No Cars Go

I went on a run this evening, departing at 8:55 and returning at 9:50. This is approximately the length of time my last run took, though the distance is considerably longer: under 1.8 miles previously, 6.2 this time.

I'm impressed with the degree of improvement, especially in light of the fact that my cardio training between runs has been minimal (biking to work). The disparity may be caused by a better warm up and stretch prior to the run, or a more determined and better motivated mindset from the outset, or better nutrition and more available reserve energy. It is probably a combination of all of these.

For those that didn't take note, 6.2 miles is about 10k, which I ran in 55 minutes.

The time is not impressive to runners, but if you scoffed at my stats (or if you are remotely interested), please take a look at the map while I narrate.

If you look at mile 2, you can see a church directly south of my path. The First Baptist Church. If you take a look and the general environment, you can see that I have managed to escape the comforts of suburbia... meaning the path was unlit.

I guess I could hurry this along. I'm tired and don't want to write anymore.

I was moving at a good clip. I touched the street sign and turned around without changing pace, and was well on my way to finishing a kick-ass run when a spandex clad bicyclist flew past me, barking "ON YOUR LEFT" as he did so. He did not have the bike light required by law, and was going faster than he should have been on unlit road. I was wearing black and gray, so he probably didn't see me until he was on top of me. He didn't actually hit me, or touch me... Just startled me off the path enough for me to put my right foot where pavement met dirt. I rolled my ankle, stumbled a few feet, cursing, before falling in a graceful judo roll onto the lawn of the church, where I lay, listening to my heart beat, and feeling my rapidly swelling foot-parts pulse along.

I slowed my breathing, which had been steady and controlled. Without the noise of feet on road or breath in throat, I could hear that my iPod was still on, though I'd taken the headphones off to compensate for the dismal visibility. "No Cars Go" was taunting me from my pocket. I was two miles from home, with no cell phone, lying dazed and frustrated on the lawn of a sanctuary. It had been a fantastic run. My cardiovascular system had been operating optimally, my mental focus sharp, and my will to finish without stopping...slightly less powerful than gravity.

This is probably the ninth time I've sprained this ankle in this, or similar ways. I knew it wasn't too severe. I'd felt the pop, but hadn't heard it... Incapacitating sprains are audible. I wondered what I would do if this happened during a run in boot camp... if I would lay whimpering on the ground, allow myself to be shuffled to wherever broken recruits go while my comrades plodded on.

I would not. I would suck it up, keep a conscious tightness in the motions of the ankle and a soft limp in the right stride. I would get back up and fall in line, and finish, hoping the endorphins would see me through, hoping with every step that i would not step wrong, and praying that the shock of the steps was not making the injury worse.

I stretched it first, testing the weakness of the joint, finding the tender angles. I pulled my shoe off and folded my sock down, the doubled elastic giving minor support.

And I made the two mile run in decent time, without stopping again until I reached where I'd started.

I've iced it. I have a golf ball swell, which beats the hell out of a tennis ball. I'll be able to walk tomorrow, but its going to be stiff and weak.

I hate it this crap happens.


*morning update*
The whole ankle is swollen... Not just the side that got rolled. The whole area is acutely painful, and walking causes tantamount to anguish.

My legs are okay. I was expecting more stiffness, but I seem to have stretched it out. My right anterior hip flexor is strained, though, which makes lifting my tightly booted foot that much more difficult.