Footloose

Ah, I've seriously got to stop writing about injuries. Seriously. First step - stop the injuries. I hate to even consider that perhaps I'm getting too old for something... I'm not. Absolutely not. It's just that what my brain tells my body to do, well, it still does, it just does it slower and sort of clumsily...

So, the latest...

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

The mullet makes you run faster.

I started playing soccer at, I don't know, five or six. Probably one of the many efforts of my mother to 'slim me down'. To her dismay, I turned out to be a big 'ol sturdy girl. I think it horrifies her. To this day.

But, turns out, I liked it. A lot. Played on a co-ed team - 11 boys and me. For a number of years.

Played in high school, played for my dorm team at Idaho, coached little kids for a long time.

Volunteer a lot of hours to the soccer club. Go to pro-games, sing the songs. Be 'that parent' on the sidelines - although, I'm working on that. Really.

A few months ago at a soccer board meeting, a friend mentioned that a group of adults was going to start playing indoor. Oh, I'm in. I'm so in. First game we got beat. Crushed. 8 - nil. Terrible. But, we improved. I took a couple slides on the turf, had some bloody knees. Couple of good collisions. But, so much fun. Getting a goal in your late thirties feels just as good as it did as a kid. Maybe even better.

While the indoor soccer playing has been happening, I've also been running. Anything that is a game or contest, I'm in! The challenge was 100 miles in July. I did that. Plus 10. Noticed on the running app leader board that a good friend beat me by four miles. Threw down a challenge. I'd run more in August. She accepted. Cue karma.

Game on Saturday. I was tired. Kind of moving slow. Warm ups were bad. I wiffed a few easy passes. Ugh.

Now, I often describe myself as sturdy. I am. It doesn't bother me. I'm a tad under 5' 10". My weight is just barely in the 'normal weight' - .02 from 'overweight' on the BMI chart. I am more linebacker than princess. And, I'm okay with it. It comes in handy. Plus, proven fact that tall people make more money. So there's that.

Red headed girl. Giant Amazon. I was small, comparatively. She has the ball. I want the ball. Bad. BAD. I go to take the ball. Collision. She loses her balance. And regains it by putting all of her weight in the middle of my left foot. I didn't even think about it. My knee was twisted in the crazy and I was more worried about that.

I subbed out for a few minutes. Rubbed the knee. Didn't even think about the foot. Played the full second half.

Changed shoes after the game - pulled on the flip-flops. Nothing feels better. Ran an errand at Home Depot. Standing in the lumber area... the foot doesn't feel right. Got home. Iced. Are those toes a bit swollen?

Sunday morning - time to do miles! Must do miles. Foot feels better. Maybe. It really feels like my toes need popped or adjusted. Five miles should do the trick.

About a mile in, I'm starting to think this is a bad idea. Stopped running. Started walking. Slow pace. Running app voice is telling me my pace is slow. Bitch.

Who's fat weird foot is that? Oh, shit.

At about mile four, I'm struggling. I see a friend drive by. She waves. I wave. For a second I think I should call her and ask her to drive me home. But, it's not that bad...

The voice comes up. Pace is 15 minutes a mile. Ugh. I have to shut that crazy bitch up. I run. 200 yards. Maybe less. The pain is too much. And then, like a vision, I see my own car. It honks. It's the husband! Saved! I frantically wave. I'm pointing at the corner and screaming, "Stop!" He turns the corner. I've got my second wind! I run to the corner, limping, my foot is throbbing. He's not there.

And so, now pissed and in pain I slowly limp the last mile. He's sorry, but according to him pointing and screaming 'stop' is the same as a parade wave...

X-ray scheduled for Monday. Severe sprain. Off the foot and on crutches at least two weeks, if I'm well behaved. Friends have started a betting pool. I believe there is a bet for four weeks, two days.

Will not make 115 miles in August. Disappointed. Don't do well with no activity. Foot must be up, iced, no weight. But, I'm determined to be 'well behaved' and kick these crutches to the curb.

I'm just not exactly sure what 'well behaved' looks like. Suggestions appreciated.