I thought it might be sore but I didn’t expect it to hurt.
I’m like four steps into my run today and I might have to turn around. I think I sprained my ankle over the weekend playing soccer and haven’t run since. I’ve just been resting, icing, elevating. With some compression and Vitamin-I mixed in (ibuprofen). The first couple days were rough. I was hobbling more than walking, and stairs were a no-go.
So this was supposed to be a test run.
Just to see how it was doing.
Well... I’m thinking “good,” not “great” so far.
Almost immediately, I have to shorten my strides—the flexion of reaching my ankle forward isn’t as bad as the heel strike that follows. Choppier steps at a slower pace make the pain go away (almost). I hadn’t anticipated this.
When we were playing soccer, I was closing in on the goal—about to take a shot—when I got body-checked from the side by a defender. I’d already planted my foot... so, with my toes pointed to the left and cleated into the grass, my entire body bent over and to the right. I heard a crunch like bubble-wrap. Not the sheets with all the small bubbles, but the kind with, like, just three big pouches.
Crack-CRACK... crack.
It was the outside of my ankle, which made lateral motion, or anything with a twist, pretty painful for a couple days. But just going for a run doesn’t need to have a whole lot of lateral movement, which is why I figured it’d be a good way to test things out.
And here we are.
I’m though the neighborhoods and onto the main road now, running toward the bike path, but it’s still early in my run. I could go back if needed, but I decide that I’ll continue because I can always turn this run into a walk. And, you know, moving it seems better than letting it stiffen up sitting around at home.
“Motion is lotion” as they say.
So I’m shuffling my way along, pounding the pavement, and thinking about the years and years of sports I played growing up where I was encouraged to “tough it out.” Playing hurt was some sort of deluded badge of honor and I got roped right into fighting for it. I played football with sprained ankles, broken wrists, torn shoulder tendons, and more concussions than even I’m willing to admit. I’ve never really been able to understand why grown men didn’t know better—why they thought that was the right lesson to model for a bunch of impressionable kids.
Yet here I am, plodding along as a grown man...
Still trying to figure out which side of this I want to be on.
Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
276/365
Do you soldier on, slow things down, or sit them out?
onward.
For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory.
Sign up to get it here.