AA - Not the Betty Ford Variety

After falling out of my blissful vacation haze, I headed to Gazelle's for a Sat. long run. It was great fun, but I could feel the vacation around my mid-section, so that was really a drag.

I hadn't visited the SPI guys in a while and I headed in to Pieter feeling tentative about my beach running foot blow out, but pretty good about the distance I'd been able to amass in Austin.

Summer is weird in terms of which child has what camp when, so I brought my son Aidan along for this visit. We were chatting in the waiting room for Pieter to come retrieve me and, I honestly don't know how this came up, but my son said something about me getting older. I'm sure it was kind of direct and realistic, but so starts the visit.

Troy is quite fond of reminding me at visits that my body is cooperating because, well, I'm old.

Now, it was Pieter's turn to chime in. A few tweaks and manipulations and Pieter is actually quite pleased with progress in spite of the beach running incident. We twist, turn, pull, push. Aidan is off talking to Taylor about the skeletons.

My age raises it's head again. I swear, I am not the one bringing it up. Perhaps I was complaining.

Pieter has a new term for my category -- aging athlete. Not advancing athlete, alternative athlete....no, aging. Troy, Pieter and honestly, Aidan all have a good little chuckle over this one. I'll take it...at least they called me an athlete!

PT - The New Confessional

After much coordination with my real world and mother/driver schedule, I land on an appointment with Troy at SPI. I'm so relieved. I almost cancel due to a conference call, but, frankly, I can't take it anymore, my foot is a little ham at the end of my Q-tip leg.

Troy pokes his head around the door. Hey, come on back. I load up (like a camel -- laptop, bags, water) and start heading toward him. He looks at me, dubiously.

You're limping, he says. Yeah, Troy, it's killing me.

Silence. Have you been running? he asks me, half serious and half joking.

Are you kidding, I ask him. He bores his eyes into me. Seriously, Troy, I have not been running. I'm back to junky status. Cut to the A&E episode ...Intervention. Cue the music. Troy, really, with my hip, I could still run. I mean, yes, it hurt, but I could do it. Dude, I cannot rotate this foot.

Troy still looks skeptical.

Pieter is there too. Yes, Pieter is the way his name is really spelled. Sorry, I have been spelling it the American way. Anyway, he says, what did you do? Oh God, here we go. I swear, I have not been running. Really.

So, I say, hey, you all told me I could go to spinning. I went to spinning on Sat. By the way, it is SOOO boring, but I did it! Anyway, the next day, I was really busy running around and by the end of the day it was a little ham again.

You told me I could to spinning. Yes, they both acknowledge their previous suggestion that spinning was fine. Troy starts to move my foot, cracking things, commanding me to walk, sit, crack more. He's quiet, that Troy. I start babbling away about the trainer at Lifetime and how he's going to help fix my stride issues. He ran track, blah, blah...Crack, walk. So unglamorous, definitely not a cat walk.

So, Troy asks inquisitively, Spinning?

Yes, really! I declare, proud of my restraint.

Did you sit on the seat the whole time, or did you get up and do all the jumps and stuff.

Bam! Zing!

There it is. Pieter and Troy both stare, waiting for the reply. But, you said I could do spinning -- I went to a class. I mean, I wasn't going to just sit there and ride. I had to get a work out in. Pieter starts to laugh. Troy shakes his head. You need to just sit in the saddle, no jumps or standing.

I slouch. I probably look like a sullen three-year old. Ok, I murmur. No standing. Just sitting and riding. Crack, rotate. Sit here. Ok, walk again.

You guys have to be more specific, I tell them.

Hey Troy, I thought you'd release me to run a few miles this week. You know, like 2 or so on the trail. No, forget it, he says. Pieter laughs again.

On the way out, I run into my friend Patrick Evoy. Hey Man, what's up? Oh, forget it, Achilles. Yeah, I have fifth Metatarsal -- Yeah, I know, I read your blog. We high five and go opposite ways...he goes in and I head to my car. I think, again, we sound like we've fallen off the wagon...we need a group.

Unremarkable

Well, I have never been described as so unremarkable so many times in one report. Ok, maybe I have, but I didn't know it.

I just got the MRI report from Dr. Spears at Sports Performance International...I've been holding my breath. The good news is that I am unremarkable...that is, that section of my foot is. I do not have a stress fracture. Yes! Excellent, but....Oh yes, there it is, the but -- as in the conjunction, not the gluteus maximus.

I have severe edema at the base of the fifth metatarsal. Somehow this is bad. Apparently, it's a pre-stress fracture. And, somehow the punishment is the same. No running. So, I get no sympathy boot cast or something to keep my foot from messing up more, but I can't run either. Aqua-jogging, cycling, elliptical. Did I mention that it's the right foot and it hurts to drive?

I look down at the floor while Dr. Spears is talking to me. First, he's calling me Alice. Alice doesn't live here anymore. I don't want to correct him. His assistant is calling me A-Lish-A, which is not me either. Anyway, I see Peter heading our way with a very determined stride and I figure I'm in the clear -- they will get my name right now and Peter will translate what the Dr. is saying to me.

They both start explaining that it looks like I have trauma to the bone -- multiple trauma. Wait, I don't remember a trauma or a multiple of the trauma. All I said to Lorenzo Blanco was let's do 10 instead of 7. I mean, this was an easy day. I feel like they are talking to someone else.

So, I say, Do the two weeks that I have already put in toward my 6 count? Now I feel like some petty criminal who's negotiating a lighter sentence. Notice how I said 6 at the long side and they said 8. Peter shakes his head and laughs.

Dr. Spears starts talking about how this is normal for runners who are used to a certain exercise level. They need something to replace their threshold of exercise. Ok, now I feel like a junky. For someone unremarkable, I feel like I've already played a lot of roles in this movie. Now I'm in an episode of Intervention on A&E.

Troy comes over now with the very nice assistant. Sorry, I forget her name. She's lovely. Everyone is flocking to the scan. Troy looks at me like I'm 2 and I just squeezed my puppy too hard.

Peter comes back in and kind of gives me the speech. Running hard, not a life long runner, over 40, etc, etc. I look down again, the tears are coming and I'm trying so hard not to cry. I cry at this office a lot. I think they need an on site therapist. Then I could really get a lot work done on all these personalities I have and my basic unremarkableness.

I slink out of the office and dutifully make my appointments. This isn't like the hip. I could run through that pain. But, this foot just won't work right now. It's as stubborn as I am.

I want to call someone from the car, but I don't bother. I don't think anyone will understand how I feel. Running grounds me. I work things out in my head when I run. I release my anger, my stress. I push myself. I'm alone, but I'm with people all at the same time. I had some ideas about this Spring. I just need a minute to accept it. After 2 weeks, my foot really doesn't feel any better at all.

When I get home, I pull out the report and read it. This is where I learn how normal and unremarkable I am. For a second, I start to think they are all wrong and I can lace up and head out tomorrow. Then I stand up and try to walk to the stairs, that I have to climb up and my foot is like a little pink ham in a shoe. I hate my foot!