On Monday, I was just about finished with my three miles on the treadmill at the Midtown Y, and a sharp pain shoots across my arch. No biggie, it shot across, it didn't stay. It hurt a little, and then my foot popped. Ah, relief. It still felt off, but not sharp and searing, phew.
Well, it has been getting worse as the week has progressed, like I need to see someone about it bad. I'm hoping to get into see my chiropractor friend tomorrow. I played phone tag with her office today, but I'm calling at 9 AM sharp. Like I kinda wanna cry if I've been standing for too long. Oh, and it sort of makes me feel like barfing when it's really bad. It pops in random places, too - and that makes it feel better for a second or two, and then it's back to being all angry and whatnot.
Anyway, it's just a major butt munch. I'm hoping for a super easy fix. 9 weeks until the race. It just figures that just when I was finding my rhythm in running, like actually enjoying it, I bust myself a apart. I'm not going to tell you how old my running shoes are/were. My reward in a week or so was going to be new shoes - a reward for my commitment to the sport with which I've had a love-hate relationship. Instead, they will be my reward for getting my foot better.
Here's a throw back to my running days in High School. My scanner isn't working, but you won't judge me for not getting up to use it even if it was.
(Freshman Cross-country photo - note the scrunchie on my left wrist.)
(Before a cross-country meet junior year. I got first place this race. It was rad because it was the only meet where boys and girls ran together, rather than having separate races - beating so many boys did my little feminist heart proud. To clarify: the girls and boys were scored separately. I came in first for the girls. I didn't beat all of the boys to the finish, but I did come in before a fair share. )
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