New Moments

With lots of December rains in Southern California, I looked forward to hiking along rushing creeks and searching out waterfalls during my winter break from work. The saddest story is what could have been, right? A day or so before Christmas Eve, I crept back into the house after a morning in the “man cave” with an armful – a few books and various loose papers. It was raining and wearing klutzky winter-type boots, I stumbled through the back door and quickly turned toward the kitchen table to set my things down. I didn’t see, nor did I remember, the stacked cases of bottled waters placed there the night before. Of course, I hit this stack completely by surprise and stumbled head first to the hardwood floor. Instinct was to protect my arm, the one I injured on the 17th hiking back from Holy Jim Falls. Without using my arms to brace I made quite a crash to the kitchen floor. I recall a 3 point contact fall with my left knee hitting first, next I believe, came my left hip (or that general area) and then finally the left side of my face, just above my ear, crashed into a plastic jug of laundry detergent on the floor. I saved my arm though.

So, that stumble was a stunner – nice icing on the cake to this strained body. With help from my husband getting off the kitchen floor, I went straight for the ibuprofen. Then I continued with my “spring” cleaning until the evening when I stretched my leg forward and felt a pop in my left (overworked, injured) calf. I dropped to the floor after that. I guess it was time to stop.

Ends up, I tore my left calf muscle which the doctor said should take six weeks to heal (I’m about half way there!) Of course, all was not lost. This did occur during the holidays so I was preoccupied some. Christmas time was filled with feasts and celebrations. And then we ended the year with another feast that lasted from the evening into the next day. The new year however, came and went without much fanfare as it has with me for many years. I don’t make New Years’ resolutions. Ever. I don’t need a new year to start over. All I need is a new day (which is why I love mornings so much!) I don’t even really need a new day. All I need is a new moment. So, with my leg out of commission, I’ll be using other ways to focus and grow. I’m feeling good about that right now, optimistic in fact, by the possibility of new moments.

Happy New Year!
   

The Run that Broke my Arm

Friday morning, about 3AM, I fell ill. I don’t know if it was food poisoning or a stomach bug but with body aches (though no fever), I vomited throughout the day. This thing plagued me for a full twenty-four hours. Saturday arrived with welcomed recuperation -- I slept off and on all day. Sunday, I awoke abruptly at 5AM. I had been dreaming that I was running down stairs. I flew down the steps, moving faster than I could ever imagine. Flight after flight, my feet never tangling, my step never pausing. And then finally, I hit the ground floor. I jumped down onto the road and ran up a small incline toward an underground parking lot, when WHAM. Someone took me out. With no warning whatsoever I was incapacitated, unable to see, unable to even move or fight back. I remember thinking to myself, “Oh my God, it is happening to me.” That’s when I woke, suddenly and with dread. I sat about in my pajamas a bit traumatized from the nightmare and drank two cups of coffee before finally packing my gear and heading out the door. With Calico 30k a little over a month away, I stubbornly refused to let illness or nightmare derail training. I was already behind. My destination: Trabuco Canyon, an hour's drive, for a long run (which I planned to increase two miles from 12 to 14).

Two pleasant surprises awaited me in Trabuco Canyon. First, the Forest Service paved a small portion of the rocky off-road terrain and graded much of the remaining 5 mile off-road portion. That made for some smoother driving and cut several minutes off the canyon drive (perhaps as much as fifteen). And then, two beautiful wild turkeys greeted me at the Holy Jim lot. A female and a male puffed up and gobbling, fluttered and danced their way about the dirt. The female, though smaller than her beau, but pretty enormous for a bird nonetheless, jumped up onto a truck (the same make and model as my truck), and landed on the hood with a loud clang that echoed up the canyon. The owners who prepped for a hike to Santiago Peak, laughed hysterically at that. I nervously chuckled along (relieved she didn't jump onto my truck).

I ran off on my own into the lonesome forest. Making my way out past the cabins, I came up on two hunters, their rifles secured to their bodies for the trip down as I headed up Holy Jim Trail (which I've often referred to as HolyCow or HolyCrap because of it's relentless climb). A fast walking hiker passed me at about mile 2.5. Two or three mountain bikers passed me, but overall the infamous Holy Jim Trail remained quiet. Ice cold water flowed in the creeks, something I have not seen in a while here. The weather was chilly, but I warmed up at about mile three, enough to take off the gloves, beanie and jacket. I took my time running up that five mile switchback. That’s not to say the trek was not strenuous -- I always find running up Holy Jim difficult, no matter my condition. 

