I never was a Scooby Doo fan. I’m from the Bugs Bunny/Chip ’n’ Dale/Tweety Bird (“I think I saw a puddy tat”) generation. But when I experience an “uh-oh” moment, I immediately think – and sometimes say – it in my best Scooby Doo voice.
If you’d tagged along on my walk/run Tuesday morning, you would have heard me. I can’t remember the exact moment, but somewhere along the 7.25 mile-route, I twisted my left ankle. It’s still a little twingy – is that a word? – so I’m postponing today’s four-miler until tomorrow.
Thank goodness for easy weeks, eh?
I wrapped it in an Ace bandage and hobbled around yesterday doing what I normally do. RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) was called for, but Compression and about an hour of Elevation was the best I could do.
It’s definitely not a sprain, and is much better today. The swelling is gone, as is most of the pain. If I weren’t in training I’d probably test it. But I sure don’t want a major setback with just eight weeks until race day.
My South Beach experiment has blown up in my face. What? You didn’t hear the explosion? You missed the flames erupting from the blown-out windows? While I can lose weight and still train eating meat-and-salad, meat-and-salad, meat-and-salad, I can’t do anything else. And while I don’t have a fulltime job or children to look after, I do have a house that is, as my mother used to say, “ready to walk.” And a mother-in-law who is still in the hospital and a President to elect.
Carbs = energy. Without carbs, I sleep nine, 10 or even more hours per night. I drag my ass through my day and sleep like I’ll never wake up. I’m tired when I rise in the morning, tired when I run, tired when I hit the sack at 8 p.m.
To celebrate leaving the Beach, I had a cup of Shredded Wheat with strawberries and milk for breakfast. (Carbs ≠ donuts, Belgian waffles or coffee cake. Does anyone eat coffee cake any more? My mother used to make the recipe on the back of the Bisquick box and invite the neighbors over for coffee and cake at least once a week.)
I guess my major weight-loss push has been pushed back to, um, the holiday season.