What a difference a day makes. Or, part of a day. Or, part of a morning.
The Smackdown Wagon ran me over this morning after my happy, positive post.
This is proof to me that resolving to be positive and upbeat is stupid and sure to lead to disaster and disillusionment. I’m pretty sure googling 50K training plans prior to my run this morning did nothing to divert the Bad Luck Fairy hovering over my head waiting to strike, with Fate winging it in the background just in case Bad Luck Fairy took a swing and missed. Or just in case Fate is feeling particularly like a bitch right now and wanted to do some slapping when BLF got done with her hits.
Pain Level 5 – There’s a little man in my 3rd metatarsal using a jackhammer and he has a friend helping him.
I guess my original thought – that my foot was swollen and sore from 7 hours in a pair of pumps (I KNEW I should just wear my Toms and ask the photogs to focus knees and above) – was, actually …
… and what I had talked myself out of for the past three days was not a serious case of negative thinking, hypochondria or making a big deal out of nothing but is, instead, a stress fracture of the 3rd metatarsal and apparently the little men in my foot with the jackhammer intend to hang around 6 – 8 weeks. My run started out so well, too, basically pain free – you cannot call an occasional piriformis ping “pain”. It was a lovely morning, I felt strong and loose, having the best run I’ve had in weeks, maybe months. Just lovely, centered, feeling strong, feeling lined up, feeling my feet hit the ground and spring back up.
At mile two the sore spot on the top of my foot started to feel like a sore spot at the top of my foot. At 2.5 the sore spot started to feel like an extremely sore spot that wanted me to stop and sit down. Being a mile from home that was not optional but foot did not care, and at 2.75 foot said screw you lady and started screaming. I limped 3/4 mile home which took about 25 minutes and hurt more with each step. I called my favorite podiatrist and before noon I was in his office, strapped into a boot and being told I would be doing exactly NO.THING. until he sees me again in 2-1/2 weeks.
This means all the plans I recently made after I cancelled the other plans I’d previously made will now have to be cancelled. I’m pretty sure I feel a little bit like crying but it also feels a lot like watching a train wreck in a movie. You know it’s coming, you know they’re going to hit and all you can do is watch and wait, other than the fact that I can’t change the channel and of course you could if you were watching a movie. Which I’m not. I’m pretty sure I’m kinda pissed at fate right now but I’m also feeling kinda smacked down and don’t really feel like tempting fate any further at this point, because I’ve done so for over a year now and it doesn’t look like I’m winning.
So once again I prove you can’t argue with fate and if you’re sitting here with a busted foot it’s not going away. Just like labor and delivery, once that baby starts it’s not stopping so you can fight it as much as you want or you can try to shut up and take what comes. I’m not so good at that but at least it looks like I’m going to get a chance to practice, right?