I felt good finally reaching The Main Divide -- five miles in and I had accomplished much of my elevation gain. The shade and cool breeze tucked in at Bear Springs did wonders for my attitude. Chatting briefly with two hikers, I took off on The Main Divide at a comfortable trot, looking forward to views of Orange County on one side, and San Bernardino and Riverside counties on the other. I caught sight of Lake Matthews, and then later, Lake Elsinore along the way. A man driving his truck to Santiago Peak stopped to chat with me but I saw no others on the long, lonely road.

When The Main Divide wound to the eastern side, puddles of ice partially blocked my passage. As usual, I delighted in cracking the ice with as stomp as I passed. I felt like a child in a giant playground --  especially with all the branches strewn about from the last storm. It was as if someone had already played here. To make it even better, my injured foot felt good, despite the miles thus far.  

At mile ten, I turned off of The Main Divide and headed down the steep and rocky switch-back called West Horsethief.  I gingerly made my way, careful not to trip on the fist-sized rocks that in the past have pulled me to the ground. I breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the bottom where Trabuco Creek flows beneath a thick canopy of trees. From this spot, I only had about 2.5 miles left-- most of it downhill and fairly runnable, though technical. I picked up my pace. I was so close to the truck now, I was finished as far as I was concerned. I ran a faster still, eager to end this difficult run and rest. I tripped twice over loose rocks on Trabuco Trail, each time thinking I was going down for sure. That should have been my warning. I didn't take heed. 

WHAM. Just like my nightmare, I didn’t see it coming. With no warning whatsoever I was incapacitated. I don't recall tripping. I only felt the impact -- my body slamming face first onto the rocks. When you land in the dirt, there's some give. Different story for boulders. There was no give, nor roll on my part. Nor did this fall seem to occur in slow motion as most my falls do. I didn't have time to realize that I was falling. I felt blindsided. Just WHAM: Body slammed against the rocks. The impact was so forceful and violent, I couldn't focus on anything, time or place. I knew that I was in a head-on collision. That's all I knew. Pain radiated from all sides but I couldn't pinpoint injuries. Instinctively, I coiled up on the Cleveland National Forest floor. Panic quickly set in. I felt like my breaths somehow took in, or processed the pain bombarding right then. My breathing quickened in response to take it all in. Faster and faster until I felt as if I might run out of breath. Purposely I slowed my breath to match my back and forth rocking. Then I gradually stretched myself out so that I lay face down, sprawled out the width of the trail. After some time like this, I faced the fact that no one was around, nor was anyone going to happen by and help. I was alone, and I had to handle this myself. 

It seemed like I lay there on the rocks for quite a while. I wouldn't have been surprised if a half hour plus passed. But when looking at my Garmin data, it appears that only six minutes passed from the moment I stopped moving forward, up until the moment I began moving again. First thing, after I got my breathing down, I grabbed my phone from my pocket. It flew out of my hand and landed beside me within reach. Zero bars. Somehow, in about six minutes, I calmed myself down and faced the fact that I would need to get up and start moving else spend the night in a cold, dark canyon. I pushed myself up from the ground into a sitting position. And then using just my legs, I stood and moved forward one slow step at a time. 

I felt nauseated back on my feet. My legs ached, my arms ached. I didn’t check for blood. I didn’t check for anything (I didn’t even check to see if I hit my head, which looking back, I can say that fortunately I did not). My main goal was to get out of there. I thought of nothing else. In the back of my mind I knew that I needed to get myself to the doctor.  Something wasn’t right in my left arm, it felt weird, it felt wrong, deep within. My right arm ached too. But it wasn’t the same. It didn’t have that inner-wobbly pain that my left arm had.

My sobbing stopped pretty quickly realizing the feat that lay ahead. Two miles remained of mainly rocky single track and then some truck trail before I could drive myself out of there. To get myself back I merely practiced the same technique I have always used on the trails -- that is, one foot in front of the other. I stepped over fallen branches, and I kept my left arm bent and draped across my abdomen. I could not bare the pain in any other position. I tried to run for short distances, but the jarring to my body, especially to my left arm, proved too painful.

