Operation: K.B.S.

Well, it’s been a little over two weeks now and “Operation K.B.S.” (Keep Ben Sane) is in full swing.  While things had been (notice tense) going great every since I decided to move back east from my brief stint out in Eugene, OR –everything changed that fateful day, the dreaded fourth of October.  That, my blog reading friends, was the day “Bam-Bam,” my ever so prudent and tender alter-ego came out to play.  It was then, during a brief and momentary lapse of judgement, that I, yours truly, forgot to dorsiflex.  The team was doing barefoot drills and during one particularly dynamic straight-leg bound, I stubbed my toe.  No big deal, right?  I mean, “I stub my toe at least six times a day” you must be thinking.  But you see, when I do things, I do them right.   

By the end of practice my foot had swollen to a size that would make Sasquatch jealous (although slightly less hairy) and the deep purple color, while neat to look at, did not bode well.  A few hours later it was confirmed by x-ray: I had received an avulsion fracture to the base of the left great distal phalanx.  Say what? Translation to English: I stubbed my toe so hard that the tendon that articulates my big toe ripped a chunk of bone off, as well as doing a number to the tendon itself –i.e. no running for three weeks.  And yes, my toe now hangs limp and lifeless whenever I pick my foot off the gound… a somewhat disheartening sight to say the least.   

Someone say sanity check?

So now what?  Now is when I delve into the under workings that is K.B.S.  Let me explain.  First off, I love to run.  Secondly, I don’t like the idea of injuries, nor what they entail, and thirdly, fall in Hanover is not only beautiful, but it is the best time and place to build your fall mileage.  Wait… I don’t think I wrote that sentence with enough gusto.  There is no better place, nay, no place even comes close to fall training here in the Upper Valley –anywhere.  The hills, the trails, the foliage, ah, you can’t beat it.   

And where am I?  I’m stuck in a pool, drowning by aqua jogging, staring at turquoise tiles as elderly women swim laps and do water aerobics.  How dreadful, how appalling atrocious.  Alas, my one escape is the road bike where at least I get a faint glimpse of the outdoors.  But, sadly, biking is no substitution for running and every time I come home from a ride and take off my bike shoes, gingerly placing them next to the barely used and annoying pristine running shoes, I can’t help but feel a glint of guilt –as if I had been cheating on a loved one.  No, nothing can fill the void left from not running.  I spend my time marking the days off the calendar, willing –commanding –my foot to heal.  But as much as I mope, as much as I pine away in despair, I know that the season is long and I will return, better, stronger, and faster than before.  So until then, it is time for me to keep the chin up, my stick on the ice, and my mind fully engaged, for I am ready. 

 

Until next time, yours truely

Ben