Disaster Strikes!
I would like to tell you that this:
...is the result of an impressive mountain ridge tumble, near miss with a cliff edge or even an argument with a pissed off stag. But alas, I fell over the dog (the guilty looking one in the picture). In a park. A perfectly even, manicured park.
And with the stomach turning crunch sound my ankle made as Nym floored me, mid run, I saw my 100 miler hopes flash before my eyes.
However, one xray, a lot of hopping and a lot more swearing later, I've come to the conclusion a: it's not broken, b: nothing has torn and c: the majority of the pain is coming from swelling and burst blood vessels.
But with walking a few hundred metres taking a lot more effort than would be satisfactory for somebody due to run 95 miles in 5 weeks, I've got my reservations. I certainly won't get through the 64 miles I had planned for next weekend...but a teeny tiny piece of me is holding on to the hope the West Highland finish line is still manageable. It's a fool's hope, that of a deluded person, and utterly inadvisable (I could tell from the look on Mr PT's face when I hobbled into the gym yesterday), but we'll give it a bash anyway.
The picture is four days into the injury, swelling has drastically reduced and I can now weight bear and hobble quite successfully... so here commences the icing, compression, voodoo flossing (whoever thought of such a barbaric exercise?!), elevation, "optimal loading" (can you tell I've been googling?!), and generally raised stress levels for the next few weeks!!
Over and out, the now quite stressy runner (who can't run...at all).
...is the result of an impressive mountain ridge tumble, near miss with a cliff edge or even an argument with a pissed off stag. But alas, I fell over the dog (the guilty looking one in the picture). In a park. A perfectly even, manicured park.
And with the stomach turning crunch sound my ankle made as Nym floored me, mid run, I saw my 100 miler hopes flash before my eyes.
However, one xray, a lot of hopping and a lot more swearing later, I've come to the conclusion a: it's not broken, b: nothing has torn and c: the majority of the pain is coming from swelling and burst blood vessels.
But with walking a few hundred metres taking a lot more effort than would be satisfactory for somebody due to run 95 miles in 5 weeks, I've got my reservations. I certainly won't get through the 64 miles I had planned for next weekend...but a teeny tiny piece of me is holding on to the hope the West Highland finish line is still manageable. It's a fool's hope, that of a deluded person, and utterly inadvisable (I could tell from the look on Mr PT's face when I hobbled into the gym yesterday), but we'll give it a bash anyway.
The picture is four days into the injury, swelling has drastically reduced and I can now weight bear and hobble quite successfully... so here commences the icing, compression, voodoo flossing (whoever thought of such a barbaric exercise?!), elevation, "optimal loading" (can you tell I've been googling?!), and generally raised stress levels for the next few weeks!!
Over and out, the now quite stressy runner (who can't run...at all).
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