It's either broken or it's not.
My left foot that is. And I'm trying to tell myself that I should quit letting my thoughts spiral out of control because it's either one way or the other, and I'm only driving myself crazy by considering all the possibilities in between.
Five nights ago, I ran 9 miles on a treadmill at the gym. Nothing too out of the ordinary; only a mile further than I ran last week. But somewhere in that 100 minutes of time something went wrong.
I broke my right leg two years ago. The circumstances are different this time--the leg, the conditions, the point of impact, etc. But I'm scared because the pain is the same.
Too many questions without answers right now, but I'm seeing the doctor tonight. I've been waiting for the pain to subside and to feel better--to walk without a limp. No dice. Of course my mind is whirling with the possibilities of injury and the limitations on movement. On the May 8th date of the Half Marathon.
I'm mostly frustrated because I was just getting the hang of running.
So I'm sorry to be morose. I'm even sorrier that one hiccup in life seems to counteract all the other parts that are going so well. One frustrating action sets off a chain of shouldn't-be-all-that-bad reactions, but everything seems to be a bigger, grosser, uglier mess than before, right? I hate that part.
Maybe if I were wearing a cuter outfit today I'd be able to deal.