Y Talk: Apparently I Was Wrong about the Deer by Michelle Bell

If you follow my writing adventures you may remember that in my last blog I talked about my encounter with a deer and how it absolutely meant I was supposed to run a marathon this fall. I know—it makes perfect sense.

That was in June. Just a few shorts weeks after I penned those words, I sustained one of the only sports injuries I can remember in my 40+ years of life.

I play wallyball weekly with several of my colleagues here at the Y. I have been playing volleyball competitively since I was in middle school, but it wasn’t until a few years ago that I started playing this variation on the game I love. On this particular day I jumped to either block or hit a ball at the net—I can’t really remember—and when I came down, my foot landed on another player’s shoe instead of the floor. I rolled my ankle like I’ve never rolled it before and immediately knew I wasn’t going to be able to shake it off and keep playing.

Paging Dr. Bell

I self-assessed my injury to be a severe sprain and self-prescribed myself to rest and ice it when I could. Perhaps you remember that I have three active kids. The middle to end of July is when swimming and travel softball seasons are coming to an end. That means championship swim meets and softball nationals. Resting and icing my ankle usually happened at the end of the day when my ankle was swollen beyond belief. My daughter would comment every night, “How’s the cankle?” and laugh. I have no idea where she gets this lack of compassion.

After a few weeks, thoughts started to creep into my mind that maybe I should get a real doctor to take a look at the ankle. I mean, I know I have watched a lot of Grey’s Anatomy, but maybe my self-diagnosis was incorrect. But as soon as the kids’ sports seasons ended we were heading to the beach for vacation—our first real vacation in several years—and I certainly was not going to be wearing a boot or be on crutches for that. So I put off the whole doctor thing and had a blast at the beach with family, friends and my cankle.

Real Doctors Know More Than Me

When we returned from the beach, flag football practice started for my youngest son. The first week I walked on the gravel path around the perimeter of the property where he practiced. The second week I walked and then decided I was going to run a short stretch back to his practice field. I could not even make it three strides before I was almost in tears from the pain.

The next morning I called the doctor. After some x-rays and assessment, the doctor was 99 percent certain that I actually had broken my ankle six weeks earlier. The hairline fracture was now healed, but because I had changed my gait to accommodate the injury, I had developed a pretty severe case of tendonitis. The real doctor prescribed a brace and physical therapy.

Having never been severely injured before, I also never have gone through any kind of physical therapy so I had no idea what to expect. The therapist took a look and quickly diagnosed me with tendonitis in my posterior tibial tendon. I had severe losses in both range of motion and muscle strength in my left ankle.

After a massage and manipulation of my ankle, we got right into some stretches and exercises. The therapist told me to do them three times a day. So I did. Apparently this isn’t always the case with PT patients. Each time I went back, he added a new exercise or bumped up the intensity of a current one. The time it took to do the exercises and stretches at home steadily increased, but I was determined to get better so I kept doing them.

After several weeks of continuing this routine, I was discharged last week. My therapist went on and on about how pleased he was with my quick improvement and attributed it to my dedication to doing those exercises on my own. I honestly don’t understand why some people choose not to do the same. I did not like being in pain or having limited options for physical activity. So if doing those exercises meant I could be pain-free and get back to running and playing volleyball, I was all for it. My conclusion is that physical therapy works—but only if you are willing to work.

I’m still only running about 15-20 minutes at a clip right now, so the plan to run a marathon this fall is officially a bust. I will have to see how things go as I increase my mileage before I decide if I will train for a marathon in the spring and still have a shot at qualifying for the JFK 50 Mile next November.

Before I got hurt I was really struggling to enjoy running. Maybe this injury was meant to make me appreciate it again. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? Only time will tell.

-by Michelle Bell, Marketing Director