Having awakened fairly early on Saturday morning, I got right to work on both this post (planning to stay ahead and have a few posts to keep me going, you know) and with my job — shooting to use Friday and Saturday to total at the forty permitted hours each week. Janet got up early, too, using her weighted hula hoop and floor exercise to shape up while watching the box (FIY and HGTV, probably). Although recently I consumed a carton of ice cream over two days, Iʼm leaving my shape to the morning, uh, “runs.” Run is a vast exaggeration, I admit: small children and elderly codgers more ancient than I whiz past me periodically (actually cute young things in track suits and tall, lean guys with heads full of dark hair). And I am still at the four-mile limit (it used to be six), but I have been faithful about getting up at 5:00 to go out and press a little asphalt for an hour. Even through the first week of work, okay, training for my current choice of employment, briefly.
I do like running in the dark better than letting the sun sap all my energy, I have discovered, so I get up and go when the alarm rings (a bit earlier than 5:00).
—And I got that far last Saturday morning and went on to other things (you have been reading some of them here on the blog in recent days), getting no further with this little post.
Evidently a providential circumstance, as the run has been transformed into a harder chore than usual. The reason: pain. Something has gone wrong in my left lower leg/ankle, and every step I take hurts, particularly so running. The condition first appeared in the later part of last week, while I was still driving sixty-plus miles a day to “train” for my Census job (say, first glimpses last Wednesday morning during the run, a noticeable issue on Thursday morning and again on Friday). So I made a deliberate effort to rest the poor limb over last weekend — now with heavy sarcasm: so awfully hard to do that!
Janet and I even shunned our usual weekend walks for an extended road trip in my truck out the Caves Road and then up to Bernard (through which neither of us had ever been before) and beyond before heading back through Dubuque to Bellevue and home on Sunday. (This weekend, I hope we have the time, and I have the information, to try a similar drive southeastward to explore my CLD area for the Census.)
The weekend rest made no difference for my ankle and calf, however. Mondayʼs run was difficult (although I did finish all four miles in not a terrible time), so I tried resting again on Tuesday morning. Then yesterday I was barely beyond hobbling and cut the route short to just about exactly three miles (and the ache is throbbing right now as I type). Each step is definitely hurtful.
No, I havenʼt been to the doctor. My last running-associated injury happened to coincide with one of my semi-regular physician visits to have blood drawn for tests and a chat about my blood pressure and cholesterol. When I mentioned the hurt (my knee then), he just nodded and agreed I had probably hurt it while running. Thanks, Bill. I think Iʼll wait until itʼs a more definite problem (however much it hurts right now) before costing our bank balance for that advice again. (Besides, I still have my new glasses to pay for, and thatʼs going to take more than my first week of pay from the Census. Thankfully, as I am using the old “crazed” pair for the morning run, I realize daily just how nice the new glasses are.)
Perhaps I should try heat? Maybe I should acquire an Ace bandage and wrap the lower leg? (I know all this is mostly just the result of getting old… probably…)
Iʼll take any help anyone wants to offer on this issue… Maybe someone out there knows something about physical training and would like to drop a hint. (“You want a hint?” “Yes, please.” “Think.” —A little joke for those familiar with Everybody.)
My current plan for this morning, even as this post appears, I just realized, is to make long-overdue use of my Y membership by trekking over there (since I almost always run right by it — these days twice) burdened with my clean indoor shoes, and try rowing for a half hour, effort which should be significantly easier on my lower leg.
I would like to have my shoes permanently stored in a locker or somewhere at the Y, but when I asked, I was told that no, they did not rent lockers, and that any lock left on a locker longer than 72 hours was cut off. The policy outraged Janet (who has been trying to get me to use the Y or else stop my monthly payment), since her Y in Dubuque rents lockers. If the shoes were there waiting for me, I could interrupt any morning run for a little additional workout or weight-lifting (both of which I need to add to my daily regimen), but itʼs awkward and unpleasant to try carrying the shoes along on a regular run. However, the run wonʼt be regular anyway until my leg decides to quit this hurtful act, so this makes a good time to find out how busy the place is right as it opens.
And thatʼs the whine from the exercise front.
Maybe weʼll get to that poem I mentioned tomorrow.