I can tell you that this was a dang long two miles. But one foot in front of the other eventually got me back to my truck. It always does. The turkeys greeted me, gobbling loudly. I tore the pack off my back as quickly as possible -- like ripping off a band aid. Then I made a b-line to the only spot that I ever get service in this canyon by the trashcan under the posted trail map. With one bar, I texted my husband, told him that I was hurt and asked for the address to my nearest urgent care. With sporadic cell service, I couldn't wait. The one-handed drive out of the canyon was hell, with my truck bouncing about the road, even with the new grading. The nice new paving added some relief but then it was back to dirt road for a few more miles. 

Out of the canyon, I phoned home and decided to go ahead and drive there. I wanted to see if I could make it through the night, then maybe see the doctor on Monday. It didn’t work out that way. As soon as my husband saw the expression on my face, he drove me to the nearest ER (in Laguna Beach). Turns out, I did break my left arm, not a bad break, but bad enough to cause a good deal of pain.  I have a radial head fracture (my elbow), and my arm is in a splint cast.  All other wounds on my arms and legs are superficial. Am I bummed? Quite. But it is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do about it, as I often say to soothe myself. I have lots of thoughts concerning my Calico training, and my overall disappointment. It's Christmas Eve right now, so I am going to try and turn my thoughts toward that celebration, stay in the moment, and enjoy all the good things that I do have.

Merry Christmas!

When the wounds were fresh 4 days ago (December 20):

Wide Angle

I got off late on Friday, about 2 PM (surprise, surprise) for my pretty regular ten mile loop in Aliso/Wood Canyons.  I was armed with a new camera.  (My product warranty check came in – yay!  These product warranties on my cameras are the deal of the century for me.)  My new camera has a wide angle lens, which is new for me.  My husband’s professional camera has a wide-angle lens that I’ve never been too impressed with, 1) because it’s too dang bulky, and 2) it casts a shadow when the flash is used that I didn’t care to learn how to deal with.  But my new camera is one of those little things with the lens built in, and I hardly ever use a flash (& even if I did, I’m not getting a shadow with this camera). 

About a mile and a half into this run, after the back of my thigh began to ache, I switched on the wide angle for some shots of trails I have run countless times.   I was surprised what a different view this camera gives  – a more realistic view, one that captures not only what’s in front of me, but also what seems to surround me.  Very happy with my new purchase. 

The ache on the back of my thigh, right around the upper knee, grew worse as I made my way toward Mentally Sensitive.  I considered cutting the loop about a mile short by running up Meadows Trail instead.  Meadows is a steep switch-back to the ridge.  Mentally Sensitive is steeper, and not much of a switch-back at all.  I opted for Mentally Sensitive, because I’m just that way sometimes – a glutton for punishment.

I found the climb up Mentally Sensitive excruciating, but not surprisingly.  Fortunately, I had my new wide angle lens camera to keep my mind off the growing pain in my leg. 

By the time I reached the top of Mentally Sensitive, my leg was no longer an ache – it  hurt.  I could still run along the ridge, and I did.  By the time I made it to Meadows, I decided it was time to cut this ten mile loop down to seven miles.  I headed down the steep Meadows’ switch-back suffering.  It’s a mystery to me how I injured my leg.  There was no event, no popping, nothing to indicate an injury.  My guess is that I strained it the day before in the gym.  That’s what I’m hoping anyway, as I think that I can recover from that pretty quickly.

The Top of Mentally Sensitive/Saddleback Mountains in the background:

By the time I reached the bottom of Meadows, I could no longer run.  I couldn’t much walk either.  The pain remained the same whether I ran or walked.  That last mile and a half, I mostly walked, but ran some because I wanted to finish this up to stop the pain.  Finally back at the truck, I wept.  I didn’t cry because of the pain though – I was just so dang angry about having an injury.  I am such a baby when it comes to mentally enduring injuries.    Maybe that’s what they mean by “Mentally Sensitive.”

Thirty Days!

Yes, I did make thirty days of my Easter Streak – ran every day for the month of April.  I got out late morning on Wednesday, April 30, in the midst of a heat wave.  And I took off up Arroyo Trabuco Trail for the final run of my streak.

My Gateway to Arroyo Trabuco Trail (in the parking lot of a strip mall in Las Flores, behind a Taco Bell & some other establishments):

The best thing about Day 30’s run was that I got shade.  Lots of it.  Oh, the glory!  What would I do without shade?

