Holy crap! That HURT!

Things happen to me that don't happen to other people. My luck is strange, both good and bad. Today was...bad.

I woke up 35 minutes late and had to rush to get to work. I came out of the parking garage, walked a half-block, crossed a side street, took four steps along the sidewalk, and suddenly felt a horrible crunching sensation on the sole of my foot. And then it felt like I was standing on a lit charcoal briquette for just a second. I took a deep breath and attempted to resume my stride.

As soon as my foot hit the sidewalk, my situation became clear: Something was broken. I limped my way the remaining three blocks to the office. I hoped I could make it across the six-lane street with the 20-second walk signal.

At 12:30, I limped my way to physical therapy. Oddly enough, Monday is not my regular day, but there was a schedule glitch for this week, so I was moved to a different slot. Good timing. Toni took a look at my feet and let me know that my right foot was not broken, but torn. I tore the small tendon that connects muscle just behind the first metatarsal. Its proper name is the flexor hallucis brevis tendon.

Ouch. Walking. I was simply walking and while wearing good shoes, as a matter of fact.

I should be on crutches or wearing a boot-style walking cast, but since I feel like such a dork already, I refuse to add to that problem. Yes, that's right. I am eschewing medical treatment in the name of vanity.

There goes my dance career.