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I'm the first to admit that there are few things I wouldn't rather do in this life than go for a run. They include swimming with sharks, eating celery, and gouging my eye out with a rusty spoon. Nevertheless, today I came home from work, changed into gym shorts and sneakers, and took off down the driveway.
Let's back up for a minute. My doctor keeps telling me the only other thing to do to keep my crazy brain disease under control is to continue losing weight. I'm about 30 pounds down since February, which is a start, but only a third of my overall goal. I keep telling myself I'll get to it, and then keep finding reasons to put it off (never start something new on a Monday, too tired on Wednesday, plans on Friday, it's rainy, it's sunny, there's a hurricane...you get the idea.)
So today I just did it. I'm not crazy enough to believe that I could just go outside and jog for miles. So I decided I'd start off slow. Jog for 60 seconds, walk for 60 seconds, and repeat. I made it to the end of the driveway, which is a half mile long, in about six minutes. And while I got distracted by a couple of wild turkeys, my left foot found it's way into a pothole, rolled, and I ended up on the ground.
This ankle injury dates back to eleventh grade and a not-so-graceful collision with third base during a softball game. I spent the better part of my freshman year in college making twice-weekly trips to physical therapy. I'm told it will never be right again, and every now and then it goes out. Once I was standing still and the next thing I knew I was on the floor. My second year in grad school I learned that I had actually broken it back in high school (or somewhere along the way) and never knew.
So needless to say, I walked/jogged down the driveway. But I definitely limped the half mile back to my house. We'll see how well I can walk in the morning...
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