the foot (problem) part 1

Some of you know the saga of my right foot, and some of you don't, so I thought I'd share a little about what happened and give an update.

Take it from the top, Sparky.

I ran the Route 66 half marathon the Sunday before Thanksgiving and knocked an amazing 27 minutes off my PR. Needless to say, I was flying high (on running endorphins of course) and feeling good. In fact, I would argue that I was as fit as I had been since high school and knew that I still had a lot more in me. I rested the few days following the race and set out Thursday morning for my first recovery run. A leisurely 4 mile run around my favorite loop here where I live.

As I clicked past the first couple of miles I felt good as I did a mental run down of all my working parts. Quads, good. Calves, still a bit sore, but good. Knees, stiff to start, but warmed up. Pace 9:47 and it felt EASY. (remember that I was knocking out a blistering 14 minute mile when I first started waddling running) Then, it happened, but I can't tell you exactly when or where or how. I just know that part way through my run that day the top of my right foot started to hurt. A lot. I chalked it up to race day soreness and maybe I had tied my shoe too tight.

I drove sore foot and all to Minnesota the next day to visit family and was very thankful for cruise control. I took it easy all weekend, icing and generally laying around. That Tuesday I went for what was supposed to be a 6 mile run with my mom. My foot started hurting so badly during that run we cut it way short and ran probably about 4. I could barely walk.

I iced. I elevated. I rested. I worried. I really truly thought that I had a stress fracture. My foot and toes were swollen and nothing seemed to help. I managed to get the kids and I back home and resorted to going to see my primary care doc.

My doc's personality can best be described as a wet cardboard box. Seriously. He seems nice enough, but after gazing at my x-ray, sheepishly prodding my foot with one index finger and shrugging his shoulders, he said, "I guess maybe you strained it. Don't run."

DON'T RUN?!?!?!

I was devastated. And mad. He gave me no answers (or even actual diagnosis), provided no real help and told me the worst possible solution. No running. Sadly, I didn't have much choice, or so I thought. (see that, that right there is foreshadowing. High fives to all.)


Stay tuned. Part two later this week....