So here I am, back on my bed, with my foot propped up on four pillows. The cut is burning (is that a good or bad sign?) and every time I move my foot inside the cast it feels like a thousand tiny woodpeckers are chipping away at the bone (is that a good or bad sign?).
Oh, and every time my foot isn’t elevated, it swells up so badly that it feels like it wants to break out of the cast. And my toes turn blue.
I think the bossman Sparkles said it best when he told me “every minute your foot isn’t raised above your heart is a minute wasted.”
Whoever said it gets better after 14 days is a big fat liar.
Dammit, things have been going so well. I waited until I could start putting some weight on my foot. My foot stayed propped up until that point. Then, on Saturday, I found myself doing a hobble-skip through the living room, shouting “I’m FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” and proceeded to move my ENTIRE craft room-slash-study around and spring-clean the kitchen. On Sunday, nothing could hold me back when I practically sprinted to the dining room table for lunch and dessert seconds. Yesterday, Sofie picked me up and deposited me at my office so that I could have a bit of a catch-up with my colleagues.
Surely this sudden burst of activity is what was meant when Dr Narramore said I could put a little weight on my foot, right? RIGHT?
So here I am…
On my bed.
With my foot propped up.
Working with my laptop on my chest.
Feeling mighty tempted to give my nanny my debit card’s PIN code so that she can go to the shop and buy me snacks.
My weight-loss programme isn’t going well either.
Starting to miss the little things
As I’m unable to drive until my cast comes off, I’m working from home and spending my days making lists of ideas and things I need to remember when we start to plan our next events. I’m also designing website banners for when entries to our various events open. And I have a few other things on my to-do list that I need to tick off within the next few days.
All this is done either on my bed or couch.
I’m supposed to rest for six weeks and allow my foot to heal, and not think about things like spring cleaning, swimming, biking and running. But I’ve found that I’m starting to miss a lot of things. The little things. The simple things. Like…
- The freedom to go for a walk, swim, cycle or run
- Taking a shower
- Enjoying a post-training Vida orange juice and cornetti with my besties
- Dashing to the kitchen for a drink of water or a snack
- Dashing anywhere for that matter
- Wearing skinny jeans
- Making the bed (although I’m getting better at that)
- Sleeping in my favourite position
- Friday morning canal swims
I’ve also been thinking about my training a lot, and have even go so far as drawing up a race diary from October. But I know it’s a silly thing to do. I know I shouldn’t rush recovery and that everything will work out in good time. But I just want to traiiiiiiiiinnnnnn <sob>. And, in my perfect world, if I enter a couple of races now I’ll have plenty of motivation to get back in the saddle in four weeks’ time. RIGHT?
Yeah, I’ve Googled it. They say recovery’s a bitch for athletes (who am I kidding? I’m not an athlete! I’m just a slow triathlete who doesn’t care about coming last). They say mental strength is important. They say it will get better. They say a good multi-vitamin and a balanced diet will speed up recovery.
Screw balanced diet. Right now I want chocolate. Or my mom’s pumpkin fritters. I should go downstairs and see what’s in the fridge…
Yes, I think I’ll do that.