Because I am 50, I went to the podiatrist today.
Ok, not really. I went to the podiatrist because I've still been having some ankle pain from the Nike marathon. I finally scheduled an appointment last week because I was TERRIFIED of being sidelined now that I signed up to do another marathon.
Because I am a hypochondriac, there probably was no real reason for worry.
That statement is more true than the first one I made, but actually I think it was a good thing that I went. The podiatrist I randomly selected from Google Maps turned out to be a runner, which is always good in my book. I like it when someone in their profession can actually have some insight in the activities of their patients. (However, that is not the sort of thing I discuss in great detail with my gynecologist, although I suppose you could)
Basically, I have strained my Peroneus, which is a big muscle in my ankle. If I had done too much after the marathon, I could have seriously screwed it up, but luckily I am a cautious, somewhat sane individual (with somewhat sane-er friends who forbid me from running) and I did not do that.
The solution?
Stretching.
Oh, the irony...
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