I ran through cool, dark hallways of shade for about three miles.  My goal was to run around ten miles – that way, I’d hit my “pie in the sky.”  What, you may ask, was my “pie in the sky?”  The answer: breaking 170 miles for the month.  I didn’t want to merely hit 170.  I wanted to bust through the door.  I haven’t done that in a long time. 

The coolness of these trails helped me to get my groove when I thought I wasn’t going to get my groove.  And just when I felt a comfortable confidence on these refreshing trails amidst sweltering heat, I kissed the dirt.

Oh no!  That’s right.  I tripped on a rock while running slightly downhill, and I flew through the air.  Astonished that I was falling, I fought the fall, and it turned out badly.  There was no semblance of a roll.  No, there was only forward momentum.  Then a thud.  Then another thud.  And one more for good measure.

The few seconds of impact jarred me so much, I didn’t immediately hop back up.  That took another couple seconds.  And then I sobbed as I searched about for a place to sit.  I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to sit in the dirt.  I think that it was just too far away.  So, I wandered up the trail a bit.  The fall rattled my body and brain to an extent that I wasn’t sure what to do.  I needed to talk to someone.

About a tenth of a mile later, I found a log to sit upon and phoned my husband.  He’s received these calls from me before – not terribly often, but enough to get directly to the important questions.  Where are you?  Did you hit your head?  Eventually, he said that I should come home.  But . . . 170.  I wanted to break 170!

And so I ran.  When my husband texted me that I was a “badass,” I texted back, “Not Really.”  And I ran some more with an aching knee (but not too bad) and a throbbing arm.  What I wanted more than anything was to wash the wounds.  But my wounds were open, and I didn’t want to give bacteria in the streams direct access into my body.  I did take the time however, to “document” what I could with photos.

I ran Arroyo Trabuco on into O’Neill park.  Relief set in because finally, I was able to wash my wounds.  And they did NOT feel better after that.  In fact, it was just when I was feeling better that I went and washed my arms and legs with soap and water.  The dull aching immediately returned.  Oh well, it was time to suck it up.  I had 6.5 miles left on the back portion of my Arroyo Trabuco out-and-back. 

Arroyo Trabuco with a view of the Saddleback Mountains (not very shady here, of course as it would be, hot and sunny during the most painful portion of my run):

I made it back to my truck dinged.  I think I lost more than the usual amount of brain cells in this adventure.  I did though, get in a little over thirteen miles. The remainder of the day, I ached all over.

The next day, I felt as if I were in an automobile accident – like my whole body had lurched forward and hit the dashboard.  I thought about running, but then decided, that’s it.  I have accomplished what I set out to do – I ran every day for the month of April.  I had to fight an inner battle not to run on Thursday.  I went to the gym instead and worked-out on the elliptical crossramp.  After 5 miles, I said, “That’s enough of that!” and went home feeling achy, like I was coming down with the flu.

My arm wound felt warm all day, and that night I felt like I had a mild grade flu.  It was a wonderful night of celebration for the family however, as we all went to watch our son perform with his high school chamber group (our oldest plays violin).  Back home late, I continued to pick out tiny pebbles from my arm.  My husband poked around, as I winced in pain, for pus.  Then I dosed the hardening scab with hydrogen peroxide.  Finally today, so many, many hours later, I am feeling better. 

Thanks to all for reading the wondrous journey of my running for 30 consecutive days.  I loved it.  At the same time, I am just slightly relieved its over.

ps.  I hit 177.41 miles  (285.51 km) for the month of April. 

Summer Just Wasn’t My Season (The Inevitable Look Back on 2013)

I planned to run to Santiago Peak and end the year with a triumphant run. Not feeling well when I woke, I slept in some. Then I decided that 2013 really wasn’t a year to end with a triumphant run. A run in Aliso/Wood Canyons was more apropos. It was time to get back to where it all began, well, not actually began, but when it all came together with me and trails. Somewhere along the trails this year, I lost something on the run. I lost my drive. I lost my strength. I lost my confidence.  (And I couldn’t help but think, “I’m too old for this self-doubt and self-loathing!”)

2013 began with plantar fasciitis. This aspect alone didn’t wipe me out. There were lots of personal struggles. I gained a good amount of pounds (make that a “bad” amount of pounds).   And I tried so desperately to use the trails to bring me back. But my heart just wasn’t there. It was somewhere else attempting to get myself right again with the world, right again with myself. Then Old Goat happened. Being pulled at mile 41 in a 50 mile race put quite a stomp into my stride.

