When I got my initial prognosis, the doctor's office told me that I needed to do no running for 5-7 days post injury. That would have put me back running on the Wednesday of this past week or by Saturday at the latest. Here is the progression on the journey back to the run...
Thursday, January 26
The Banter goes for a run. He steps on a phantom object, resulting in a broken metatarsal. I hobbled around at work and then went to the doctors. The office confirmed that I'm a pansy. They failed, however, to confirm the break. Medical science just wasn't looking right, probably distracted by the density of pansiness packed into such a tiny person.
Friday, January 27
I take the day off. There's no escaping that I would have been useless at work. When I told them as much, they simply answered with, "Duh." I headed to the pharmacy to get anti-pansy pills. Walking from the parking lot to the pharmacy counter makes me wonder how to get one of those temporary handicapped stickers. I never thought that parking an extra 20 feet closer to the store would make a difference and I find myself ogling the old guy's cane that got to park in the blue lines.
Saturday, January 28
It's clear that pansy pills are not strong enough. I attempt to walk around to accomplish the mundane chores of life. I cannot put pressure on my left foot. I got a call from the producers of the Walking Dead, begging me to fly out for an audition for ghoul #6 in their next episode. In their words, I have the walk down perfectly and I would save them money on make-up. I consider it but remember that I have to teach class on Monday.
Sunday, January 29
Either the pain was subsiding and the healing process has begun or the accumulated dosage of all of the pills had finally worked itself to a level that yielded results. I'm still walking goofy but, much to the relief of the Wife, I manage to not whimper with every downstep. I have this brilliant idea to go for a bike ride on the trainer. After 20 minutes of light activity I bag the workout early, I gingerly get off the bike and head into the house. The whimper returns. The Wife curses. I write an hilarious blog post about the injury. It's possible that I'm delusional.
Monday, January 30
I make the decision to go to work. Happily, the teenagers I teach are sympathetic to my injured plight and are remarkably helpful. By the end of the day, I'm exhausted. Every step uses the same amount of energy and concentration as 100 steps from a week ago. It's a shame that this effort doesn't burn the same number of calories since the amounts of gluttony have proportionately increased with my newfound levels of sloth.
Tuesday, January 31
I make the decision to use a different pair of shoes. They better matched my outfit and I was getting some pressure points on my left foot from the ones I used yesterday. I have to go to the store to purchase some supplies for an experiment. The grocery store is rife with science, should you know where to look. My gait is less obvious. If I walk slowly, I can almost not limp. The overnight low was quite chilly and there was some new ice on the pavement. As a cumulated result of all of the morning's decisions, I stumble on the ice. I was favoring my right leg. Upon the stumble, I switch my weight to the other leg. The one with the bad foot. The injury flared it's ugly head and I regressed back to a level of discomfort and injury which may have exceeded that of the original incident. I nearly pass out in the grocery store parking lot. After refusing to go down, I wobble in to the grocery store and gather the supplies. The kids remained awesome.
Wednesday, February 1
This is the early deadline originally set by the Urgent Care physician's assistant. Whereas I doubt that I would have made it through well enough to run under the best of conditions, yesterday's incident not only made running impossible, I was still only able to limp at about 78 minutes per mile. I was traveling in slow motion while the rest of life had hit the 2x button. I briefly contemplated getting an amputation so that I could get one of those painfree running blades. I table that decision for at least a month. I recognize that this is a horrible contemplation for both myself and for the honor of the awesome individuals that qualify for those additions.
Thursday, February 2
The damn groundhog sees his shadow and retreats for another month and a half. I fear for another parking lot fall. Yet, there were at least 3 steps today that were pain free. I was playing around with my gait. Every step I took was about 33% shorter than normal. Once I noticed that the last step didn't hurt, I tried to remember what technique I used only to fail at repeating the step. As small of a victory as I might have had, I know had a reason to be optimistic. I go to my calendar app and delete the previous note on the running blades. I schedule an appointment for early 2018 to go hunting for a stupid rodent in Pennsylvania.
Friday, February 3
The number of painfree steps hits double digits. It's unlikely that I'll be running tomorrow but I'm pretty sure that the healing path is sloped in the right direction. My triathlon club, Grim Reapers Fitness NorthEast (like them on Facebook!), has an event after work. We were to check out new team kits from the Pearl Izumi. They don't carry any jerseys with sleeves and I grumble. A fair skinned gargoyle like myself needs as much protection as possible. After the fitting, I coach one of my athletes in the pool. I pull up a chair and sit on deck. One of my GRFNE brothers videos several of my teammates in the water, including my guy. I provide feedback to anyone who wanted it and to 3 people who didn't. I have yet to see the videos. Several non-members of the pool ask my permission to use the lanes for swimming. I don't have the strength to tell them that I'm not in charge and grant every request. We finish in the pool and go drinking.
Saturday, February 4
If I'm wearing a compression sock, a supportive shoe, and walk really slowly, I resemble a normal person (at least in stride- not necessarily in physical appearance). Some people show up to my home to collect our old sofa and I actually help carry the load. The Wife and I went and lifted weights (her idea). I notice that the endorphins available when lifting actually help dull the throb from the foot. That, or the ego gene was kicking in while doing exercise with a hottie in workout clothes (she makes me flutter). Either way, I spend about 90 minutes not obsessing about the metatarsal. Life is getting better,
Sunday, February 5
It is now 1 day past the deadline set by the doctor's assistant for my return to glory. Man did she get that wrong, which is likely more my fault than hers. I am able to walk the house and the nearby surroundings without serious discomfort. Since I'm obviously not running yet, I decide to give cycling another try. I haven't ridden with any sort of intensity in week and a half so I decided to go easy. Success!
I have absolutely no idea when I'll be able to run again. This experience is giving me flashbacks of the speed of science, as told to me by one of my college professors. He said to make a guess as to how long you think the science will take. Then, double the number and change the unit to the next largest unit of time. So, if you think the science will take 2 weeks, it will probable take 4 months. If you estimate the science will take 4 months, it will likely take 8 years. Let's just hope that the physician's assistant who told me that I'd be back running in 5-7 days didn't attend that lecture.