Fish Out of Water

I've been running lately. I know...most people think this is crazy. But it actually keeps me from going crazy. And I've been putting the miles on my running shoes. I'm not ready to run any marathons, but my weekly mileage hasn't been too pitiful.

I had gotten into a nice groove of running 4-5 days during the work week and getting up early on Sundays to do a long run before church. A couple of Sundays ago, I accomplished 13 miles. And believe me, my legs and feet paid me back for the rest of that day and all of the following Monday.

I expected this, and didn't think much of it, until late Tuesday, when I realized that my legs and left foot had gotten over their irritation with me, but my right foot was still holding a grudge. It was swollen and every step made me wince in pain. This prompted a trip to the MD, where I bought myself a foot x-ray and a diagnosis of stress fracture.

"No weight-bearing exercise for at least two weeks," the PA told me.

I waited expectantly for the prescription that I expected should be forthcoming...for Zoloft, or Prozac, or Xanax.

In this moment, I was reminded of the line from the movie Legally Blonde, where Reese Witherspoon says, "Exercise releases endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don't shoot their husbands." (Not that shooting Brian was ever on my radar...just needed to put that in print...:o) )

But the sentiment is true about exercise, so I figured if I wasn't going to release endorphins for the next two weeks, the least the doctor could do for me is to give me some chemical seratonin boosters.

Not so much.

So I asked, "What kind of exercise can I do?" I was hoping for a green light for biking, elliptical machine, even stationary biking. But no. The dreaded proclamation came:

"You can swim."

A little history, here--I can swim. As in when-I'm-in-a-pool-I-can-keep-myself-afloat-with-something-that-resembles-swimming. But I have never really been a fan. Probably this goes back to the fact that it took me nearly three years to pass Red Cross Level One swimming lessons when I was a kid because I didn't want to swim the length of the pool. I also really like to breathe when I exercise, and I want to be able to let my mind wander. I don't want to have to concentrate on staying afloat so that the 15 year old lifeguard at the Y who is half my size doesn't have to ruin her hair by jumping in to save me.

So my choices boiled down to "take two weeks off" which my jeans and my resting heart rate of 55 were not going to be happy about, or dig out the swimming suit and goggles and make a fool of myself at the Y.

And to add to this decision, I agreed to run a half-marathon in November with my dear friend, Some Kind of Jennifer. And if she can be hit by a car on her scooter and a week later plan to run a marathon, I certainly am not going to leave her hanging at the starting line on Nov. 21.

So I'm swimming. I'm still not a fan. It's way worse than running on a track and even worse than running on a treadmill. Back and forth, back and forth. I've never had an hour pass so slowly!

But it does have its upside(s): 1. At least my cardio-vascular system will remember what a workout feels like when I can get back on the road; 2. I'm sore in some places that I really really needed to be sore.

Now the funny part in all of this?? I asked my fifteen year old ballet dancer if she'd like to join me and swim, too. Misery loves company.

Please note, this kid has danced 3+ days a week for at least 4 years now. She lives in leotards. Her response?

"No thanks. I wouldn't be caught dead in a swimming suit."