in there with sharp instruments, leaving an actual hole. (Yes, there’s a hole.)

I’m doing OK and can walk pretty well now, especially with cushioning, so I thought it was time to try a run.

Well. In short, things are still broken. The calf injury spoke up first, two miles in, so I walked a little, then tried running again. It was ok, but then the foot injury kicked in. Not unbearable, but then the calf again, so I walked. Then the foot became really hard to walk on. 

So. It’s Wednesday. The race is Sunday (the half marathon). I’d be a flaming idiot to attempt it, even just walking, because even if the calf held up, the foot injury would cause me to change my gait, which would lead to yet another injury.

I’ve decided to accept this (I think!!). I will still go to Vermont and have a beautiful weekend and be with friends. And maybe by sitting this one out, I can get (SLOWLY) to the finish line of the next race.

I’m going to be smart about this. Right? Aren’t I? Feel free to chime in with supportive reminders about how skipping this race will not be the end of the world. Thanks!

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