Praying for a Miracle

Two days ago I injured myself during half mile interval training. It was so bizarre. I don't remember falling, rolling my ankle, or stepping on anything. I was just so shocked when it happened that I wasn't thinking clearly. I remember catching myself, having people asking me if I was okay, and sharp intense pain that started throbbing when I put weight on my ankle. I wasn't too far from my front door so I hobbled over in pain.

I cried once I got home. Not a hard cry, but a soft I-can't-believe-this-is-happening cry. I wasn't sure how bad my ankle was, but I knew this type of pain was different. I took my shoe off and the swelling started. I iced it immediately and tried starting my RICE ritual immediately. My ankle seemed in bad shape, but I had faith that I could rehabilitate it semi-quickly. Well, I thought that way until I tried going upstairs. The inside of my ankle felt like it was being pulled in opposite directions. Like the muscle inside of it was separated and all I could feel was a dull pain that seemed to press on the bone. At that point, I thought I was screwed; Everything about this sprain felt different. I tried to go to sleep that night, but woke up in pain. At that point I knew I had to go to the doctor. So I texted my boss and told her that I needed to go see the doctor.

The doctor visit was nerve-wrecking. I wasn't sure what he/she was going to tell me but I knew it would be bad. I was just praying that I didn't have a fracture or a break. So after talking to the doctor and seeing my ankle, she decided to have it x-rayed. After reading the x-ray she said I was in the clear, but told me that there was no way I would be racing next Sunday. I was completely destroyed. I cried when I got to the car, in the car ride to the office, and in my office.

I just couldn't believe that after weeks of training, it was all over. I had sacrificed sleeping in during the week and on the weekends for absolutely no return. I had felt pain and bruised for nothing. I just didn't understand. The hardest part to accept was the fact that I trained before grandpa got sick. He used to tell me that I was so crazy running all of the time. Then he got sick. While he was sick I would still tell him about my runs, and I think talking to him even though he didn't talk back made me feel better. I was doing this race for him. This was before I decided to run with the American Cancer Society, and so this was really his race. I even e-mailed the race director last week to ask if I could wear a ribbon on my jersey in his honor. They told me to please wear it. Now, it was all gone.

Or so I thought... This morning when I woke up, the swelling in my ankle went down. The pain subsided and I can walk on it without overcompensating. I'm not saying that I'll be racing, but I am ridiculously motivated to be completely healed before next Sunday. So I've been icing, soaking my ankle in Epson salt, taking Tylenol, and wearing a brace. I am doing everything I can....and praying for a miracle.