This morning it is a beautiful day here and Tom said, "what do you want to do today?" I looked out the window and thought, well, here comes another day of sitting with my leg propped up out on the deck. But I said, "First we'll start with a hike up Mount Tom, and we'll have left the kayaks down at the Wood River, and we'll kayak down the Wood and at the take out we'll hop on our road bikes, ride sixty, come back, have lunch, go out for a six mile trail run, then, when that's done, hop on the mountain bikes and ride for an hour. Sound good?"

I try not to be down or be a bummer and for the most part, I'm okay. But it's hard to spend a nice day sitting.

Yesterday we brought our alpacas for an educational thing at a local farmer's market and I could not engage with the crowd or kids much. I did get up a few times and hobble over to answer a question but for the most part I sat. And sat. And sat. My poor a**.

As week two of recovery comes to a close, here are my observations:

1. I don't have as much pain, for the most part. Unless my foot rotates left. Then it hurts badly. Sometimes I can't avoid it turning or me turning on it. Rotating to the right works fine. I can wiggle my toes fine and flex my calf fine. If I lift my leg straight up the quad muscle seems to pull on a tendon or ligament that irritates the break, so I have a tough time raising it up to prop it. I have to use my hand to grab the velcro tab in front. I can lift the foot toward the knee and push it away like pointing the foot with no pain but some stiffness.

2. Muscle condition: In two weeks, the lower leg muscles are dwindling.

3. Crutches / movement - I have become an ace on the crutches. I can put some weight on the cast and so have been working on doing a little of that but not a lot. It feels strange and not straight when I stand on it, and I don't want the bones to grow wrong! That's probably being paranoid but... anyhow I can do some "walking" but resort to the crutches mostly. I have callouses on the meat of my hand where the thumb comes in. I thought about wearing bike gloves but that would look so eighties.

4. Clothes: I have worn more skirts in the past two weeks than in the past two years.

Next week, my family was all supposed to meet out West at a big lodge we rented. I was all set to go with the plane tickets and originally had a bike rented, and some hikes planned with my brother. After the break, I resigned myself that once I get there, my vacation will basically consist of seeing the local sites with the less mobile part of my family. Well, on Thursday, my Dad (who has alzheimer's) was out in his garden and was bitten by a copperhead. He's been in the hospital since. My first inclination was to fly down to see him but this was no a realistic plan so my sister flew down instead and she is doing a great job of being a help to my Mom. Anyhow my Mom is hard pressed to keep up the vacation plans and I have spent the last two days frustrated about this. I am not sure why I am so frustrated by it but I feel like there is no way he is going to recover in time for them to go, healthy as he is (besides the AZ.) I can't control everything so this week has been a lesson in learning to be humble and not trying to control everything. Or be right all the time.

My Dad wrestled with a Copperhead

Okay, not really.

But yesterday, my Dad was out by the pool pump messing around, and was bitten on the hand by a Copperhead.

At first, I did not freak out. This is the Captain. He can do anything. He's tough.

But, he's also stubborn. And he has Alzheimer's. Well, according to my mother, it's "just dimentia."

With his Just dimentia, he is confused. He doesn't understand why he is in the hospital.

When I talked to him on the phone, he seemed panicked when I asked him about the hospital. When I joked with him about the hospital, when I said, "Hey Dad, a snakebite, that's pretty badass. So are you all settled in for the night?" the response was a shrill sounding command for me to check my resources because he didn't know what the hell I was talking about.

It made me feel like I was twelve, caught in a lie.

And frankly, it scared me.

It's amazing about how with family, the stuff that you feel from a tone or just a word is so amazingly tied to emotion. Talking to my sister on the phone, I felt myself become tense and irritated when she mentioned going out to "take care of the snake." When I said that that task was better left to an exterminator, she reminded me with a haughty little laugh that I should remember she used to work at a nature preserve and knows a thing or two about snakes. This really got my hackles up. I am not sure why.

My other sister flies down tonight. This is a sister who never flies. That is how serious this is.

And my other sister and two brothers are mildly allowing me to handle flight control, which is not a bad thing but again, there's that weird family thing - that "underneath lies the truth" and the truth is a big pile of resentments lying coiled like a snake waiting to bite.

Week 2 of Broken Ankle Recovery

Round up of Week 1: Well, I learned a lot last week. I learned that teenagers are in their own worlds, but they are also very generous. I learned that my husband has the patience of a Saint. I learned that it is a good idea to group items together for efficiency of portability. I learned that an optimistic spirit is definitely helpful during a period of injury. I learned that pain is subjective. It hurts more to get up from resting than to tackle stairs after not having rested all day.

Week two goals:

1. Try to get my shit done at work without the distraction of ME.

2. Rest ankle while at work

3. Use "walking" motion while walking on crutches, even though it is slower than lifting the leg.

Today I took the bus for the first time in a week. It was interesting. I was fine. I thought it would be a big deal. Walking from Kennedy Plaza to the office was a little tough, but nothing I can't handle. It's hot out.

