Vanity Was My Downfall

So.... I kinda wish I was tall. I mean, like 6 feet tall. I realize I'm slightly above average height for a woman, but I am kind of the runt of my extended family. And height was always a coveted commodity in college athletics. So I make up for my lack of height by occasionally wearing heels. My husband is tall, I love being tall, I don't get to dress up that often... it works. Or at least it used too.

I went out on a limb and bought exceptionally tall heels that were on clearance. They are so cute. Light brown, strappy, but with a thick, chunky heel. Kind of a 60s look. I mean, really... super cute. So I strapped those suckers on, was almost eye level with my tall husband and was good to go. Until my kiddos factored into the equation. We were at Cracker Barrel for lunch, the twins were running their adorable little hands along the stone hearth on the way to our table, until they noticed the cozy, roaring fire and jumped back. Unfortunately, I have never been gifted with grace, or agility, or even balance. Ok, I'll just admit it. I'm clumsy. I was the girl who ran into doorways in high school. Walked off curbs and fell down stairs in college. (And suddenly you begin to ask yourself, "Knowing these facts, WHY?!! WHY?!! would she ever try to test her unreliable balance wearing cute, brown, strappy shoes?!!" That is a good question. One I wish I would've asked myself before this fateful day.) With all my normal grace, I lost my balance, turned my foot funny, and there was a sharp pain, but.... I honestly didn't think much of it. It was Mikaiah's birthday. I wanted to focus on her. I'm a dork who trips alot. End of story.

Well...normally something like this wouldn't be that big a deal. But, I set this goal of doing a Half-Ironman before I turn 30. I started training a few weeks before I turned 29, and was about 6 weeks into my training program. So when I got home that night, and noticed my poor little foot was quite swollen and bruised, I thought I would be very wise and conservative by icing, elevating, and resting from running for 2 weeks. I was still biking and swimming, because that wasn't all that painful, and I didn't want to lose my base at this point. It did not even occur to me that I broke something. I honestly trip ALL the time, so I just didn't think much about it. And I was a little embarrassed. I mean, c'mon.... that's a pretty lame way to break a bone. Not like I was saving my children from imminent danger or anything. (Or I supposed I could consider the safely contained fire imminent danger... and at least make myself feel a bit better...)

A friend recommended I go have it looked at since the pain was still sharp whenever I would put pressure on it, so I did. When the doctor told me the treatment plan, I tried to change his mind a bit. Since it was healing straight, I figured I could probably just continue doing what I was doing. Makes sense to me. He politely told me that this wasn't a negotiation and if I wanted to avoid surgery, I would just listen to him. And then I almost cried. Just kidding. I totally had the poise to make it out to the car. I was just so excited about doing this triathlon that it made me really sad.... but there will be another race.

So I have a stylish black boot on (thank you Mimi!!) and will probably officially be giving away the cute, brown heels. Takers? Size nines. (Yes, I am a mutant whose foot actually shrunk after having kids. But really, man shoulders, monkey arms, and chicken legs weren't enough to make me unique... I also have shrinking feet. And a fashionable black boot.)