Six weeks ago I broke my ankle. I was running on a smooth section of trail towards the end of a long run when I took a step and rolled my foot inward. I didn’t think it was broken at the time. While this one felt bad and included the added element of a cracking sound, I’d rolled that ankle before. It’ll be fine. After gaining my composure, I jogged the remaining two miles back to my car. It was only after sitting in the car for thirty minutes feeling the pain and stiffness set in that I realized this might be worth a trip to Urgent Care.
An x-ray indicated what would later be confirmed by an Orthopedist – an avulsion fracture of my left lateral malleolus. Essentially the ligament stretched enough to pull off a piece of the bony protrusion on the outside of my ankle. I was fitted for a walking boot and sent on my way.
Fast forward to today and I’m building back. If I look at each day there are ups and downs. Depending on the day, it can seem like I’m either healing like a champ or digressing into a dark underworld of permanent pain and swelling. But if I zoom out and look at where I was six weeks ago, I’ve made a ton of progress. I’ve been out of my boot for two and half weeks loading up on a steady diet of physical therapy, strength training, and low-impact aerobic work. I can do ankle circles, calf raises, and fancy feats of balance that might lead to a career in street performing down the road.
While the progress is positive, the prospect of what lies ahead is something I battle with in my head. Am I going to be the same runner? Will I be more cautious? Not as strong? Logically I know things will turn out fine, but doubts keep knocking at my door asking to come in, while I’m hiding behind the ottoman hoping they’ll give up and go to the next house.