And then summer arrived. Summer. It just wasn’t my season. The heat nearly did me in more than once. The season ended with my head hung low, a severe limp in my right side, a major loss in work hours and no advancement in my personal strides.

In 2013, I sprained my ankle running a road marathon. In 2013, Twin Peaks was cancelled due to the government shut-down. In 2013, I lost my patience too many times. And in 2013, I said good-bye to two friends, one was silver, the other gold. (Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.)

Good-bye Phil Olaskey (We met in 1977):

Good-bye Tommy Ryan (We met 6 years ago)

So, 2013 was a struggle! Heck, when isn’t life a struggle? I survived it.  In fact, I learned much.  I learned that much of what I learn on the trails applies to my life overall.  I realized that this is indeed why I was given the gift of trails.  So that I can learn.  So that I can appreciate.  And there was much to appreciate this year.  In 2013, my son went another year without a seizure. In 2013, we managed to keep the house yet another year.  No one became seriously ill and all of my family is still intact. I read great books in 2013.  I met wonderful students. In 2013, I also met new good friends. And I re-united with old friends.

And so, on this last day of 2013, I took to the trails in Aliso/Wood Canyons, the place that I found my own way on the trails.  The place where I learned to tell direction and read the peaks and ridges – the place where I lost my fear of wilderness.

On this last day of 2013, I took off down Aliso Creek Trail with no pain in my foot.  None.  The park was crowded, and I mean crowded with hikers.  That is until I took a left from Wood Canyon onto Meadows Trail.  I saw one mountain biker.  Then I headed onward to the steepest trail in the park, my greatest challenge in Aliso/Wood Canyons – Mentally Sensitive Trail. 

About a mile in, I met father and son mountain bikers.  The father was laid-out on the trail, his son looked as if he had been crying.  I could see his father was conscious as the son moved the bikes and their gear off the trail.  I stopped to check on the boy’s dad.  He assured me his father was okay.  I told the boy that I could not leave them there.  The father still on his back with his arms over his face said a few words about being “okay.”  But he still lay in the middle of the trail.  I wasn’t even sure he could move.  Turns out the man had flown over his handlebars, and that worried me greatly.  The boy said that I could go, that they had water and a phone.  As I gave him the ranger station’s phone number we both noticed another mountain biker barreling down the steep trail.  Both the boy and I began hollering and waving our arms, “Stop!  Stop!”  That biker came around the bend with a screech, stopping just as the injured man scooted himself off the trail. 

I was so relieved to see the injured guy could move.  I also noted the absence of blood.  As the other mountain biker and I discussed what we should do, the boy said that he had his mother on the phone.  Eventually, both I and the other mountain biker took off when the injured biker was sitting upright.  As soon as I turned the bend I phoned the ranger station.  You can imagine my aggravation when no one answered! 

Before I reached the top of Mentally Sensitive, another biker went over his handlebars.  I approached as he used the bike to lift himself from the dirt.  He didn’t look good.  No blood.  But his face was ashen.  I asked if he was okay, if I could do anything for him, did he need me to phone someone.  He said he was okay, but had probably damaged his ribs.  After a small conversation, I convinced him not to take Mentally Sensitive down.  I suggested he take Meadows which is less steep and much easier to manage.  After what I told him about the remainder of Mentally Sensitive he was convinced and went on his way as I ran onward into Moulton Meadows Park. 

Mentally Sensitive:

I ran onward to Top of the World and took in the same view I have relished countless times.  I ran the remainder of this last run of the year with hardly any pain, just knowing there were lots of life’s lessons from today’s run to sort out over the next couple days.  I suppose I should close before the new year actually gets here.

Happy New Year!  Thanks for reading and all your support.  I so much appreciate it!  And also, for enduring this long, long post. 

Miles logged:  10.78

Tired of Giving it a Rest

About the only cardio my foot can handle is the gym bike.  Tuesday I rode 30 miles.  I just couldn’t stand to sit any longer.  Slowly, very slowly, the pain is lessening in my right foot.  Pain hits worst in the morning.  And also after sitting.  You can imagine how I limped away from the gym bike after 30 miles. 

