Yesterday morning Steve and I went walking. We’re trying to get back in the habit. Basically involves us getting up very early and leaving our home and walking for a few miles.
Yesterday was foggy and I managed to put on a bra before leaving. So I got a bright/dumb idea. We decided to jog.
I didn’t jog long. My right leg started to hurt. A lot. Steve kept running. I started walking. Limping. Steve turned around and started heading back towards me, and as he got closer I ran a tiny bit more. Then we walked side by side. Not talking. Barely breathing. Or actually, gasping quite a bit trying to breathe. Or maybe that was just me.
Background: in 1997 on Dec. 28, I broke my ankle. It required a week of pain meds, four days in the hospital, and a surgery where they inserted three screws. I was the mother of three and the youngest was 7 months and I was on crutches until April. There was rehab. There have been two surgeries since then. I still limp every day. It used to be just my first step of the day. Now it’s my first few steps of the day. Plus it acts up when the weather gets nasty. In others words, my ankle is screwed up.
More background: In May, hubby hit a tree with his dirt bike and hurt his foot (but not breaking it). He was on crutches too. For six weeks he rehabbed. Then the doctor smacked his forehead and declared him "Cured!" And Steve said, "Good, because I want to do things and my wife won’t let me. But it still hurts, and um, it’s still swollen." And the doctor said, "Get over it. It’s healing. Expect it."
So. Steve did the running thing a few more times, and then he’d return to me and we’d walk. As he walked by me, every once in a while he said I was slowing down, so I’d speed up. Well, as much as a turtle can speed up.
Before we were halfway, the pain went out of my right shin and settled in my ankle. It ached. But I walked. Keep in mind that of the three different ways we walk in the morning, this one is the shortest. It was about a mile and a half total. And unlike Steve, I didn’t run very much.
We arrived home, and I smelled bad. Good. I’d worked out. I moved my ankle around, listening to the click-clicking of something that I’m pretty sure isn’t supposed to click-click. Steve told me to stop. It wasn’t as if I was trying to do something outside the range of a normal ankle, but my ankle is not normal and its range is most definitely limited.
By the time we both got back home last night after our day of working, we were both whining. Both of Steve’s feet hurt after being on cement all day. I was aware of my ankle, but it seemed OK. This morning, however? Ow. It hurts to walk on. Definitely a tennis shoes day. It’s going to take more than a few steps to get rid of my limp today. Steve didn’t mention his feet hurting this morning. Last nigth, however, as we sat on the couch, it was ME that had to get up off the couch to go let the dogs in. I was all for letting them stay outside. But Steve was worried about our door.
This morning? We skipped the walk in order to let our bodies recover. We’ll walk again tomorrow. But I think it’ll be a long while before I suggest running again. Whine. Whimper.












