|At the ER, the night I tore up my foot. Kicked during a game of futsol the same time as another (much larger than I) girl. My toes decided they'd had enough, and went their own way.|
To say that I handled the news that I needed surgery on my foot with any level of grace would be an overstatement. I took it worse than I imagine people take the news that they have a life-threatening illness. In my mind I assumed I would wear my stupid boot for a few weeks and be good to go, but being told I had to have ligaments reattached to the bone, and would therefore be out of running for three months and soccer for six, was unexpected. The poor surgeon, whose name I can never remember how to spell, but looks shockingly like John Cleese with crazy hair, probably wasn't expected me to be such a baby. I did, however, appreciate that he called me a "brute," as a description of my soccer style. So a week after getting my MRI results, I was hanging out at the doctor's office, waiting to get chopped. Immediately after, it was no problem- they administered a nerve block (ie: injected a TON of crap into my ankle. with lotsa needles) and it thankfully left me without feeling below my ankle. Unfortunately, I metabolize painkillers like crazy, and just a few hours later (16 hours ahead of schedule) it wore off. So instead of sleeping through that first night, I laid in the fetal position, making pathetic, quiet weepy noises, convinced that someone had somehow forgotten a knife in my foot. It took a few days, but I did figure out the painkillers, and so it was just the joy of figuring out crutches... and anyone who knows me knows that grace is not one of my attributes. It was ugly.
|The BOOT. This bad boy was with me for quite a while. This was the day after my injury, when I still thought it was just badly bruised and needed a day or two off.|
So, to make it through the whole process, I decided to take pictures along the way, and continuously remind myself what I was rehabbing for: the Racine Half Ironman in July. It will be coming just 1.5 weeks after I was supposed to start running again, but I may have cheated a bit. Anyway- here's the photo journal. of my foot. You lucky dogs.
Surgery! I looked much more chipper than I felt. The pic of my foot says "YES" just in case they decided to chop up the wrong one. Complete with blood from all the nerve block shots.
|Sorry. Guess I could've warned you this was coming. This was right after they cut off my cast. I almost passed out while they took out the stitches, because it felt so weird. Wasn't ready for that.|
|Celebrating my first cast-free day.|
|Two weeks in Croatia in a boot? Sure! Especially if you're traveling with two very patient and understanding people.|
Running and biking. My versions of rehab... I didn't (and still don't quite) have insurance, so couldn't afford physical therapy. I happen to have quite a bit of experience doing stupid things to myself requiring rehab, so I was able to make up my own program.
|Just before my first Tri!! I didn't exactly fly through the damn thing, but I finished. One week before I was supposed to start running again- and 3 months since I was able to train.|