mike[space] dot net

Unbelievable. After taking a week off for my metatarsal (suspected, but unconfirmed), I started running again on Tuesday. The run went well, if a little slowly, and I figured that I would probably be able to make up for lost time in advance of the race next weekend.

Today, I head out for another run with Claire, and after a whole 368 meters, I turned my ankle worse than I think I've ever managed in my life. I fell to the floor like a sack of spuds, rolling around like an italian footballer that had been sneezed on. After hobbling home, I am now sitting in the armchair with my foot on a stool, the ankle alternately being wrapped in hot and cold compresses.

I think it's going to be ok, I was already able to put my weight on it by the time I got home. So today I will be keeping movement to a minimum (I hope Claire turns up with my lunch soon ;-), and with a bit of luck I'll be able to get out again soon.

But seriously, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear someone has put a curse on me. Or my shoes.