The Mother Load

I'm back from my second attempt at running, having learned a bit from the first time out.  Saturday morning found me desperately wanting to give myself the out my trainer gave me and only run 10 minutes.  However, I knew if I didn't manage 20 minutes the first time, it would just be staring me in the face the second.  I made it through by the sheer force of my will, and a little help from God and the Winder Dairy man.  (I was trying to use a couple of slow walkers in front of me as an excuse to quit early. A Winder Dairy truck pulled up with a sign that said, "Free Samples," and the slow walkers were history.)

What I learned on my first walk/run is that my ankles don't like running, me, or life in general.  I powered through some pain and then shared my experience with my trainer during my weekly call yesterday.  She recommended going to a specialty store for actual running shoes and letting the sales associate take a look at my gait and find shoes that would correct it.  She also told me to pay attention to the way I was running and to learn a little bit about how to run correctly.

Since that call happened prior to my 8 hour workday, I didn't have time to beg Richard for shoe money or hit up any specialty stores before my run this morning, so I settled for a late night trip to Wal Mart for some gel insoles and ankle wraps.  I found the insoles below, which seemed PERFECT for running.



Unfortunately for me and any other female, Wal Mart only carries these in the male variety.  Because, you know...girls don't play sports.  Boo.  I grabbed a pair of the non-sport insoles and began writing a disgruntled letter in my mind.

This morning, I strapped on the wraps and stepped into my newly gel-enhanced sneakers and felt ready to run with less pain.  I opened the door to this:



I really need a treadmill.

I'm happy to say that I had less ankle pain today, though there was still some present.  I took Michelle's advice and paid attention to the way I walked and ran and found that my ankles bow outward at the end of each step.  When I asked my ankles for clarification on why they choose to do this, they said, "Hello!  We haven't gotten any bigger.  YOU have!"  Like a rickety table bowing under the weight of an outlandish Thanksgiving spread, my ankles are bearing the brunt of a fat woman who never considered how this weight might be affecting them.  Sorry, ankles.  I'll work on that.

The good news is that after experimenting a bit, I found that tightening my abs and standing up taller completely corrected the ankle problem.  I can either spend my in between days working on my core with pilates, or I can strap on a girdle while I run.  Though girdle is one of my favorite words (Just look at it!  Doesn't it give you the giggles?), I think I'd rather tone my muscles the hard way.