Pain:

I am trying to use only ibuprofin today. The pain seems to have lessened somewhat. I still have pain when my foot is moved from side to side or during the "putting on a sock" motion, making it hard to dress. I have little pain while putting weight on it. Nights are still a challenge. The couch works better than the bed.

Okay, these are really boring posts, but I thought it would be good to track all of this.

A fidgeter's guide to broken ankle recovery

While out riding my mountain bike in Big River with Tom on Sunday, about 10 mles from the house, I did a stupid thing. Coming up a rise, I tried clipping out, failed, and fell on my ankle. Hoping it was merely a sprain, and not knowing exactly where we were, we hiked out of the woods (well, limped really) and coasted / walked the tote road up to route 3, where we headed home into a headwind up Big River Hill. At the top, thinking it would put us closer to home, I decided to shortcut us down Congdon Mill Road. Unfortunately the bridge is out at the bottom of the long hill there, and so we had to gingerly cross on the broken bridge with our bikes and out through the poison ivy. We stopped and soaked my foot in the stream. It was rather beautiful, actually. Actually the whole ride was great up to the point that I fell on my ankle.

As I was falling, I was thinking, this is not a good angle for my foot to be in. It felt like slow motion. My foot was bent out in the motion of clipping out away from the bike. As I landed, I heard and felt a *pop* and knew immediately that was not a good sound. I hollered ahead "something popped!" and howled in pain. I was on my butt holding my foot and taking my gloves off and trying not to cry from pain. Tom came back and immediately took my shoe and sock off and asked me what happened. I very quickly told him because my brain was already thinking ahead to what I was going to have to do. It was sort of like in Groundhog Day - the way he rushes through the scene because he knows what is going to happen already. Well, my brain was thinking in the same way - I knew I had to get up and move, that no one was coming to get me. That Tom couldn't carry me and two bikes out. I could hear him thinking "what does she want me to do?" and I weighed the different options. Option 1: Go on ahead and see if this trail comes out at the dirt road. Then come back. Option 2: Let me try to walk. Option 3: Call for help.

It was very hot and humid. I wiggled my toes. I could move my ankle. Well, I thought, that probably means it was just a sprain. "I heard it pop, though" I said to Tom, and he winced sympathetically. "What do you want to do?" he said. "Let me see if I can get up. I have to walk. I mean, there's nothing else I can do."

I tried to stand. It hurt.

I sat back down. "Go ahead and see how close the dirt road is."

He did and was back within five minutes. "We have about a mile of up and down trail before the road. Remember where that orange piece of plastic was? That's where this comes out."

I was finishing up tying a makeshift splint with my headband and some sticks. I got my sock and shoe back on over that and tried standing up again.

Be it that I was in shock, or just in this Groundhog day altered state, I got it in my stubborn head that we were going out. I could put weight on my foot if I did not turn it in. So I got a head start with Tom's hand, then limped cautiously, then with a little more confidence, and finally was able to limp along pretty well. Tom found me a walking stick and that helped. We got out to Burnt Sawmill Road (we hoped) which is a dirt trail running straight through the park. I suggested that he take off and see if it came out to route 3. Judging by the shadows the sun left, I figured if he went left he'd be heading North. Of course, I was wrong. It was 12:44 on June 20th, one of the longest days of the year. The shadows were still from the sun being in the East. So he headed out and I followed slowly, coasting carefully and sometimes getting off and walking (ouch!)

I did encounter two people who very helpfully told me that route three was behind me. I patiently waited for Tom at a cross roads and he finally came back after meeting with the same people. We turned around and headed up the road. We hit sand a couple of times and I had some painful moments, but all in all it went well and we got out and home within a couple of hours.

The past two days have been frustrating because I learned I cannot bike, swim or hike or anything for the next couple of months.

The novelty of this experience is wearing off.

Today is the second run in week 1 of 18 weeks of marathon training. The marathon is in Newport this Fall, October 17th. I am trying not to get too psyched up about it. I am trying to live in the moment. I am trying to be patient with myself and accept each phase of my training. I am trying to accept the fact that I am a fit person who is training for a marathon. Without laughing.

Although I have done some running since the half, I haven't done much. The focus has been on cycling - preparing for Tour de Cure - and work. And Zoë. And before you know it, Tour de Cure is done, Zoë is in the last week of Junior Year of High School, Tom and I have been married four years, and I am training for a marathon. Blink.

My father's dimentia progresses and my Mom claims frustration and disappointment daily. I know how hard it is on her. It is exasperating for me because I feel quite helpless.

So I train.

We're going to Montana. Well, I am. Tom can't go, he's in school. Zoë will be in pre-college. I love and am proud of them both and am actually looking forward to a week vacation where I can be ANDY again, and not be the cruise director / concerned wife (are you having a good time? Is my family driving you nuts?) or mom. I just get to be me. Daughter, sister. That's role enough for me. And each day I can wake in my own bed and meet the dawn and start the coffee and go out for a run and pretend I am in an alternate universe.

Not that this one is bad.

But it's fun to vacate. That's what vacation is all about.

And I will train.

Hopefully, by then I will believe I am an athlete, training for a marathon.