An injured ankle needs rest, ice, compression, and elevation. The RICE method is actually a good plan for most injuries, and it makes a lot of sense, especially the rest part. My “doctor’s” best advice is always, “if hurts, don’t do it.” Well said, Dr. Dad. Well said indeed. I am not sure if my threshold for pain is higher than it should be or lower (I tend to believe I am pretty wimpy, but Kristin often points out that I will run when I have the stomach flu, when I have a cramps, when I’m hungover, when I didn’t sleep the night before, etc) so perhaps my need to try and run is just a more driving force than any other external factor.
My idea of rest is to give whatever ails me half a day off, and then see what I can do. So, I know what you’re thinking: that’s not actually rest. I get that. Really, I do. But as stated previously, I really suck at being injured. People always tell me that I’ll heal faster if I rest. But if I’m okay with being uncomfortable and unhealed for a little longer, assuming that means I can keep walking/running/swimming/soccering, then why engage in this whole rest activity? Especially since I’m darn good at compression, and mediocre at icing with elevation. Logical, to be sure.
Since I’m not the resting goddess I really should be, my doctor is very good about suggesting less stressful ways to rehab my ankle (such as increased swimming, or deep water running). And just before I left for Irvine this weekend, he threw down another idea over breakfast: Beach running. What luck that one friend I stayed with this break literally lives on. the. beach. Walk out the back door, and POW! Ultra fine sand, slurping waves, and happy dogs digging giant holes. My kind of running indeed.
With my ankle tightly wrapped, I hit the sand with zest. My first step, anyway. See, normally when one runs on the beach, they stick to the firmly packed, was recently wet sand. But in ankle-rehab land, it was suggested I try the softer powder. So steps two through two hundred thousand were more like shuffling sluggishly through the sand, rather than running. I was a sweaty, misty mess by the end my slog (because jog just wouldn’t define it).
And my ankle did not hurt at all.
Thus, it’s time to find some sand in the east bay. Alameda beach, perhaps?