Ever since I was in high school, I’ve loved running. When my grandmother was dying during my senior year, I used to go on long runs to deal with the grief I was experiencing. I wouldn’t listen to music, I’d just concentrate on my breathing and lose myself in the run. I ran in college as a way of staying fit and even earned the nickname Forrest for my performance in a fundraiser in which my fraternity relayed a football from UConn down to Yale the day before the big Yale Bowl game. I kept up with it in my adult years and am probably running better now than I did in high school. Well, until yesterday that is. Yesterday my ankle gave out on a downhill and I took a bad spill.
Now, I’ve rolled my ankle plenty of times before yesterday. The last time I did it in a bad way, I was on Newfield avenue in Stamford right by Sterling Farms golf course. I had parked about half a mile away at the Italian Center and managed to hobble my way back while shouting creative expletives along the way. I’m sure there’s someone in that neighborhood wondering what a big bag of castrated fuck nuts is. Yesterday’s fall came on Wildwood road directly across from what I call the log cabin house because, well, it looks like a log cabin. I don’t remember stepping on anything that would have caused me to roll it, it’s like my ankle just decided to give way and, since I was running downhill at the time, my body’s momentum sent me tumbling down and I rolled a few times before coming to a stop. The owner of that Lincolnesque home is probably still wondering what a goddamn motherfucking horse fuck is and why the guy wearing a blue windbreaker with the inscription Dare to be Great was shouting it as he limped down the street.
I made it home, took a shower, and then headed up to Sacred Heart University for a parent’s council meeting. I had to miss the one in the Fall because I was traveling and I didn’t want what I thought was a little boo boo keep me from the Spring meeting. That said, I knew this wasn’t an average injury the moment I got out of my car and it took what felt like twenty minutes to walk twenty feet. By the time I got home from the meeting and a late lunch with my SHUdent Gracie, my ankle resembled a tennis ball rather than a golf ball. I decided that I’d go to our immediate care center first thing in the morning as I didn’t want to deal with the wait on a Saturday night where people would be coming in with more severe injuries. While I do enjoy people watching, I’ve been to Stamford Hospital on weekend nights and didn’t need that kind of excitement.
This morning, I woke up early and got it x-rayed and a fracture was confirmed. The Polish nurse who broke the news might be wondering what a ram rodded bullshit bag of fuckery is and, while I may have come up with that one on the spot, I confess that I have zero idea what it means. I do know that I won’t be running anytime soon and that is something that’s hard to come to terms with. The time I spend running is often the only time I get to myself all day. While running, I don’t worry about client business or all the work I need to do for the podcast, it’s my time to let my mind wander and really be in the moment. I also find that it’s the most effective way to keep my weight down.
The prospect of being off the road for six or so weeks is playing with my head a bit, and it’s only been 24hours since my digger! I don’t do the whole sitting still thing well, but maybe this is the perfect opportunity to start outlining that new book that I’ve been chewing on. If any of you runners out there have advice for how I can maintain my sanity without being able to do the one recreational exercise I love, I’m all ears. Also, if you have a favorite combination of swear words, share them in the comments below. I could use the entertainment!