Out of nowhere, I tore my plantar fascia playing football–pushing off the line of scrimmage–last Wednesday. I felt a pop in the arch of my foot, and knew something was torn but didn’t even know you COULD tear a plantar fascia, particularly not one that gave you no warning and previously did not have pain. Rude.
I don’t want to say I’ve been numb about it exactly, but I’ve been resigned. Fatigued. Here we go again. Immobility, my life changes, I have to rely on people, I have to slow down, blah blah blah. I’ve been here before. Only this time the recovery is shorter: 6 weeks in a boot/3 months back to normal.
Still, it feels like ok sure my life is now different again and I’ll do something epic like meet my handsome helpful humanitarian warrior and fall in love with him in a way that wasn’t accessible to me before and that’s nice and all but really, AGAIN? I don’t WANT to consider what this is about and find higher meaning and be all happy because basically it just sucks.
And I’m also not going to wallow, because there’s nothing to DO about it. So I continue to live my life, in a boot. Work (seated, though). Meet up with friends, go to the gym and train armsplosion, travel this weekend, possibly ski next depending on pain.
Which is to say I am grateful for my life. My spirit. My resilience. And even grateful for my fatigue – that I can hold so many concepts true at once and believe in them and also don’t worry about them when they don’t serve.
But, in case you were wondering, tearing a soft tissue in the other leg but AGAIN in the span of 14 months pretty much just sucks.