I sprained my ankle.
So you know I have my “big race” coming up. (No, I’m not running a Marathon– it’s just a 10K.) It’s the BolderBoulder, which is a really fun [huge] race in my hometown, and which has held some sort of mythic status in my head since I was small because it has this killer hill at the end.
Because I was so mean last year Because we had so much going on last spring, I wouldn’t let Sam register for this 10K. It was the first year since we’ve moved here that he didn’t do it, and because of that little fact, he didn’t have a qualifying time to use to register for this year. Which meant that because my friend Heidi signed us up together a good month before he got around to registering, my start time is 13 minutes before his. Which will darn-well be the only time in my life that I will have even a lick of a chance to finish a race before him. Or even to be passed by him.
When we were first married and I jogged some with my friend Dora, he wouldn’t even call what I did running– let alone run with me. He’d mumble something about his “pace” (as if I knew what that meant) and say it was just too hard blah blah blah… Now I realize that he’s pretty fast (for an amateur old dude) and no wonder he didn’t want to run with me. Anyhow, now I’ve spent days calculating how close I can get to the finish before he passes me (if I don’t resort to locking him in the port-a-potty at mile 1.)
And then two weeks ago, I had to go off the curb to avoid this dog that was tearing at his leash to sink his teeth into my calf, and I sprained my ankle. Only my back was so bad that I didn’t really notice it until a week later when I tied my shoe on and thought, “Why is my ankle swollen?” and “Gee, it really hurts!” And, “Oh no, what about my race?”
I have been
incredibly patient the typical person I see in the office, wondering why the dang thing won’t get better. My mom said she hoped I was keeping it elevated. And I do, for at least ten minutes a day. But who are we kidding? Somewhere, deep inside, I still want to be SuperWoman. Or ElastiGirl, at least. I want my body to heal itself even when I refuse to do what I need to.
So next Monday, look for me. I’ll be the old woman hobbling up the killer hill at the end of the BolderBoulder with her sprained ankle and a huge grin on her face. And then when I start to whine about my ankle pain, just nod your head and pass me the cheese.