You know how after a holiday you tend to feel a little abnormal? Maybe your sleep pattern is off; perhaps your clothes fit a little snugger than you would like; occasionally you may feel so dehydrated it’s as if a desert has taken permanent residence in your mouth. For me, returning from my four weeks of holiday led to all these symptoms combined to make one unfortunate combo platter. To sum it up, I was not feeling too hot. Monday was another Disaster Day of Travel, the details of which I will spare you. Basically my flight home was cancelled on Sunday night so my friend Phil and I were granted one night’s stay in Madrid and a seat on another flight returning to Zürich on Monday morning. I don’t know what it is with Madrid, but I seem to have no luck when coming home from the city. Clearly we are not meant to have the special friendship I was looking for.
Back to my predicament. I decided to take Monday off from all activity more strenuous than climbing my stairs to my princess suite. Tuesday, it was time to get back into my routine. After a solid 2 hour nap immediately following lunch I laced up my brand-new tennies (thanks mom!) and decided to head out for a run. Since leaving Neuchâtel I had yet to break a sweat that was caused not caused from the sun being turned on full blast in Portugal. My mind was still back in the rolling hills of the French part of Switzerland where I could run 4 miles and not be fazed. My body, however, was still in the sleep-til-11-and-do-nothing-more-than-sunbathe-eat-and-drink phase and was not prepared for the Body Blast I was giving it. I ran and ran and ran some more. When I couldn’t run, I changed to walking and interval running. I knew about 3/4 the way through that something wasn’t right; I was tired and my form was all out of whack. The only way home is on foot and I knew I could get home faster if I ran. It didn’t feel good, but I did it anyway. The yoga teacher, who preaches “listening to your body,” hauling herself home despite the dull pain throbbing in my feet– trust me, the irony is not lost on me now.
Over the next three days this dull pain has turned into an ugly monster residing in my feet and lower legs. It rears its nasty and deformed head any time I walk or put pressure on my feet. Imagine the pain of a thousand samurai swords stabbing my soles and sides of feet. I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but seriously, it hurts. I have hardly been able to walk. I do this awkward, stiff hobble that makes most people around me uncomfortable. Seeing as though walking is my most basic form of transport my family and I decided I should see a doctor. So I went to his office this afternoon and through a series of examinations, foot prodding, and grunting, he decided to take some x-rays. His overall diagnonsense: I have the pain and symptoms of a stress fracture in both feet–without the actual fracture. So, I am walking/hobbling around with more or less two broken feet. He supplied me with a cream to massage into my feet 3-4 times a day and a tablet to take twice a day. Hopefully, he says, the pain should be gone in a week. A week! That is quite a while to wait, but there is clearly nothing I can do about it. Except sulk, sigh dramatically, and read. I just bought The Help on my Kindle as mom (and it seems the rest of the world) can’t stop raving about it. I’m looking forward to starting it tonight and reading it while we’re in Laax this weekend.
Please forgive me if I seem a little more snarky than usual. I’m miffed that my Get Back into Shape and Order plan backfired on me so tremendously. Here’s to hoping for a speedy recovery!