Late in the fall I started jogging. I immediately loved the burn in my legs, the strength in my lungs, the pounding of my heart. I stayed with it every day for three weeks until I threw out my back picking up my son. It took another three weeks before I could walk without wincing and by this point the air was beyond cool- it was icy- and snow had begun to fall. I said to myself, "Screw this. I'll pick up where I left off in the Spring."
Well, today felt like the start of Spring for me. After Noelle and Dryden, freshly scented with lavender and Colgate, were nestled deep in their beds I got dressed to try round two with the entity known as Running. When I go out walking or running, I do so down the dead end street that we live on. I opened my back door and stepped out into the crisp, dark night. I took my first few steps towards my committment with jogging and then I stepped on a deck-of-cards sized patch of ice (seriously, our deck is huge, 24' x 24', and I step on the only scrap of ice.) Whoosh! Right on my plump bum. I said a prayer of thanks for the extra padding. I looked around and said another prayer of thanks that it was ebony black out and that none of our neighbours could have seen that little display of poise and grace. I got up- let's be honest here, very slooowly- and winced. Turns out I twisted my ankle. So my jog turned into a slow and painful 20 minute walk instead.
Here I sit, with a bag of frozen peas on my raised ankle, sipping on a Pepsi Max, thinking to myself, "I thought you were going to try power yoga? WTF?"