Running is dangerous!

Okay, so here's the truth. I'm a closet jogger. I don't like to admit to it. I jog every morning at 5:30. Why 5:30, you ask? Because a) that's the only time it's cool enough here to actually do it, and b) because it's ugly. I mean it. My form? Poor, for sure. My skin color? A very odd shade of magenta mixed with puce. I probably look like I'm going to die. My neighbors should not be subjected to this. Hence 5:30am. Not too many people are awake then to see it.

On weekends, however, since the rest of the world sleeps in, I feel more comfortable with jogging after the sun comes up. Such was the story today. I got up at 8, grabbed the dog, and started pounding the pavement. Since there might have been some people awake, I headed out of the apartment complex and toward the schools. Schools are definitely deserted on Sunday morning. Pooh King and I get in a good jog. (I'd call it running, but really it's just a faster, bouncier form of walking, so I stick with jogging.) On the way home, I decide to extend the jog just a little further, so instead of cutting the back way into the complex (the same way I snuck out) I decide to run down the frontage on the main road.

Now, those of you who have ever hiked with me know about my inner-goat. I may trip and stumble a lot, but I rarely fall down. I attribute this to my inner goat. They climb to wild heights, up steep rocky cliffs and shale fields, but you never see one fall. Today, my inner-goat failed me. One step to close to the edge of the pavement and my left foot rolled right off the side. My body quickly followed. I fell. Really fell. Wiped out, hands in the gravel, banged up knee, and significantly twisted left ankle. Horrible, hideous, terrible pain in my left ankle, actually. Took me a minute to catch my breath. Holy crap! What am I supposed to do now? A bit of panic sets in. Pooh is just standing there, looking at me, wondering why we're not running anymore.

Oh, wait a minute, I'm a PT. I know what to do. Quick assessment of fall, mechanism of injury, and current symptoms. Diagnosis? Severely sprained ankle. Pretty sure it's not broken. Get up. Step on it. Holy shit, it might be broken. What to do now? Hobble home, ice ankle, and make a plan. The plan? Take a shower and shave legs before considering whether or not to go to ER. Must not go to ER with unshaven legs. Odd shade of magenta and puce, sweat, and body odor can be explained away. Unshaven legs? Inexcuseable.

So, after a shower and shave, more icing, my morning coffee and a bite of breakfast, I have concluded that I am not broken, just swelled and bruised. And in pain. It looks like someone shoved a tennis ball into the area where my ankle bone used to be. It hurts like a mother. Must go get some triage stuff from the clinic. No trip to the ER for me.

And no more jogging. Next time I'll probably die.