Just yesterday, as I walked the 2 miles home from the bank because I didn’t have enough money on me for a bus ride (ironic?–that’s only the beginning), I thought about how blessed I am to have two healthy strong legs. I mentally took a moment to count my blessings about being able to walk, use my arms, swing my legs and pick up my feet.
And I swear to you that now, fewer than 24 hours later, I am lying on the new orange couch, immobilized because of a sprained ankle. I can’t run. I can’t even think about going to my yoga class tonight. And I can barely walk (sweet Whit has piggy-backed me to the restaurant next door for dinner last night and allowed himself to be my crutch up and down stairs).
I had to cancel a few appointments this afternoon. And I had to sit while teaching, a sign to my students that they apparently should stand up, try the latest judo moves on each other, and talk louder because I am farther away from them at my desk.
Anyway, long story short. I sprained my ankle while trail running. On my first week of marathon training. I twisted it not once but three times before I could get off the trail and limp about two miles back home in dire pain.
I’m icing, compressing and elevating and hoping for the best. I should count my blessings that it’s not worse. But look where that got me last time.