Dr. Google

Mode of distraction: Watching Roseanne's Nuts.
Distracting me from: Icing my ankle.

Since last Sunday, I've been consuming Advil and icing my foot in a way that brings me back to my early teen years as a professional gymnast. Only this time, there were no doctor visits to diagnose sprains or stress fracture hot spots. All I needed was Google. I typed in my symptoms ("...and waited for cancer to appear on the screen," Miranda Hobbes) and searched through a variety of articles (both Wikipedia and legitimate) until I determined my own medical diagnosis for the pain that has registered me a full-fledged gimp all week long: a high ankle sprain.

If it sounds serious, it's because it is. I suspect the sprain came about in a similar fashion as Kerri Strug's heroic vault 15 years ago:

 

...that, or it came from over-use. Which makes about as much sense as you would think. I have been committed to working out lately, but I've actually lessened my cardio because I was burning too many calories and hindering my muscles that are just itching to bulge out of my skin. All it took was a routine weekend run with my boyfriend and there was immediate pain in my ankle that quickly became more intense and less focused on just my ankle and took over my whole lower leg. Of course, I didn't actually stop until I was as far as possible (given my new, lesser endurance) from my apartment. That was a fun walk back (and not just for me).

Since then, my exercise has consistently only of a few floor sit-ups and some hobbled Badlands dancing and Union Square shopping, but both of which have resulted in some regret the next day and prolonged pain. All exaggerations aside, it's been a royal pain in the ass and has continued to keep me out of the gym and sitting on my ass. Which usually I like, but now I can see the years months of gym work start to evaporate off my very body.

But today should be my last day of rest. According to Dr. Google, high ankle sprains take a longer time to heal than traditional, trauma-induced ankle sprains (see? even worse than Kerri's little injury), so that gives me a good excuse to ditch cardio for a little while longer.

Time will tell if this pathetic replacement for a doctor's visit will come back to haunt me, seeing as I don't really know what's wrong or why it happened at all. All that really matters is that I'm in full dancing capacity for a wedding this weekend. Open bar + promises of a taco truck = no room for gimping.