stress fracture

Comeback postponed

I’ve been good, like really good. Despite desperately wanting to, I haven’t run, not once. I’ve painstakingly crushed those urges and longings that fill me every time I lace up a pair of my sneakers, or read a Facebook post of a favourite running chick coming off a medal-worthy run, or see those head-to-toe Lululemon girls running down the boardwalk. Why? Because Dear Physio told me to. Early on in the pregnancy, when I was still dealing with the shoulder injury I got while running (you know, the night I found out I was pregnant) Dear Physio, who I swear has magic shooting through his fingertips, warned me that my already unstable hips would likely take a serious beating in childbirth, and if I wanted to run injury free, post pregnancy, I would be wise to heed his advice and make it a slow (and by slow, practically non-existent) comeback …

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Damage done

Why is it when you get a paper cut, stinging lemon juice instantly finds its way inside? Or when you have a cavity, your tongue is constantly drawn to the aching decay? Or when you smoke yourself in the ankle so hard you draw blood, your shoed foot continues to do so until you’re belaboured with a nasty ass stress fracture? On Sunday, that oh-so-glorious run day, I did just that. Smoked my ankle. And oh man did it smart. For like half a minute I swear it felt as though a boulder had smashed down on it! But I refused to stop running. I wasn’t a baby, I was going to keep on going, wincing and all. Well, that first collision resulted in two more collisions, each more painful than the first. It wasn’t until I ended my run that I dare I looked at the damage done. It …

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