Injury Numero Uno

Turns out, tomorrow didn’t quite fit into my schedule. Two other events clouded my ability to run (or so I like to think). One, the UEFA European League Championships commenced (that Portugal-Turkey game, although meaningless to me, was a must-see). Two, MJ and Ryan (roommates) felt it was our duty to barricade Brandon (another roommate) in his room.

It all started as MJ and I wrapped up a game of water pong. “We should put the pong table against Brandon’s door,” I said. Plain and simple, that was it. Then MJ upped the ante, deciding it was necessary to put our living-room chair on top of the pong table so Brandon would have to crawl underneath to get out of his room. Not to be bested, Ryan thought it would be an even better idea if we tipped the couch on its end and push that in front of Brandon’s door, then use the pong table as leverage so Brandon couldn’t escape through his door, period.

Mission accomplished? Not quite. Brandon has three doors – one to the garage, one to the kitchen and one to the laundry room (which then has another door that exits perpendicular to the house’s front entrance). We proceeded to block his other two vestiges of freedom in similar fashions and laid in wait for the ensuing hilariousness.

“Awww you’ve gotta be KIDDING me. Are you guys serious right now? Really?”

After about 20 minutes, Brandon found the one weakness in our flimsy fortification, tossed aside the plank of wood guarding his escape to the outside world, climbed over the washing machine that stood behind the wood and returned to his autonomous lifestyle. Good times.

Rest assured, I did return to the fitness world on Sunday. It was a sad showing. I went on a run (slow jog) to the “lake” (I use the term loosely…more like football-field-sized pond). The workout was pretty bland – 10 minutes out, 10 minutes back with a 3-minute breather in between.

I had a recurring thought on the return trip: “I need new shoes I need new shoes I need new shoes…” My arches hate me right now.

Monday came and, rather than run, I returned to the tennis courts. Originally, I promised myself I would run after the all-important tennis match. After I felt a pop in my right arch (also known as the plantar fascia…even though I didn’t receive a degree in exercise science or kinesiology, I’m fairly keen on the musculature and bone makeup of a person’s lower half due to the enormous amount of injuries sustained in that region over my collegiate track career) I decided that running might not be the best course of action. I did, of course, play the match out for fear of succumbing to pansy-itis.

A conspicuous clicking sensation in my arch relayed the message to me that I had, indeed, suffered an injury. One day later, in all my brilliance, I let myself get suckered into playing basketball. Originally, the plan was to lift weights. Four games of basketball later...quick question for the reader: Does your body speak to you? Mine does. My arch was screaming at me to the tune of, “Frank’s-a-dumb-ass (clap-clap clap-clap-clap).”

Running is now out of the picture until the inflammation dies down. What a glorious start to my journey back to fitness.