Yesterday, pain was at its lowest point in a long time.  Ice, heating, anti-inflammatory medicine and rolling did some good after all.  And dang it!  I was tired of giving my foot a rest.  I mean REALLY.  Just how long can I stay away from the trails?

I did make some concessions today – firstly, I chose a “flat” trails.  I drove to Las Flores, parked at a tennis park and ran down to Tijeras Creek.  From there I made my way to Arroyo Trabuco Trail.  This is the “flat trail.”   In 10.04 miles that I ran, I climbed more than 2,000 feet.  So much for flat!  No really, it was fairly flat.  What made the largish gain was the constant low grade climb for 5 miles.  Thus, my second concession.  When I reached 5 miles, pain was minimal and I wanted to run further.  But I forced myself to turnaround, just in case. I even hesitated, turned around again and moved further onward just to realize I was behaving like a child.  I NEEDED to turn around and head back.  

I should also note that the reason I returned to Arroyo Trabuco (beside it’s “flatness”) is that I’m still attempting to “punch through” to Trabuco Canyon so I can finish mapping out my “Tides to Towers” run.  (Tides to Towers – a run from my house, the beach “tides,” up to Santiago Peak, aka. Talking Towers). 

Tijeras Creek Trail Head (one of the many Tijeras Creek trailheads):

Tijeras Creek Trail:

I fell into the creek on my first crossing!

Arroyo Trabuco Trail:

Turnaround time:

Pain was very bearable when I arrived back at the truck.  Then I sat behind the wheel for about twenty minutes.  When I arrived home, I limped to the door.  Only now, at this late hour, does my foot feel some relief.  I’ve iced.  I’ve rolled.  And right now, it is nicely wrapped.   Definitely hoping that I continue to heal, and that my impromptu run today didn’t worsen my plantar fasciitis. 

Happy Trails!!!

Update: Another Reason To Hate The Dreadmill

Super busy weekend, Saturday I didn’t have time for my long run.  Instead, I spent three hours at the gym.  I got lots of work done – weights, abs, elliptical crossramp, and the treadmill.  Wait.  Did I say treadmill?  I meant Dreadmill.

This is a dreadmill – notice my gear, not on my back.  There’s a towel on the left (to soak up the sweat from my face, because who wears a hat on the dreadmill?), water bottle and hair-tie on the right, and a Trader Joe’s bag on the floor with keys and other stuff like chapstick, a high school newsletter, and pen and paper:

For some reason, I find running excruciatingly difficult on the dreadmill.  I sweat more, the scenery is blah, and time passes slower than a snail moves.  Time moved so, so, slowly on Saturday, I put in my earbuds and forbade myself from looking at the stats until a song finished.  I played little games like increasing the pace at times, and not allowing myself to decrease it until an entire song played. 

This “adventure” really was hellish.  All 5 miles of it.  And before I even hit mile one, another dreadmiller came up and got on the machine next to me.  There were about 15 empty dreadmills that he could have occupied without having someone on either side.  I’m just not used to running so closely, side by side with someone for 5 miles. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate the dreadmill and what it offers (runs on terrible weather days, or when you can only fit in a run at 3AM).  My brother in fact, can only run dreadmills nowadays – it’s all his schedule allows.  At best, I appreciate the dreadmill because I can force myself to run faster. 

I don’t know. Maybe if I was a serious athlete, I’d appreciate this piece of machinery more.  I ask you, after peering off a mountain edge for several miles, how am I to appreciate a view like this:

Okay, it’s not a terrible view.  But there’s no clouds, no stinkbugs, birds nor bunnies.  Regardless, all of this complaining would really be moot, and I’d find myself back on the dreadmill probably someday soon, if it wasn’t for one thing.  The most important thing.  When I got home, my plantar fasciitis flared up worse than it ever has.  I endured great foot pain for two days, barely able to walk.  Ibuprofen did absolutely nothing to ease the pain.  Taping in fact did very little to ease the pain.  Numbing my foot with ice was about the only thing that worked.  The pain actually kept me awake at night.  That first night, in fact, I sweated all night long (like I had a fever).

I took Sunday and Monday off from any kind of cardio work, especially running.    I’ve been rolling, icing, heating and stretching.  I’ve gone through so much tape that I have permanent tape marks on the bottom of my foot.  Maybe it wasn’t the dreadmill.  But it seems just too coincidental to me.  (Sorry treadmill enthusiasts).