On this week’s episode of “I have an iron distance race in 8 weeks, so it must be time to hurt myself” …I decided this time, for this particular instance, I would try and take the stairs.
So I did.
I took a nice fall down the stairs. At 5:30 AM. Getting ready to run.
I didn’t feel the fall coming.
Which was probably good because I had no time to brace or react. Instead I just landed in a pile of Spandex with my legs buckled behind me… Hearing the audible crack of my toes underneath my butt (Thank God you’re down some pounds, Fatty!)…
Six hours later and instead of running, I was getting x-rayed and setting up appointments to see my Dr. Miracle Man Hands.
The x-rays, according to urgent care, show no broken bones. Thank goodness.
But I know I am hurting like a mamma-jamma… and I can’t run …or walk very well for that matter. I am frustrated to say the least. Today would have been a 14 mile run on my way to 140.6. And now, I am not running anywhere. Clearly.
I mentioned recently that I needed to swim more. #carefulwhatyouwishfor
I have been here before. Injury. Broken foot. Sprained foot. Broken Ribs. Knee. Ankle. Hip dysplasia. Whatever.
[Dr. Miracle Man Hands is on speed dial for a reason.]
I texted Coach Brett. Who reminded me that sh*t happens, and it’s time to adapt and perservere. I’m on it! Adaption and perserverance are my two middle names.
Later, the Expert – who was asleep at the time – said he had heard the “thud” this morning and braced himself for the screaming and/or calling for him. Then when he heard nothing from me, he assumed I had dropped my gym bag or bottle by the door. Because it was just ONE sound… Not a series of crash, slide, bang, expletives (*&$^!) and falling down stair sounds, followed by me screaming and crying.
There was one sound. Thud. [Ummm, if there was only one thud, wouldn’t that seem like I dropped dead? Wouldn’t ya check on that? #justsayin ] 🙂
So the truth of what happened?
I missed two stairs. I was carrying my shoes and phone in the dark, down the stairs to head out for my run. And I stepped like I was at the bottom of the stairs… to head to the kitchen…but I wasn’t at the bottom. I was two up. So I essentially leapt off stairs and landed. I hit the ground, feet cracking underneath me, ending up on my knees and forearms.
And then, I immediately popped up.
I said, outloud, “Nope. No. No.”
Then I hobbled quickly to the kitchen, sat down on floor, rubbed Body Glide on my feet, and put on my socks and shoes for my 14 Mile run. The toes were throbbing.
“Nope,” I said again, shaking my head harder this time. Like shaking the head would make it go away.
I stood up. Two toes on my left foot instantly giving me that familiar you-ain’t-running-ANYWHERE sensation. The big toe on my right foot was talking too, just not as loudly.
“I am fine,” I repeated over and over in my head.
Then outloud, “I am fine. Go run.”
I filled up my coffee and water and grabbed my backpack to head to the car. I unlocked the door to the house, and stepped out into the dark. Carefully.
The neighbor was out with his dog.
I shuffled a little to the car. Opened the door. Put my backpack on the front seat. Closed the passenger door. Started to walk around to the driver’s side. Owwwwww. Oh my lawd, ow. Then I stopped. Took another step. Nope. Stared at the car. Looked at the sky. Give it up, Mere. I sighed.
Hobbled back. Opened the door again, quietly. Grabbed my backpack and limped inside.
I took off my socks. My shoes. My visor. The ugly toes now purple and burning.
I grabbed the all-too-familiar ice packs out of the freezer.
Sat down, feet up. I told myself that it’s just a bunch of toes, and it could have been worse. Could have been a femur or a hip or anything.
Just toes. Just toes.
But I need my toes to run.
NO. No. You’re fine. It’s just a couple of toes.
And then I did all I knew how to do:
And then I decided that then, and only then, I would cry.