Shit happens right?
That is what I keep telling myself as I sit at work, pissed, frustrated, and just generally feeling sorry for myself. Nine days out from Where’s Waldo 100km, my goal race of the year, and I have tweaked (rolled) my left ankle. I cannot even recall the last time that I rolled an ankle of any significant and sure enough, on a run I have done at least 50 times this year, I go ahead and do so. Cruising through a familiar turn, with the setting sun shining straight in my face (perhaps blinded?), I go to plant my left foot and bam. Quick and sharp as though it barely happened, I snap outwards; immediate to recover and keep moving, hobbling up the last of the hill praying the gimp will end. At the top I reassess and know that it is worse than the usual scare-roll that one can fairly comfortably persist through. Another attempt and I know that it is best to turn around and slog my way home.
At this point I am doing my best to remain optimistic. I can walk (with some discomfort) and can definitely put weight on the leg. I suppose I am on edge mostly because of the timing of it all, perhaps normally I would shrug it off, take a day, and be back at it. But context matters, and I can’t help but feel a great sense of trepidation and mostly frustration. I will take it day-by-day, continue to ice and have it assessed ASAP. There seems to be some tension on the outer soleus as well so I am thinking it is tendonal or muscular (??).
On the positive, it will force me to taper (something I suck at doing).