Well, hello there! It's been a little while, but absense makes the heart grow fonder, no?
About a week after my last entry about my busted ankle, I had to return to the Sports Doctor because the pain hadn't lessed. We had no choice but to Boot Up.
I will spare you a "these boots were made for walking" joke, because, c'mon. Grow up.
I will, however, mention that the Boot is -- by far -- the most flattering piece of clothing I have ever worn. It complements any outfit to a T.
The Boot and I have been together for about 10 days now, and I think we are learning to accept one another's faults. Although The Boot may not necessarily make me the trendiest person at "the club," it does -- on occasion -- get me a subway seat offered. The Boot may not provide the necessary mobility to bound up four flights of stairs to my apartment, but it does allow me the pleasure of annoying people when I walk down subway stairs. And take pleasure in it, I do. Because The Boot not only controls the movement of my ankle, but also -- to some extent -- the level of kindness in my heart.
Aside from the happy marriage of The Boot and me, I also have added another fun little activity to my schedule since we last spoke (er...you last read). I have signed up for 'Deep Water Running' class in order to keep my muscles conditioned and my cardio level up for when I start running again.
Deep Water Running class looks awkward. I'm not going to lie to you.
As a point of comparison, please see the woman in this photo next to me. This is kind of what we look like. Except we do not wear water shoes. Or carry water weights. And our belts are actually -- believe it or not -- NOT as cool as what she's wearing.
What I'm saying is, we put a belt of glorified styrofoam blocks around our waist, hop into the water, and listen to a guy tell us to kick our legs and pump our arms in various fashions for 45 minutes. But before you judge, let me just say that it is one of the most phenomenal workouts I've had in a while. And impact free.
The class is full of formerly fat-men, old men, injured women, and formerly-injured women who got addicted to the class (i.e. me in two months). There are no young, in shape men in the class because I evidently repel them.
Although we look incredibly awkward just with our heads bobbing around kicking our feet for 45 minutes, I'm really happy I took the plunge (haha, joke) and signed up for the six week class. The people in the class are really friendly and nice, and incredibly supportive of me in this time of Bootness. Many of them have been there before.
I'm adjusting to the idea of not running. I'm trying out new things. I'm being positive!
Meh. Too much joy.
Really, I'm still sad a lot of days that I wasn't able to fulfill my goal this year. It's also frustrating that it takes so long to heal this thing. Some days the pain isn't bad and I want to be liberated of The Boot, but I know that if I do that I could be set back weeks. The problem is that because of the nature of New York and my apartment located many floors up into the sky, I can't "rest" in the way a Doctor means to rest. When she says "rest" she doesn't mean, watch an hour of TV a night. She means, STAY OFF YOUR DAMN FOOT. I try. I usually fail.
So I sit and ice as much as possible. Pop some aspirin. "Rest" when I can. Minimize stairs. Man up and Boot up. Most days, it's all good. The others? I can drown my sorrows in beer and unhealthy food, because I don't need to run the next day. Either way, it works.
This whole 'thing' has been an interesting process in patience, adjustment, and calorie-control (oh, did I mention that my body is still marathon hungry even though I'm not burning marathon calories? Awesome....) Everything happens for a reason, they say, so this whole saga has got to be -- on some level -- meant to be. Perhaps I am destined to be a water runner, forever awkwardly bobbing in the Pool at the basement of the Church across the street from my office. Who knows, but it's a glorious image.
To close, here is an inferior -- yet also awesome -- Boot. Enjoy with my compliments.
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