We’ve all heard it a million times: pain is essentially weakness leaving the body. Well, that’s all nice as far as motivational mantras go, but what happens when pain occurs as a sharp, stabbing pain in your left foot every time you put weight on it?? Somehow, I didn’t think this was pain just leaving the body, but a pain that would end up putting a kink in my fitness routine.
Avid readers of my blog will know that I do not belong to a gym. I refuse. As the season has started to change, more and more I would either jog around Hoboken on the weekends or in the evenings after work, or opt to power walk from my office building in NYC down to the farthest PATH station stop, giving me about an hour of calorie burning, which I supplement with ab and arm exercises, and some yoga thrown in for variety.
About four weeks ago, as I was finishing a lovely run on a warmer day in March (there were about three warmer days) I came around the last block of my jog to feel this quite unpleasant stabbing pain in my left foot. Annoyed, I jogged a bit further hoping it would pass. Obviously, it didn’t, and I was left to limp for the remainder of the day.
Thinking nothing of it, I went about my business, not bothering to ice or elevate my foot or take Advil. Whatever it is will just resolve itself by tomorrow, I figured.
Next morning, OWWIE! I couldn’t even walk to my kitchen from my room without having to limp. Annoyed as hell, I opted for a 4 mile power walk instead of a jog. Take that foot! I’ll show you how I roll, or limp. As it turns out, that was my last power walk for the past four weeks.
I like to think that I have maintained a pretty good level of fitness over the years. From dance lessons when I was little, to yoga and my desire to join the crew team in college, I know the importance of staying fit for my health and well-being, and for my ability to feel confident in my little summer outfits. Knock on wood, but I have never really had an injury that has prevented me from doing any workout at any time.
Stupid foot! Pissed off, well beyond annoyed, I took it upon myself to look for a self-diagnosis. After some Googling of “top of foot pain” “stabbing pain in top middle of foot” and the juxtaposition of other terms I deemed scientific, it turns out that I most likely have tendonitis and the best treatment is to ice, elevate, take anti-inflammatories, and to stay off my foot as much as possible.
Stay off as much as possible?? How is that even feasible? I walk everywhere. Everywhere. No car. No scooter. No bike. My feet are my window to the world. Who knew that walking for almost 3 or 4 city miles in non-supportive flats could cause tendonitis? Actually, I knew it probably wasn’t the best idea, but I didn’t think it would become my ticket to gimpville.
In my fourth week of “staying off of it,” I have finally, completely succumbed to my foot, which means no more jogs or power walks or staircase workouts, and taking the subway as much as I can to work. Up until last week, I still struggled giving in to my foot, as I wore stiletto boots one Saturday night out and a pair of incredibly high heeled, Louboutins on a date last week, though I sure heard about my dumb decision all the next day from my foot, through throbbing and stabbing pains.
How cruel. What a cruel thing to do to a Splenda Stealer in the midst of her mission to get in shape without a gym. But, I am still remain determined to stay in as much shape as I can even though my cardio must be deterred for now. Every other day I’ve completed classes on Yogadaily.com and have kept up on my arm and ab workouts from my Jackie Warner workout DVD. So far, so good. I was even motivated enough to completely re-arrange the furniture in my bedroom one Sunday afternoon to create enough floor space so that I could practice yoga in the comfort of my own room, rather than wait for my roommates to be out so I could use the living room. It’s been a fairly successful alternative, despite sometimes losing my balance and landing on my injured foot once or twice.
At first I was angry and stubborn, but I realize, I don’t want to further injure my foot for the future, so fine. You win, foot. Go do your thing and get better while I pop a lot of Advil and keep you snug in an elastic, supportive sock. All I can say is that you better be rearing to go by the time sandal season come around.