How a Broken Foot Relates to Life

I’ve been forced to slow down the last couple of days. A broken foot will do that for you.

It was on a jog a few days ago that I must have screwed it up. It feels like a stress fracture of some sort. I do not remember hurting it or doing anything that may have hurt it. I can only assume that it was my child like enthusiasm whilst running down the stairs at Cerro De La Cruz that did me in. I was Fred Astaire reincarnated! Either that or the moment that I broke it was so horrible that my mind erased it from my memory to save my already fragile psyche from further harm. Who knows?

I have gone jogging twice since the horrid, dull, makes me want to throw up pain began. I jog through the peak of the pain, ignoring the sensations traversing through my person, then it just goes away. I would be an awesome POW.

This hasn’t REALLY slowed me down at all. I’ve never been the type to allow something like pain to dictate what I will or will not do. My tooth hurts every now and then, but do you think that I will turn down chocolate just because of that? Hell no.

Life is a lot like that, isn’t it? Life hurts sometimes. Life makes you want to stay in bed, life makes you fear the slightest movement, because if it hurts so much right now, surely it will hurt even worse to go out and continue on, or, worse yet, move on!

Yet, there are some amongst us who, like myself, decide to ignore that pain, be it physical or emotional. We decide to climb up out of ourselves, become more than the sum of our being and trudge on.

I am in physical pain right now and it annoys the hell out of me. But I have been in “crippling” emotional pain before, too. Just like this stupid foot injury makes me fear throwing on my shoes and running out the door, my “emotional hurt” made me fear throwing on my game and putting myself back into the swing of things. I hated the thought of being hurt again. I hated the thought of being hurt worse than I already was. I hated the thought of any emotion passing through my brain as it all seemed so pointless.

Then, my 30 seconds of self pity died away and I put on my sexy shirt and joined my friends at the pub. Guess what? The pain went away. No, not because of copious amounts of alcohol, because pain, in any form, is a motivator. One has to live to be rid of it. I was hurt and then I lived and now I am so very glad that I went through that period, for it was that trauma, that pain, that transition that sent me to the heights that I inhabit today. The pain forced me out of my protective shell and into the real world where I found love, happiness, success and a life worth suffering for.

So, using that same mentality, I have thrown on my shoes and am heading out the door with Shannon to meet up with Val to get a liquado. I’ll be damned if a broken foot is going to keep me from good convo and a sugary drink!