I should have known better, really. My fitness was building up nicely, my technique was improving in leaps and bounds and I was all set for the Vets’ Fours Head next month (in a novice coxed quad – nice). I’d even managed a six mile run with a killer two-mile hill at the end of it. I can’t deny that I was getting a tiny bit pleased with myself.
Then, predictably, disaster struck. Running around the sports hall in circuits last week, it was all going swimmingly. I was pacing myself well and feeling strong, when CRACK! My ankle gave way under me. With a fair bit of unladylike swearing I hopped to the edge. The faces of everyone who’d heard the crack (and that was everyone – it was seriously loud), told me everything I needed to know… as did the sight of my ankle expanding before my eyes. It was clear this wasn’t just going to be a 10-minute recovery.
Sure enough, I’ve fractured my ankle. I have a follow-up appointment tomorrow when I’ll learn how bad the ligament damage is and get a better idea of timescales, but it’s not looking great. I’ve pulled out of the Fours Head (wail) and I’m guessing a ski trip to Canada planned for the last week of November is looking pretty unlikely.
In the meantime, it doesn’t hurt much at all, but all this hobbling is exhausting. All I want to do is crawl under a duvet and sleep, which is a little tricky with deadlines and such. If I’m a bit quiet on the blog in the next few weeks, you can assume I’ve nodded off. So shout if you need me. Just don’t kick me under the table.