These Boots are Made for Walkin'
The weekend following the sprained ankle, fractured foot, wrenched knee, (oh, and tweaked hip from walking weird to compensate for the entire right side of the lower half of my body) was a girls' trip to a nearby city for a bachelorette party.
It might surprise you to learn that a weekend of clubbing isn't exactly my idea of a good time.
Nevertheless, being the excellent sport that I am, I purchased two pairs of dress flats determined to make this hobbling thing work.
The first day was ok. I just took a ton of pain killers.
The second day was less ok. It was also a whole lot more walking. I ended up bailing on the clubbing part of the evening (in part because clubbing is insufferable, but also in no small part because my foot was killing me). I got back to the hotel, took a handful of painkillers and went to sleep.
Back in Seattle I was complaining to my pt about the pain in my foot. I mentioned that I had spent all weekend walking on it, but, hey, I had done so in flats. The expression on his face can best be described as the look one might have if they wanted to bang their head against a wall, but must retrain themselves. Actually, let's make that not a simile. That's exactly what he was thinking.
Later in our session he was gently chastising me for not listening to his advice. I insisted that I did listen. "Well, you may listen," he said, "whether or not you comply is a different story."
Forced to defend myself, I replied, "actually, I DO try to follow the rules!"
"Right." he countered, and motioning towards my ankle said, "I'm pretty sure I said no backpacking."
"I wasn't backpacking!" I defended. "We were hiking... And camping."
"Uh huh... Isn't that what backpacking is?" he asked, calling me out, "hiking and camping?"
"Sometimes, but in this case we car camped and went hiking. There was no pack. You said I couldn't, so I didn't!"
He teased me about following the letter of the law, but hurting myself doing things he shouldn't have to expressly call out. Then he grounded me. No stairs (in a 3-storey house that's impossible, but as little as possible), no hiking, if I walk more than 1/4 mile I have to wear sturdy hiking boots which extend over the ankle, and (the worst part of the punishment by far!) biking has been limited in distance/duration, and I can go no more than 15 mph and have to have a super high cadence. This is brutal, man!
Oh, and the sprain and fracture are worse. See, that's what I get for not listening to my doctor.
It might surprise you to learn that a weekend of clubbing isn't exactly my idea of a good time.
Nevertheless, being the excellent sport that I am, I purchased two pairs of dress flats determined to make this hobbling thing work.
The first day was ok. I just took a ton of pain killers.
The second day was less ok. It was also a whole lot more walking. I ended up bailing on the clubbing part of the evening (in part because clubbing is insufferable, but also in no small part because my foot was killing me). I got back to the hotel, took a handful of painkillers and went to sleep.
Back in Seattle I was complaining to my pt about the pain in my foot. I mentioned that I had spent all weekend walking on it, but, hey, I had done so in flats. The expression on his face can best be described as the look one might have if they wanted to bang their head against a wall, but must retrain themselves. Actually, let's make that not a simile. That's exactly what he was thinking.
Later in our session he was gently chastising me for not listening to his advice. I insisted that I did listen. "Well, you may listen," he said, "whether or not you comply is a different story."
Forced to defend myself, I replied, "actually, I DO try to follow the rules!"
"Right." he countered, and motioning towards my ankle said, "I'm pretty sure I said no backpacking."
"I wasn't backpacking!" I defended. "We were hiking... And camping."
"Uh huh... Isn't that what backpacking is?" he asked, calling me out, "hiking and camping?"
"Sometimes, but in this case we car camped and went hiking. There was no pack. You said I couldn't, so I didn't!"
He teased me about following the letter of the law, but hurting myself doing things he shouldn't have to expressly call out. Then he grounded me. No stairs (in a 3-storey house that's impossible, but as little as possible), no hiking, if I walk more than 1/4 mile I have to wear sturdy hiking boots which extend over the ankle, and (the worst part of the punishment by far!) biking has been limited in distance/duration, and I can go no more than 15 mph and have to have a super high cadence. This is brutal, man!
Oh, and the sprain and fracture are worse. See, that's what I get for not listening to my doctor.
posted by granola girl at 7:08 pm
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