The agony of R.I.C.E.
I just found a great online running tool: MapMyRun.com. You can use it to outline your running route on Google Maps and it will tell you how far you’ve run. For some people, who know their distance, it may not be a big deal. But for me, who knows how long I run, it’s cool to finally calculate my distance and chart courses. I’m up to four miles every other day (which is the cool way to say 3.85 miles). Even if you don’t run, you can still use it for walking, biking, or…skipping.
Yesterday was a running day, but I didn’t run. It wasn’t because I was lazy, because it was windy (like Santa Ana windy, but coming from the ocean), or because of the lunar eclipse. I didn’t run yesterday because I sprained my right ankle last Saturday.
I knew it was going to happen. My roommate and his friend were heading out for an early morning game of Twenty One at the basketball courts on Magnolia Avenue. They asked me to join, and normally I would have given them an excuse. “I’m too hung over.” “I want to do a little reading.” “I’m going to run later.” I love playing basketball, but I prefer to shoot around alone. Shooting around is fun and relaxing, there’s no one to contest your shot, and you don’t have to worry about game pressure. Twenty One isn’t quite three-on-three, but it’s competitive and challenging, and I hate being last.
I hadn’t played basketball in months, and the urge built quickly inside me. Just before I agreed to go I thought to myself, “I bet I’ll come back with my ankle all fucked up.” And I did just that. Halfway through our second game I jumped for a rebound and landed on the side of my right foot, overextending the muscles in my ankle.
It isn’t my first sprained ankle, and it definitely won’t be my last. The first time I suffered a sprain was in first grade. It was after school, or maybe on a Sunday, and I was running through the backyards of my street, playing with the neighborhood gang (no…not like the Bloods and Crips). My foot dropped into a small hole concealed in the grass and twisted awkwardly. It hurt like hell, and I remember sitting down, whimpering, hoping my mom or dad may happen to pass between the houses and help me home. After about five minutes I gave up hope and hobbled home.
Thus began my first experience with R.I.C.E. therapy: Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. Here’s how it works: You lie down, raise your foot above the level of your heart with pillows, bind your ankle with a supporting wrap, and apply an ice pack to the affected area for 20 minutes at a time. It’s cool if you’re into being a couch potato. I wanted to be outside, running on healthy feet, but instead had to sit around and do nothing, biding my time until the stretched muscles had recovered.
“Nothing” is exactly what I’ve done since returning home Saturday morning. I had a beautiful, warm, sunny Southern California three day weekend to enjoy, and I ended up laying on my bed with my foot raised on folded towels, reading. I did blaze through David Sedaris’ Naked and started reading his recent collection, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, but I wanted to be down by the beach, walking along the PCH, and running. I was supposed to run on Saturday and Monday, as well as yesterday, but my temporary gimp keeps me from doing anything too strenuous while the muscles heal. I’m fine with it, and I’d been thinking about taking a break for a week or two, anyway. Now I have a good excuse to do it.
When I get home from work I usually do a little work out before walking along the beach or going for my run (of 3.85 miles). I have to be on my feet and outside, passing the time before I eat. But this week I’ve sat at home and read. My ankle is healing quickly, but I don’t want to jump back into my regular schedule and reaggravate the ligaments. I’ve scoured the internet for advice and tips on how and when to ease back into my activities. There are many discussion boards and forums with injured runners looking for similar advice, and the recommendations are as unique as everyone’s usernames. One person says not to take ibuprofen, another suggests easing back into a pre-injury routine (duh), and someone else says a sprained ankle is perfectly good to run on. A man on one board wrote something I thought was funny: “…it is not a good idea to get medical advi[c]e from a runner. About all we know how to do is hurt ourselves!”
I discovered that most doctors recommend a two or three week rest from running. What!? Two or three weeks? Ugh. I guess it’s not so bad, since I’m already about a week into it. But being inactive is annoying as hell. I need my endorphins.
Yesterday was a running day, but I didn’t run. It wasn’t because I was lazy, because it was windy (like Santa Ana windy, but coming from the ocean), or because of the lunar eclipse. I didn’t run yesterday because I sprained my right ankle last Saturday.
I knew it was going to happen. My roommate and his friend were heading out for an early morning game of Twenty One at the basketball courts on Magnolia Avenue. They asked me to join, and normally I would have given them an excuse. “I’m too hung over.” “I want to do a little reading.” “I’m going to run later.” I love playing basketball, but I prefer to shoot around alone. Shooting around is fun and relaxing, there’s no one to contest your shot, and you don’t have to worry about game pressure. Twenty One isn’t quite three-on-three, but it’s competitive and challenging, and I hate being last.
I hadn’t played basketball in months, and the urge built quickly inside me. Just before I agreed to go I thought to myself, “I bet I’ll come back with my ankle all fucked up.” And I did just that. Halfway through our second game I jumped for a rebound and landed on the side of my right foot, overextending the muscles in my ankle.
It isn’t my first sprained ankle, and it definitely won’t be my last. The first time I suffered a sprain was in first grade. It was after school, or maybe on a Sunday, and I was running through the backyards of my street, playing with the neighborhood gang (no…not like the Bloods and Crips). My foot dropped into a small hole concealed in the grass and twisted awkwardly. It hurt like hell, and I remember sitting down, whimpering, hoping my mom or dad may happen to pass between the houses and help me home. After about five minutes I gave up hope and hobbled home.
Thus began my first experience with R.I.C.E. therapy: Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. Here’s how it works: You lie down, raise your foot above the level of your heart with pillows, bind your ankle with a supporting wrap, and apply an ice pack to the affected area for 20 minutes at a time. It’s cool if you’re into being a couch potato. I wanted to be outside, running on healthy feet, but instead had to sit around and do nothing, biding my time until the stretched muscles had recovered.
“Nothing” is exactly what I’ve done since returning home Saturday morning. I had a beautiful, warm, sunny Southern California three day weekend to enjoy, and I ended up laying on my bed with my foot raised on folded towels, reading. I did blaze through David Sedaris’ Naked and started reading his recent collection, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, but I wanted to be down by the beach, walking along the PCH, and running. I was supposed to run on Saturday and Monday, as well as yesterday, but my temporary gimp keeps me from doing anything too strenuous while the muscles heal. I’m fine with it, and I’d been thinking about taking a break for a week or two, anyway. Now I have a good excuse to do it.
When I get home from work I usually do a little work out before walking along the beach or going for my run (of 3.85 miles). I have to be on my feet and outside, passing the time before I eat. But this week I’ve sat at home and read. My ankle is healing quickly, but I don’t want to jump back into my regular schedule and reaggravate the ligaments. I’ve scoured the internet for advice and tips on how and when to ease back into my activities. There are many discussion boards and forums with injured runners looking for similar advice, and the recommendations are as unique as everyone’s usernames. One person says not to take ibuprofen, another suggests easing back into a pre-injury routine (duh), and someone else says a sprained ankle is perfectly good to run on. A man on one board wrote something I thought was funny: “…it is not a good idea to get medical advi[c]e from a runner. About all we know how to do is hurt ourselves!”
I discovered that most doctors recommend a two or three week rest from running. What!? Two or three weeks? Ugh. I guess it’s not so bad, since I’m already about a week into it. But being inactive is annoying as hell. I need my endorphins.
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