Monday, November 9, 2009

Damn Achilles! Stupid Weaknesses.

I had a plan. Plan development is Dangerous Business in my world. It invites Uncle Murphy over. He likes to mess with plans.

I play soccer with a team called the Dirty Leprechauns. Betcha can’t guess what our primary team color is. Anyway, I play defender, and day before yesterday, our team had a game at 10:30.

I’m not a natural redhead, by the way.

Last week when I played, I developed a nasty cramp in my left calf due to inadequate stretching and warm up. I had to sub myself off the field, stretch it out, have Mark rub it down, and although I continued to play, I took it easy for the rest of the game.

Notice the significant weight loss over the previous week. The camera lies.

This week, I was smarter. I started with a good, long stretch of each leg and a brisk walk before the game. I started this week, and went out there and worked myself up. So far, so good. After a little while, I subbed off to catch my breath and stretch a little more. After maybe five minutes, I went back on to play right defense. It’s apropos of nothing, but I usually play left d.

Anyway, I jogged back onto the field and made a few runs. After about five minutes, my calf suddenly seized in the same spot very painfully while I was running. I slowed my pace, and at the end of that play tried to stretch it out a little without leaving the field. A couple of minutes later, I began to sprint downfield to support; on the second step, I felt a significant “pop” inside my leg accompanied by a sound that in my head was a cross between a “thock” and a snap. I might have imagined this, by the way. I was on a field by a major road with lots of yelling teammates nearby. I put my foot down and promptly died of the pain.

Yes, death totally flattened my hair. And my butt really is that big. This stands as my most life-like self-portrait ever.

I had to be carried off the field by teammates, and K (the one I mentioned before? The one who’s trying to get away from sick people?) had to come and drive me to the Urgent Care (after driving me to the high school to let them know I wouldn’t be able to keep my commitment to judge at 12:45, then home for my phone charger, then to Wendy’s so I wouldn’t die of starvation [is not impossible], then back to the soccer field so I could get my purse out of my car and pay for the urgent care, noting on the way that I had forgotten to get my purse, but not my knitting).

Urgent Care confirmed that nothing broke, but the doctor thinks I tore my Achilles tendon. He said we’ll have to see an Orthopedist and get an MRI to know for sure. In the meantime, he put me in an Airboot and gave me crutches. I have a standard transmission car, so I can’t drive. Poor Mark has become my personal chauffeur, which is seven levels of awesome in my book. Mark doesn’t necessarily agree.

Are you laughing at my crutches?

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