There's Got to Be Easier Ways to Be Validated, But I'll Take What I Can Get

Say you're a totally amazing runner, known the world over for your excellence and badassitude. Perhaps you have been intensely training for a race, while wearing an outfit that looks exactly like this:

(Or maybe you're more into hot pink. Whatever, I don't mind.)

Now imagine you find your intense training interrupted by an unthinkable injury, the likes of which only a true athlete would ever face. What do you imagine that injury would be?

You are probably imagining yourself wearing a full body cast, which is the only thing keeping your bones organized ever since you ran so fast that you broke the sound barrier and all of your skin melted off. That is truly an awesome injury you've envisioned, reader. But I can do you one better.

Torn ligaments.

Where, you ask? Well, the injury is localized in a small area at the end of my leg, slightly below the ankle.

Well, more like below and in front of my ankle.

I suppose it would more properly be called my foot.

Really, we're talking about the... frontish part.... I guess...

OK FINE I SPRAINED MY DAMN TOE, OK?!? GOD!!

...But it's my big toe, which is very important, you know.

What had happened was this. Back in January I joined that running group I told you about, the one training for a 10 mile race in April. At that time I switched from normal running shoes which had always given me terrible AWFUL blood blisters, to these newfangled Aqua Sock-lookin things.

OH YES I DID. Because aside from being sick of those blisters, I just felt like I looked a little too dignified when I was running, you know? I thought, "How can I bring running, a typically athletic endeavor, down to my usual comfort level of intense dorkiness?" And the heavens opened and took a bunch of my money and then these shoes dropped into my lap.

At any rate, things were going swimmingly and I was blister-free and running faster and making friends and looking just as dorky as I like to. The only issue was that the sidewalks around here are kind of uneven and when I get tired I start to kind of drag my feet (and let's face it, even on a good day I can be a little clumsy), so toe-stubbing was a bit of an issue. The mostly innocuous toe-stubbing reached its climax in an epic week at the end of February that began when I stubbed my toe, fell, skinned my arm and knee, and scratched my ipod.

Even though falling and getting skinned up was painful and made me feel kind of stupid, it was also kind of exhilarating. I stood up all dirty and bloody and it felt like that time when I was 10 and I wrecked my bike and had to walk it all the way home like a warrior. Except this time I wasn't loudly sobbing.

Two days later, proud of my perseverance and confident that my toe-stubbing days were behind me, I joined the group for a 6 mile run. It was tired and having a bad run, and finally around mile 5.8 I stubbed my toe REALLY HARD on an uneven place in the sidewalk. Just whacked it real good against the concrete. This time I didn't fall and when my friend asked if I could keep running I said, "Yeah, I think so." Six steps later it was clear that the stabbing pain in my toe was not going to allow continued running, so I stopped and slowly hobbled on as everyone else sprinted past. It was a dark tenth of a mile back to the car, during which I contemplated the possibility of a broken toe, and the idea that I might not be able to finish training or run the race. Once again I was reminded of that time when I was 10 and I wrecked my bike, except this time it was the despair and the weeping I was thinking of. (But I DIDN'T cry, so there.)

When I finally got back to my car, I worriedly rushed home to take off my shoes and behold my surely monstrously damaged toe. But when I finally got a look at it, it looked mostly normal, except maybe a little more red and swollen than usual. What the hell, toe?!? I was honestly a little pissed at my digit for not looking as awful as it felt. After aggressively icing my foot, I considered going to the doctor, but everyone I talked to told me a doctor would just charge me for an x-ray and tell me to rest, so best to save the money and just not run for awhile.

Thus began an unreasonably stressful 3-week period during which my thoughts consisted mostly of "I should be running I'm getting out of shape what if I miss the race?!? But if I run my toe won't heal and I'll never walk properly again! But if I DON'T run I'll miss the race and be a failure forever... ow my toe, I think I'll eat some cookies." I ran once after I thought I was almost healed, but the pain in my toe came back, so finally I decided that I was willing to pay the price of a doctor's visit just to have someone tell me in an authoritative voice WHAT I OUGHT TO DO.

I made an appointment with the Sports Medicine department of Campus Health. I had intended to check with the receptionist to make sure my special case belonged in Sports Medicine (and not say, the Clumsy Spaz department), but she was all brisk on the phone and I didn't get a chance to explain to her that I wasn't a Real Athlete involved in Real Sports.

During the days leading up to my appointment, I became irrationally convinced that the Sports Medicine doctor was going to turn out to be my middle school gym teacher, and that he would remind me of that time I had to sit out the Presidential Fitness Test because my "ankle was sprained." (It really was, by the way. It's just that I didn't like using crutches, and plus that guy was a jerk.) As I sat in the Sports Medicine waiting room watching football players come and go, I became even more convinced that I'd be seeing Dr. Overweight Gym Teacher, MD only to receive a prescription of heckling and mockery.

But guess what, guys! Turns out, the doctor was a lady! And a very nice one, at that. And she showed me how to "buddy tape" my big toe to my second toe (so it can provide moral support, I assume), and gave me permission to take criminal amounts of ibuprofen. AND she did not laugh in my face when I told her I was training for a race. In fact, she told me that if I tape my toes together and wear normal shoes for the time being (welcome back, blisters!), I should still be able to run the race. Hooray!!

So, the moral of the story is this: Gym teachers seldom have the time or money to attend medical school.

No, wait. The moral is: I'm a real athlete, so suck it, Former Gym Teacher!!

No. Ok, it's probably this: If you think you've seriously injured yourself, just go to the doctor and get it checked out, even if your friend who's broken 8 out of 10 toes tries to tell you it's a waste of time. You shouldn't be taking medical advice from someone who's broken that many bones, anyway.