I’ve spent the last few days getting reacquainted with my left foot.
Six weeks to the day after my broken left foot was put in a walking boot, the boot came off, just like the orthopedic doctor had said would happen.
I have to go back in three months for another X-ray to be sure the break has fully filled in with calcium. I wasn’t expecting any further follow-up, so that initially threw me off kilter for a bit.
But, I have no pain, even when the physician’s assistant pressed on the break.
So, for the first time since I tangled with that random nut on my early morning run in October, my footwear matches.
That’s not a huge deal — other than it’s one less thing to trigger my OCD.
More importantly, I’m cleared to get back to normal.
And that immediately improved my mental outlook.
I haven’t been too unbearable during this down time, the longest I’ve been this inactive in decades.
There were some moments early on in this process that were tough.
Like the first morning after I broke my foot.
I slid down the steps at my usual pre-dawn hour to get my breakfast. I got to the kitchen on the crutches and realized I was kind of helpless. I couldn’t get my breakfast because I couldn’t carry anything while both hands were holding me up on the crutches, so I had to wait for my wife to wake up to help me.
One of my running buddies, once again, saved the day.
When he loaned me the crutches he also offered me a kneeling scooter. I passed, saying I’d see how things went.
It wasn’t long after that delayed breakfast that my wife was picking up the scooter at my buddy’s place.
Using that allowed me to get around the first floor of the house without having to rely on my wife or the crutches, which freed my hands.
That scooter really kept me sane.
Within a little more than a week I had worked up to pushing it with one leg around the neighborhood for 3 miles nearly every day after work.
It helped that this injury didn’t occur during the colder months when I would have been battling snow and ice while on the crutches or the scooter.
I’m looking forward to returning to what my wife calls stealth mode — my ability to move quietly around the house and seemingly appear out of nowhere, often startling her.
For the first three weeks or so of my recovery, my every move was telegraphed by the clack-clack of the crutches.
“Here he comes,” my wife would announce as I slowly made my way from the recliner to anywhere else in the house.
When I was finally able to begin putting weight on my foot, that clack-clack was replaced by the squeak-squeak from the rubber sole of the walking boot every time I moved around.
I got pretty adept at maneuvering in the boot, getting out for twice daily walks around the neighborhood.
Those were pretty close to my normal walks, but now that I’m bootless I’m going to have to back off a little bit and start increasing the distance again.
Running is still a couple of weeks away, and even then it’ll be a combination of jogging and walking to start.
I’m trying to play the long game here.
I desperately want to get back with my Saturday morning running gang, but I know that too much too soon could set me back.
And the idea of my footwear not matching again means I’ll be gently putting one foot in front of the other for a while.
Source: Berkshire mont