Going stir crazy

It’s been two weeks since I injured my foot. I am freaking out, a little, even though my foot is essentially better and I can now go ahead with some low-impact stuff. It turns out I’m just kind of a high impact girl. I love me some running, some jumping around, some doing things that challenge me. My foot… not so much, right now. I am hoping beyond hope that I can go for a run this weekend cause it is perfect running weather outside. For the past few days it has been sunny and right around 60 degrees, and all of me (except my foot) is itching to get my butt outside for a run. Why must my foot argue with such things? Back in the days of gym class I used to dread running days with undying passion, and now I’m stressing out because I’m unable to run for two weeks. Seriously, when did that happen?

Today I asked a friend (a longtime runner) if I were going to lose all my ability within two weeks. “This is the longest I’ve gone without running since I started!” I told her. “I’m kind of freaking out, basically.” She told me it will be fine, and to rest my foot. Why do people keep saying that?

So very many times I have lost weight and been determined to keep it off. So very many times I have had one little thing happen that prompts me to just give up and gain it all back (never to the tune of 75 pounds, however… more like 10 or 15 in those situations). My head has a default setting to freak out any time something happens that is beyond my control. I used to be a little OCD (seriously), which really shouldn’t surprise anyone. Turns out I can’t control how quickly my foot heals, but I can control what I eat and I can still do a lot of strength/ab exercises. I shouldn’t freak out. The logical side of me knows this. The crazy side of me is just a little bit more powerful, right now. I haven’t gained weight—in fact I am just the same weight I was before the Christmas holidays, and my clothes fit exactly the same. So shut it, inner fat girl, and rest your foot.

Yesterday I built a nest out of blankets and pillows on my couch, and sat around surrounded by fluffy things with the dog on my lap. I seem to remember wishing for time to do just that not too long ago… so why can’t I just chill out and appreciate it now that I have it? I have a problem with being told I can’t do something—its like when I said I was going to run a 5K I got the feeling that a lot of people didn’t think I could. That, of course, motivated me. I’m a very stubborn individual. So now that my foot is telling me I can’t do anything that will prevent it from healing that is all I want to do. Seriously, the crazy side just needs to calm the heck down.

I’m guessing it won’t until my foot allows me to go for a run, however. That darn inner fat girl is meaner than ever during an injury. I wish I could punch her.