(Part 1 of x number of Parts, where x equals I have no idea how many)

Guess who finally got the X-Ray she’s been threatening to get for several months??? I’ve alluded to my busted ankle in several posts of late. (Maybe all posts? I’ve only done three so…) Anyway, some backstory I guess is helpful. Flask back to just over a year ago.

In August 2013 I started getting intense stabby pain on the outside of my left ankle – the kind of pain you know is no good. I think most of us can tell the difference between pain from a little over-exertion that simply calls for som ice and foam rolling verses the pain that calls for a full orthopedic work-up. So the latter kind of pain struck a year ago August, and heeding my body’s call, six weeks later I booked a visit to a sports orthopedist specializing in foot and ankle injuries, a.k.a. my new best friend (who shivers in terror every time I make an appointment.)

Long story medium, it didn’t take long for Dr. McBestie to diagnose a stress fracture and order me into a “boot”. The date of that diagnosis was September 20-something-or-other. The Augusta 70.3 I’d been preparing for all summer was September 29^th. You do the math. (No seriously, you do it. Did you see the algebra I wove into the blog subject line? Eek.) So I said, ‘Give it to me straight, doc, when you say it’s broken, are you saying I won’t go sub-2 in the run portion of my half ironman this weekend?’ My bestie blinked at me and muttered something to the effect of, ‘I ****ing hate triathletes’ and walked out of the exam room.

But he came back! (They always do.) And we made a deal: I could do the race, (only because he knew from experience [and from me explicitly telling him I was doing it no matter what] that he couldn’t dissuade me,) but if I felt the ankle getting any worse – and he promised I would know, oh, yes, I would know – I would quit, and I had to come immediately back to be fitted for a boot upon my return to DC. I told him not to worry, that I’d pop some Advil before the bike and he countered that Advil in fact weakens the bone and he insisted I do the race “full pain”. I conceded to his ridiculous drug-free demands and I think we actually shook on it.

That weekend I did my first half iron and had a blast. Scott drove down with me, my folks drove out from Atlanta with the dogs, the day was perfect, and I really can’t say enough about how great that race is. It is 100% my favorite race and I am very bummed to be missing it this weekend. I ran it much slower than originally planned, especially taking my sweet time on the transitions and the run. My first couple miles running clocked at a 7:46 average but luckily I realized – and Scott warned me – that I was going too fast for the ankle so I took it way down and did my slowest 13.1 ever. No matter, it was awesome. And, as promised, I came back to DC afterward and got fitted for a boot.

Usually boots excite me. I have an entire closet dedicated to them in my apartment – and my apartment is only 712 square feet. (Sorrynotsorry, Scott!) But McBestie was sneaky, and when he said boot, appaaaaarently he was not talking sexy over-the-knee, or spunky ankle booty, or even solid work-horse day-to-day Michael Kors equestrian. Nope. He meant a Frankenstein air boot.

And so I spent last fall in a monstrous boot. I had to cut back to lifting and swimming and gave up teaching all my classes except one bootcamp. (Haha! Oh my god I never made that connection till just now! So good!) I did try to satisfy my vanity by matching my air boot with the aforementioned MKs and booties. At one point I even tried pairing it with my sexiest Louboutin pumps. (Funny story: turns out, one Louboutin is somehow more uncomfortable than two.) On Marine Corps Marathon day I cheered friends on from the sidelines hobbling  around the course trying to bury my jealousy of those racing on healthy legs. I felt like I was atrophying until I finally got the all clear from Dr. McBestie a few days before Thanksgiving. Turkey Day morning 2013 I took my shiny new-again ankle out for my first run since Augusta and it was glorious. I promised myself I would never take health and training for granted.

And ya know what? I haven’t. I feel fortunate every time I get to run and sweat and push myself. Yet here I am again, after an already difficult summer, in pain and broken. This time the pain is on the other side of the same bum ankle. It started in mid-July, so, in honor of my body-conscious timeliness, today (September 25) I finally went back to Dr. McB. We talked, they X-rayed, we talked some more, and yeah, looks like another stress fracture, though I’m going in for an MRI next week to confirm because, there may be other stuff too. And YEAH, he ordered me back into the boot.

As my bestie tried to get away from me, I tip-toed into the how-far-and-fast-can-I-run line of questioning. He cut me off, and, not-so-happily demanded, ‘What? You want to do Marine Corps Marathon or something?’ I confirmed, ‘that and the Army Ten Miler.’ ‘Go get the MRI, he said. ‘Then we’ll talk.’

Which is not a no per se. Right? More next week…