Too Much, Too Soon

You guys on monday morning I woke up and I could hardly walk. At first I was confused because I couldn't remember having sprained my ankle and then it all came flooding back to me in a rush of; oh yea, I'm not 25 anymore. It was six in the morning and I'm not used to getting up that early. So as I stood there in my twisted t-shirt and pyjama shorts with all my weight on one foot, for a minute I thought "did I do something last night I should regret?" It would have been much better if it was one of those "early 20's injury." In sad reality, it was your classic case of "too much, too soon." As in, rewind to the morning before and it was sunny and glorious (finally) and I said to myself, "I shall go for a run." And I did. And when I felt a bit jiggly for the first few kilometres I said to myself "If you run faster and further, it will make up for the fact that you haven't run in about 3 months and you sat on the couch and ate nachos every time it snowed (which this winter was like every tuesday and wednesday)- kinda like a drinking "eating game" in which the objective is to drown your winter sorrows in cheese and sour cream.

When I got home from my run I felt "ON TOP OF THE WORLD" so I cleaned like a maniac on prozac and then when that was done I did the groceries and then after that I went to my weekly co-ed soccer game (in which I scored the game winner - #WINNING … what? we don't' do that hashtag anymore?)

Enter Monday morning and the ligaments in my one foot were screaming at me.

And then, the subsequent four days in which I've just (just) been able to wean myself off the escalator in the mall on the way to work.

Can I just admit something for a second? I have this weird thing if you're the person who gets the elevator on the ground floor,  and you only take it up one level up. I'm sorry I just can't. It makes me scowl every. single. time. Like the third floor, that's ok. The second though that's where I draw the line. IT'S ABOUT 20 stairs. I know, I've counted. I don't think that other people care like I do though because I've been apologizing all week when I get out of the elevator on the second floor and people are looking at me like "What? Did you fart?"

So this has been my lifestyle this week; the one in which I go for a run once and then suffer the claustrophobic fate of the elevator, until I can actually wear non-orthopedic shoes again.

Because; too much too soon. And because I've still got my winter "outfit" on and because I thought I could just go out for a casual run and smash it out old school - circa May 2013 when I ran a half-marathon.

Please excuse me while I go cry in my nachos.