I'll Be Sitting This Week 3/8

I don't believe in luck.
What I would rather call myself is a hapless victim of circumstance.
It keeps me humble.

Being as such, I finally get to the point in my running where miles are genuinely getting logged, I no longer have to force myself out the door, and I'm happily quickening my pace, when I involuntarily succomb to injury- naturally.

Sprinting so fiercely the ground beneath me is nothing more than a blur so there was no way I could foresee the obscure object in my blazing path causing my ankle to rotate in a tragic twist of fate- ehhh... no.

Effortlessly weaving through elite runners as I forged my way toward the lead, my only competition spies me from the corner of their eye and crudely and abhoringly sabotages my race and my leg with the ruthless vengence of a canadian ice hockey player- sending me hurdling to the ground- well.... not exactly.

See, as a "victim-of-circumstance" character, its never so glamorous. In fact, I can't even pin this one on the viscious snarling beastly yapper that's chased me at my heels through my neighborhood twice now. No my war-wound "benching" bares the name "bursitis."

Bur-what?! Bursitis. It sounds like the name of some kind of hideous unsightly blister or infection doesn't it? I googled my symptoms, searched high and low to find the culprit, nothing to be found. But a fortunate (I didn't say lucky) last minute time slot at a free physical therapist clinic at my local running store set up for an accurate diagnosis in less than 2 minutes from my walking through the door.

Turns out its a lack of adequate lubrication for the joint around my hip. (Those are the words of the PT after giving me the real diagnosis and- seeing my blank stare- changed tactics speaking slower and in my native language). Happens from overuse of the muscles, occurs deep between the overlaps of the hip abductors, IT band, and whatever else is in that general anatomical locale.

The RX called for thrice daily icings, a slue of poorly photocopied stretches to mimic, and........ dun, dun, DUN- no running for atleast a week!
The blank stare was promptly replaced with sudden panic that sent the PT into quick recovery mode as he stumbled "Its only a week, you'll be good as new, it shouldn't interfere too much...."

Awwwwwwwwwwwww, mannnnnnnnnnn.
So this is what happens when you stop jumping off the bandwagon, you get shoved off of it onto your butt by something so lame-sounding as "bursitis?" Boo.