Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Bringing it down a few notches... or inches, I should say

Six weeks and three days. That's how long it's been since the ankle catastrophe, and I'm still not officially cleared by the doctor to be out of the boot, off my crutches, and headed for rehab. My doctor's appointment is this Thursday, but I went ahead and shed the boot last weekend. If it hadn't been for the holiday, my follow up would have been on the 4th, so close enough, right?

In an unprecedented move, I've decided to take my recovery seriously and not overdo it right at the beginning. I've had several weeks to realize that I am, in fact, human - and I do, in fact, need time to heal and recover. In fact, the pain of the injury and then the lingering aches and soreness have reinforced that as we get older, we just don't bounce back the way we used to. Guess I should be thankful I broke it at 38 instead of 68 (when, of course, I fully intend to still be running marathons).

So while I'm out of the boot, I'm still, sadly, not quite back to normal in many ways. Obviously, the continuation of the running hiatus is the one I'm most obsessive about. The close second?

My inability to wear my awesome shoes.

I swear, they're more comfortable than they look

I am the world's luckiest wife, because I have a husband who not only gets that I hate to shop (if it was left to me, I'd probably be in yoga pants and sneakers every day), but even when I do shop, I make bad choices. I can pick out the right running outfit for any weather, any temperature, any day. Appropriate outfit for work? Much, much more difficult, my friends. I didn't realize just how easy I had it when I was told what to wear every day.

So the shoes. Last year, I lost a bunch of weight and got in really great shape, and when it became totally apparent that almost nothing in my closet fit me, I got the once in a lifetime wardrobe makeover. And with all of the new-me clothes came lots and lots (and lots) of new-me shoes. Turns out, I LOVE shoes. And I don't just love shoes, I LOVE high heels. I mean, ice-cream-on-a-hot-day, fuzzy-puppy-when-you're-blue, spa-weekend-with-your-girlfriends love high heels. And the higher, the better. If it's less than 3", it's pretty much a flat in my mind. I fully submit that they are the equivalent of the power tie, especially when my office is full of men six feet tall and over.

So follow the logic:
  1. I love high heels
  2. My husband loves me
Therefore, naturally:
  • I have a closet full of high heels that I love from my husband whom I love

All of which is awesome... until, again, the ankle incident. As the bone and the ligaments heal, I'm not totally sturdy on my feet, much less on the balls of my feet. I've acquired a couple of pair of flat sandals for the summer, but today I basically gave up. The Army may not tell me what to wear everyday, but I officially put myself on soft shoe profile today.

Forget 4" heels. Ain't got NO heels on these things.

See you at sick call!


  1. You and your heels... It's a wonder it took RUNNING to twist an ankle! Glad you're on the mend -- we have a race schedule to discuss!!